I completely disagree, which inspired this little rhyme:
Church on Sunday is a fossilized vision,
CPR for a heart-dead religion.
Words dried in ink on pages,
Is not true Tao, say all the sages!
Spirit breathes, it flows, It waltzes in the weather.
It’s found in children’s laughter; not bound in antique leather.
Tired old rituals just make you yawn and nod
While Shakti surges as the Ever-Living God.
So on Sunday, stay in bed and practice Tantra,
Let "O God, I'm coming!" be your honest mantra.
May all lovers feel the real spiritual delight
Of rising up, up, up into the Lotus of Light.
But what if you’re not into Tantra and you’re not a Bhakta?
Well, good old-fashioned passion is guaranteed to rock ya!
Great sex is infinitely more healing than listening to preachings
About imaginary devils and women-hating teachings.
So allow me to introduce my own concept of church
(In the hope that eager readers will start their own research):
I simply worship the Goddess, Who smells and tastes divine.
She gladly blesses me in these hungry prayers of mine.
From morning until noon in the Heaven of Appetite
We dance and we spoon to the fires we ignite.
I kiss her as my liturgy; I lick her as my hymn.
I enter in her temple, which makes her come again.
At last we find our naked souls languishing in the Garden
Where all our roughness and our sins have healed and been pardoned.
Sexual Love is the Original Blessing, not the original curse!
And the congregation of our church is the total universe.
Indeed, Shakti is making love through all the streams of living.
Through birth and death and everything, she is now-ever giving.
The Goddess is not modest! Prudes would scream themselves hoarseIf they knew—truly knew—how Orgasmic is Our Source.