“We read thick books…”

Turned off by traditional religion, many spiritual seekers turn to paganism for their god fix

BY LYNNETTE CURTIS

“We have minds of our own,” says Chris, a practicing pagan. “We revel in diversity.”

Dressed in a white robe, the voluptuous Chris kneels in front of the priest, solemnly stroking and kissisng his strategically placed ceremonial lance. She disappears behind a veil for a moment and is soon revealed sitting upon a four-foot-high altar, dressed in a lacy black teddy. Her legs are spread, the priest’s lance resting suggestively between them.

Clad in a Merlinesque robe, the priest then kneels in front of her, passionately caressing and nibbling at her inner thighs.

“We know it’s silly,” Chris admits after changing into street clothes. “We’re dressed up in silly robes and speaking Latin. You have to have a sense of humor.”

After mass, the pagans drink heartily, offering toasts of gratitude to whatever comes to mind — the ritual, their visitors, each other. Turns out they’re a friendly, unusually well-educated bunch. Many have or are working toward advanced degrees.

“We read thick books,” Chris says.

“[The practice] is very difficult,” says Terry Williams, the order’s lodge master and Chris’ husband. “It takes intelligence to muddle your way through it.”

A question about what drew them to paganism — loosely defined as a practice involving pre-Christian nature worship and magic — results in a solid minute of uncomfortable silence before someone answers.

“It’s a hard question to answer,” says Aubuchon-Mendoza, “because it’s so individual. It’s the idea of independent spiritualism. It provides a structure, but still lets you be introspective.” He’s one of the few pagans who agree to be identified by full name; the others fear persecution from employers, co-workers or the community at large.