Tell Me about Him
Dear Eugene,
Another simple but essential human question: If I am not a Christian, would I want my kids to go to church? (No, this is not a "church people" question, as you will see.)
Let's say I did join my kids one Sunday and went through what they would go through in a day of "worship." I think my answer will be, "It's all very neat. Good things going on here. But, honey, don't take it too seriously."
Now I am not being unfair to church or church people. In fact I think I am being more than fair. I am not religious and I don't subscribe to their God and God belief, but I still let my children listen and take in what they give. Like they are their parent. So I am giving up a bit of myself to let them take over.
And I really wish the church people would take over, take ownership to raise young people the way a parent would and do what a parent should. Of course I don't mean in every way.
Yet it is very telling, to me at least, whereas in church there are so many tall ideas, visions of glory, tunes of purported intimacy between fellow human beings and with a transcendent benevolence, that there were no words spoken about...helping out with house chores.
I am not looking for another mouthpiece to magnify my mundane voice or soothe my banal heart. I actually suspect if any word about house chores from any being would make any difference in my household. What I am looking for, if nothing else, is a worldview that at least acknowledges there is dust in the wind. If a God did become a man, he must have somehow been bothered by a speck in his eye, I suppose? And I further suppose he didn't "perform a miracle" to get rid of it so that he can quickly get back to his Big Plan, the "seriousness" that truly mattered? Who needs "salvation" of a higher order when one is tearing over the littlest things all day long?
I said "Don't take it too seriously" because it doesn't look like the church is taking life seriously enough to care about unserious things. It sounds like there is no upper limit to their tall tales but I do want to see how low they can get to meet me where life is at. If to get low is not where they're aiming for then it's not me who drew the line.
If you think I am being unfair to church then let me tell you, you can take the word church out of all the paragraphs above and replace it with school and that's exactly what I will tell my children about schooling. Or whatever institution or any call, local or global, personal or collective, that claims to understand and realize humanity more deeply and fully. A novel. A piece of music. I don't mean all these things need to talk about sweeping the floor but I do want to see seriousness about life on ground level. I would still enjoy them if they stay high and mighty and never touch ground. I just won't take them too seriously, that's all. The recreational atmosphere and hobbyist attitude I observed in church tells me I am not slandering anyone.
Of course I spoke selfishly, maybe even bitterly. I want my floor clean and "where does my help come from?" as one religious song puts it. To go to church is to learn to get closer to answering this question, I suppose? If I respect that the answer doesn't come quick or easy, at least I can depend on those who breathe in the same air to give me a hand...even if only once in a while? And if those who proclaim to be on the way to answer this question more fully speak in and with daily actions that they don't find themselves being part of the answer, I wonder if I shouldn't call on Amazon or Molly Maid to get my little dusty affairs in order before joining in the religious jingle.
Why do people go to school, to get a "higher" education? Because they want someone else to sweep their floor, let's be frank. To cook for them. To take care of their money and make more money, for them. To keep them healthy and happy. To serve them right, as they deserve, having such higher status that a higher education would bring. When I was young Chinese parents liked to tell their kids, If you don't do well in school one day you'll be a garbage man! Back then that's as low as a person can get. Or a toilet cleaner. Or a beggar. Or someone who eats the northwestern wind, which means having nothing in your stomach. Or a thief (that will be caught by a brave and strong policeman, of course, who is in the position to set the world right because--double of course!--he's got a decent education).
A public display of shame, that's what it all comes down to when you stay low. Everybody will have a piece of you. Like hanging on a piece of wood for the world to see, dying there for vultures and rodents to pick on you. Protein power for the taking and nothing else. You cry out to your daddy who's nowhere to be found and the whole world can hear his silence echoing down the lonely chambers of every hollow heart. Now this, of course, is how the Christian story goes, tells how low God is willing to go to meet us where we are at, to restore creation to how he intends her all along, to take up the whole seriousness of being human and trivialize none of it, not the pain big or puny, not the longing noble or nasty, no one left behind, not the sorry beggar, not the sorrier landlord, not yours truly feeling my sorriest.
At least that's what's on paper.
Now if the church is where I would meet people who are engaging themselves in the same sort of dying to live again, giving away for being given, and if I am a non-believing parent seeing my kid getting cozy with these Jesus people, I would stand in awe, in disbelief, in a messy mixture of joy and sorrow...and probably urge my little ones to get the heck outta there, like, right now, for, in this world as we know it, on this ground as I've stood on for years, these Jesus people are going to go down in a bad bad way. They are asking to be killed off, protein power for the taking and nothing else. I would ask, no, demand my children to stop being so serious about Jesus.
And I have a feeling my little ones would comfort me, lay this anxious man on his ancient bed and say Why don't you rest before we talk again? I will tell you more about it. About Him. Where is the broom? Let me sweep the floor for you.
