Invitation

Still early in the hunt for America’s most heavenly cinnamon bun, I wandered into a bakery and sweets shop on Route 66 in Kingman, Arizona last week. Unfortunately, my hopes were immediately dashed by a bare bakery case.

The two young girls tending the counter said the baker had walked out three weeks earlier and hadn’t been replaced. They were down to candy and ice cream—neither of which appealed at the time. Reacting to my exaggerated disappointment, they said the local buns weren’t that good anyway. A lone customer, seated nearby, volunteered that his favorite came from a bakery in Bishop, California. Ironically, I had driven by the place two weeks earlier—but didn’t stop because I had just eaten breakfast.

The girls were gregarious, as was the fellow. Buoyed by their curiosity, I shared the more significant purpose of my journey, and asked where they thought I might find God. The younger girl suggested that her grandmother probably knew—since she once had a near-death experience. The other girl shrugged. When I looked at the man, he put a hand to his heart and said, “Right here.”

His response reminded me of a conversation several months ago with my friend, Terry Amato. After enduring cancer for several years, Terry died in March. In the course of what turned out to be our final visit, Terry—fully aware that his days were numbered—pointed beside him and said, “God is right here.”

As part of a recent group activity, I was invited to hold a small candle, stand in front of a mirror, and acknowledge God’s presence within myself. Rationally, I’ve never had a problem with that concept. Nor have I had trouble seeing God in other people—a perception that has only been reinforced during my travels. Theologically, the belief is widely embraced. When asked why the kingdom of God can’t be seen, Jesus is said to have replied, “The kingdom of God is in you.” (Luke 17:20-21) Even Catholic dogma refers to the body as a “temple of the Holy Spirit.” So the recognition of God’s inner presence is—in many faiths—meant to be taken literally, not figuratively.

But it’s one thing to acknowledge the notion intellectually. As the exercise revealed, it’s entirely different to purposely envision the Divine within. Once I was able to get out of my head, I slowly began to feel a connection. I’m sure the candle helped. In the end, all I could do was bow. It was a nice feeling. But no explanation can do it justice.

What I will say is that I came away from the experience with a strong sense of its implications. If we were truly conscious of a Divine presence within ourselves—and by extension, in others and throughout creation—how quickly would that awareness transform the world? How much more attentively would we care for ourselves? How much more thoughtfully would we treat each other? How much more consciously would we steward the environment?

Is such dramatic transformation possible? I don’t know. But at this point I give it better odds than finding a decent cinnamon bun in Kingman! We certainly have enough mirrors. And candles.

I invite you to give it a try.

PS. The best cinnamon bun so far was at the Alabama Hills Bakery and Café in Lone Pine, California. The waitress added a second one for free—which made it even better! And it was just as good warmed up the next day.

(Apache Junction, AZ)