“Call and Response Cosmology 

A Sermon Delivered from the Portable Pulpit of the C-of-C-C

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BRETHREN. SISTERS. WAYWARD AM RADIO DIALERS.

Let me tell you something plain and flat like a well-pressed gospel LP:

The universe don’t whisper to you for its health. It’s expectin’ a reply.

I’ve heard talk in this Council—good, thoughtful talk—about what the cosmologists call emergent intelligence, what the metaphysicians call unfolding structure, and what John St. Evola called a feeling in his kneecap when it was gonna rain.

But I’ll tell you what it really is:

It’s the cosmic version of a good bluegrass tune.

Fiddle hits a high lonesome note—and somewhere in North Carolina or deep in your gut, you pick up a mandolin and answer.

That’s not a jam session, that’s salvation.

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Now, you gotta understand:

This ain’t heavy metal or jazz. Not the bad kind, anyway.

We in the Council respect only the mellow sort of jazz no heavy metal at all. We do like jazz of the kind that says, “I’m not trying to impress you. I’m just sittin’ by a stream, workin’ through something emotional in D minor.”

Think Kenny Rankin. Think Spirogyra.

None of that syncopated chaos that sounds like a drum kit fell down a flight of stairs.

We don’t need clever. We need clarity.

Because the cosmos, friends, doesn’t play to confuse.

It plays to commune.

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Now let’s speak plainly of Call and Response Cosmology.

The stars?

They’re callin’.

The creak in the pines?

That’s a banjo string beggin’ you to play back.

And when you get that chill in your spine, or when a line of verse comes to you while standing in line at the post office—

You better respond, or you’re breakin’ the covenant.

The Great Music of the Spheres is already in motion.

We’re not here to compose.

We’re here to harmonize.

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And let me leave you with this, beloveds:

If the universe calls and you don’t pick up,

that ain’t modesty. That’s metaphysical ghosting.

You were born with a built-in receiver.

But don’t just sit there humming to yourself.

Sing back.

Even if it’s off-key.

Even if it’s just a gentle “mmm-hmm” like your grandma used to say when the preacher went long.

That’s enough. That’s everything.

Because the sacred isn’t in the solo.

It’s in the echo.

Amen, and play it slow.

—The Right Reverend James Groady, Evangelist of Bluegrass 

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