Yours, Alex
Dear Eugene (Part 1 of 2),
ReplyDelete"Tell Me about Me. Tell Me about Him. What I am looking for… is a worldview that at least acknowledges there is dust in the wind… how low God is willing to go to meet us where we are at… to take up the whole seriousness of being human & trivialize none of it, not the pain big or puny…”
Within the body of the church, I could not have felt more alone than I once had in 20+ yesteryears. At the time, I had acquired 2 postgraduate degrees over a decade span, my youth & joy sapped. In my misery without clarity of life’s directives, I sought counseling from a pastoral couple. The “ball of fire” in escalating magnitude consumed me incessantly around the clock: my high opportunity costs vs. low net profit margin according to the law of economics.
And if you were to ask me about my counseling sessions, I would answer: “ ‘It’s all very neat. Good things going on here.’ ” All the qualifiers for wholesome conversations & cleansing of the soul were observed & implemented, sanitizing & liberating in “purported intimacy” & “transcendent benevolence”. Yet there were twitches & grimaces exchanged throughout my presumably transparent interactions with my counselors, a language that expressed more seriously about the unseriousness of the mentoring which would have never touched, let alone considered, the plateaus & troughs of my life at ground zero with dirt, warts & vomit. Indeed, I was deluged with big, holy words like the calling of God. Once the voices ceased at the end of the meeting, the spoken & speakers vanished until my next appointment. The avalanche of deep love & empathy in my 2-hour biweekly sessions soon “toned down its rhetoric, sizzled, then fizzled”. Empty calories.
“Of course I spoke selfishly, maybe even bitterly. I want my floor clean and ‘where does my help come from?' as one religious song puts it. To go to church is to learn to get closer to answering this question…”
When Mom could no longer breathe in the toxicity arising from her internal inferno of fears in 10+ yesteryears, she & I dashed headlong to the front of the pews towards the end of one Sunday worship service. Nothing could have consoled her ruptured heart & “tearing over the littles things all day long” culminating to serious pain. We joined a queue of mourners & worriers in need of prayers & cure. One by one, we waited for our moments with designated leaders whose saintly touch upon our heads or shoulders would pronounce the onset of healing & banishment of sorrow. I looked up for once in close range at the face of our prayerful elder, his mouth & eyes stretching wildly in proportion to the intensity of his animated speech about blessings & comfort for Mom in the interim of about 2-3 minutes. Mom wept more intently with every syllable & inflection of his words. Another avalanche of extravagant love & compassion descended from high above to the lowly among thorns. Once it ended, the spoken & speaker were never heard again. The music stopped, lights off & doors closed. If you were to ask me how Mom responded, I would not have the tall, mighty words to describe her plunge into deeper grief that night.
(Part 2 of2 continued)
ReplyDelete“I think he [King Nebuchadnezzar] was just asking for friendship…”
In past times, when my count of loss seemed infinitely maddening, I often met a friend in the most extraordinarily unexpected ways. She was among the first I had seen in my first week of college in LA. I was looking for someone to carpool to campus, knowing that I did not have a car to offer a fair exchange. But what I could offer was irrelevant to her. For the next many months, she drove me every day to school. No big, holy words. Just her presence. She must have loved me seriously for no serious reason. A few years later, in the early morning hours on her wedding day, I was one of her bridesmaids who helped with the final decorative touches for the reception hall. Among the floral centerpiece, magenta ribbons & helium balloons, I must have sensed the epitome of a friend’s love.
About a decade after the wedding, I was gifted with another friendship on college campus in Las Vegas. She & I were initially partners for a brief project but we soon developed an inexplicable bond of trust. One afternoon in class, I struggled with a difficult clinical assignment which allowed group interactions but required individual responses for grading. By the 3rd hour of our team discussions, I knew I had not made much progress in my critical analysis of the mock case on paper. I was in fact the last one in the group without written full responses. She was the first to have submitted her first-rated work but she lingered among us & sat next to me while helping me navigate through the assigned questions. One of my teammates asked her why she was still here. She responded casually about wanting to learn herself, diverting public attention from my need of her help with the assignment. She knew I was sensitive to the perception of feeling inferior. She could have hastily left for her part-time work after class as usual but instead, she chose to remain with me until I managed to complete the task. No religious jingle or high order. She simply met me in my little dusty corner of the classroom, inhaling “the same air to give me a hand”.
“Like hanging on a piece of wood for the world to see, dying there for vultures and rodents to pick on you… Now if the church is where I would meet people who are engaging themselves the same sort of dying to live again, giving away for being given…, I would stand in awe…”
Nowadays I rarely see these two women who have given up a serious bit of themselves to me but I think of them, longing to pick up the broom & “let me sweep the floor for you”.
Yours, Kate