The Story
God is Hu/Or Whatever You'd Like
I can summarize spring breaks by pithy quips made by some of the people I've come across in my travels.
At his front doorstep, John Kerry asked us who visited him over spring break in 2005, "Why aren't you somewhere warmer?" Much to the confusion of the erstwhile presidential hopeful and those college students yearning for the Mexican coastline, my friends and I have continued a tradition since freshman year by packing our thickest shirts and heaviest sweaters to brace for the Northern Winter. Another spring break, another week spent trekking northwards.
This year's destination placed us in Minneapolis, a Midwestern metropolis set in the heartland of America. Oddly enough, we spent the break without the heavy sweaters. The Midwestern winter had paused for the week; the daily temperatures never dropped below 50. The weather, however, was not the lasting impression I got from this March hiatus. This year, I give the accolade to Harold Klemp and his devout following of Eckankar, or "ECK," the Church of Sound & Light based just outside of Minneapolis.
First, a warning: Eckankar is a cult; I have no doubts. If I provided a synopsis of ECK's beliefs, with their dream masters and translating from one plane of existence to another and Harold Klemp coming directly to you in your dreams (just say "Hu!")-- well, I think it would be a disservice to the fine ECKists out there. I won't hide my own opinion of ECK: I think this so-called New Age faith is fairly deranged. That said, whether it's a cult or a religion, it is still a faith held by thousands of people who believe earnestly that they are communicating with God through a USAF veteran from Wisconsin.
What struck me most about this experience was our group's reaction to ECK. In hindsight, I thought about what made this faith any more unfathomable than our mainstream dogmas. Was it Paul Twitchell, the founder of ECK who mysteriously died a year after creating the church of Soul Traveling in San Francisco? The ECKists claim he's still alive, but on a different wavelength. Theories of drug-related deaths aside, it's not that far out there, in relative terms. Only 2000 years separate Paul Twitchell's posthumous position from Christ's initial promise of eternal life.
Perhaps it was the $130 per year membership fee for "Individual" ECKists. Yet, good Catholics owe the Church ten percent of their weekly income; I'm sure Harold's deal is a drop in the bucket.
Religion appeals to our insecurities, and in a certain time and place we would find ourselves members of any number of religions. If I were an Egyptian, I'd likely be Muslim; in Britain, Anglican and perchance, if I were born in the Land of 10,000 lakes, I might have been a disciple of Harold Klemp, the revered Mahanta. Thankfully, I grew up in a family setting where as soon as I came of age, religion became an open debate.
Although I tried to engage in metaphysical blather with our French tour guide at the ECK Temple, an elaborate golden ziggurat that rises from the Midwestern plains, my efforts proved fruitless. It may have been her limited English, but she failed to answer anything I asked well enough for me to nod approvingly. (Notwithstanding she spoke English enough to suggest Harold Klemp's spiritual predecessors convinced Christopher Columbus to discover America. Yet, I've heard worse from non-ECKists.)
To her credit, she provided one clear answer. Perhaps it is the best retort to anyone who would pass ECK off as a cult. In the end, she said, "God is God." Amen, Madame.
Dean Edwards is a staff columnist for the DSJ. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the entire staff.