Okay, who ever thought I’d be doing this, but I am. I’ve been dancing around this stuff for over 14 years, since that Jungian moment when God bonked me on the still-inebriated-late-morning-late-for-work head and said, “It’s over. You can stop now.” It’s like the old joke: “Doc, it hurts when I do this!” and the doctor says, “Well, stop doing this.” Profound moments are usually accompanied by a big “DUH,” which humbles you about the banality of corporeal existence, and our laughable hunger for the narrative that defines the epic nature of our existence. Kind of like blogging 
I stood yesterday with the minister staring down at the raised floor behind where the choir sits during services. It had a shallow platform on top of it, made of composite board, covered with a strip of badly-cut carpet. The minister reached down, and lifted up the near side of the platform, exposing what was underneath.
I was holding fossilized memories of ornate marble pedestal baptismal fonts in the Catholic churches of my youth. I was remembering the lesson about draining the sacrarium directly to the earth, to avoid the profaning of Christ’s body by modern plumbing.
But there I was, staring at the rectangular, swimming pool blue hole in the floor, like one of those hot tubs outside of Lowe’s. It looked like it had jets in it, too. I would descend into this molded plastic bath, sit on the molded plastic steps, wearing a white robe and anything I want underneath (apparently, the robe is not see-through, but, you won’t catch me in a black thong that day). All this to publicly witness to my faith in the meaning of the crucifixion and resurrection.
It’s going to be embarassing and humiliating in a very uncool kind of way, which is kind of one of the points of the whole exercise for me. What was more embarassing and humiliating than going to my first AA meeting, shaking, sweating, and trying to eat my first real meal in weeks, like the nice AA lady told me to on the phone? That was a moment of surrender for sure, and not a glamorous one.
We live our lives in America largely trying to construct tableaus of perfection. Custom-built homes, tasteful to ornate Christmas decorations, dieting to the perfect wardrobe, plastic surgery, in vitro fertilization, trophy husbands, it goes on and on. At the end of the pursuit of each of these things is that moment of silence when we realize that we attained the state of perfection that we sought at the beginning of the chase. But, that moment passes. The home needs maintenance, the Christmas lights tangle, we gain the weight back, our skin sags once more, the conceived becomes an unruly teenager, and the trophy husband gets a paunch. Each of these pursuits has two things in common: at their center is pride, and their fruits are temporary.
Pride is self-limiting by its nature. The things that engender pride are ephemeral, changing; they are, as Sartre would refer to “of the world” not simply “in the world.” Pride and deep faith are inimical in a way. When we set our sights on the rewards of this world, we necessarily invest in eventual disillusionment.
If NT Wright is correct, the kingdom of God and this earthly existence intersect. That gives me an option to live for the physical rewards of this world, or the more transcendent rewards of God’s kingdom. The longer I live, the more I realize that the balancing act between the two is a bit more complicated than renouncing one for the other. It’s a uniquely human state to have to negotiate the benefits of living in both “planes” of existence. That is, the realization of the presence of God on earth, with Jesus as its most profound embodiment, does not necessarily mean that we need to live an ascetic existence. Still, the all too prevalent, and American, “gospel of prosperity,” preached by the likes of Joel Osteen, lends far too much credence to the manifestation of worldly abundance as an expression of God’s infinite love. Either extreme seems simplistic at best.
I’m wondering if, in each life, there is a challenge to witness for the eternally transcendent within the finite, messy and frequently illusionary boundaries of the physical world. That challenge is a lot more complex than whether I should live poor or pursue riches in God’s name. If the gospel of prosperity is to be believed, Jesus was a miserable failure at this business of being human, wasn’t he?
In speaking with the minister about my own personal beliefs, which appear to be slightly left of the Christian party line, I raised this issue with him. As an artist in New York, I could live in one room, with a bed, a piano, and a table, and be happy. I did that for years. As a mother, with a new baby coming, and a husband in college, there is the need to provide a stable home in a safe neighborhood, a safe car, health insurance, decent clothes, furniture, and toys. I am now immersed in the material world, and have the burden of deciding how to meet the needs of my family without reaching for the elusive tableau of a “lifestyle” that mimics that of my son’s friends at school. I don’t want to be one of those Moms who says “no” to everything because of the starving kids in Africa. At the same time, this kind of choice is where the spiritual rubber meets the road when you are faced with the “need” to replace your Gamecube with a Wii (if you can get your hands on one outside of eBay).
The opportunity here is to do what in AA they call “getting right-sized.” That is, deciding what is in proportion to the true needs of our intersected imminent/transcendent, corporeal/Godly existence, and what is in service to our pride.
I can tell you that sitting in a hot tub in front of a roomful of people on Easter Sunday, ruining my hair and getting myself wet, ain’t on my list of “looking good” opportunities. At the age of 47, it is a pride destroyer for sure. I will be embarassed, but plan to let that feeling wash over me and through me. I hope to be informed by it. I need a little humbling right now, because my pride has lead me to so many dead ends along the way.
The minister said I will hold my nose, and he will lower me into the water. I am not looking forward to it. But, I anticipate it eagerly. Such is the nature of intersection between God’s kingdom and this silly world humans have constructed for themselves.
All that being said, I plan to reach for the blow-dryer before taking my seat in the congregation. I suppose the inner work continues…
