..is hard to do?

It seems most of my life is on a project of curiosity — how has humanity through the ages viewed the transcendent realms: the location of hope, of curiosity, of mystery and potential and of infinite fear? Religions deal with this, philosophy like Existentialism deals with this. So as I view these various perspectives and values, I find that Christian beliefs are surprisingly sturdy, and they get pretty-well along with many ideas. In this dialogue, I end up finding a new sense of depth and goodness to my faith.

But that’s intellectual appreciation. It doesn’t really do much for the soul. I can appreciate an idea, but act entirely outside it’s parameters. And that’s where churches get curious. Sunday mornings are filled with squishy songs, and large groups of people wearing their heart on their sleeves, embracing the aesthetics of language and sound (albeit in the form of socially-normative prescribed behaviors). I think a lot, and I’m thinking about what’s occurring instead of embracing and embodying like other people.

I remember asking myself, around age 20, “Do I wanna be like (committed, expressive) person “A” over there?” It scared me. I didn’t want to be. I didn’t want to be, but I was still attracted to what it could be like. Being convinced, being self-transcendent, being energetic, being hopeful. And for a time, I was, or at least thought I was, but it didn’t do/accomplish much. Finding myself no further in life, I guess I’ve regressed into myself again. Given alternatives, I’m thrilled with the person and work of Christ.. I’m thrilled to be with my wife in the face of being alone. Life together is great, and so much more dynamic.

I think what I’m saying is that reminders and motivators for love certainly vary by time, place and person. But what seems screwy to me is the general church assumption that worship-music helps people fall in love with Jesus more. That seems a little weird, since love itself is the kind of thing which multiples itself. Oh sure, eucharist is all about remembering, sermons are all about remembering, songs are about remembering, and Peter said his whole duty was to remind the church of what she forgets.. but there seems to me that sometimes words aren’t enough. Sometimes I need to talk with people. Sometimes I do like my heart on my sleeve, but oftentimes it’s been beat down into hiding with cliche. Authentic love is amazingly powerful, and that’s why I’m thrilled to be married. And that’s what I’m looking for among church-members. Does such love cross intellectual borders? Yes, but not when we’re all reveling in our own understandings. I’ll love you and I’ll listen to your stories about your kids, but I need you to listen and hear me ramble about Sartre & Wittgenstein.. because ya just did.

It comes around each year. Most of my years, I’ve seen it on a calendar a few weeks before my birthday with the remark, “That Catholic thing.” As I lived in Chicago, on my daily train ride downtown for work, I would see enough people with a ashy dab to catch myself from wondering, “Oh yeah, That Catholic Thing.” (With obvious implication: you’re a good catholic.. even my gay manager at work.)

My first impression was that it’s an immediate flag for “religious discrimination.” That is, an HR department would be happy to see, say, 20-30% of it’s staff with a greyed forehead. Or in another society, it’d be a true sign of death!

But this year, I’m in a presbyterian church. Tradition is higher here, than in a typical anglo-wesleyan derived evangelical church. We have communion each week (what? real bread and wine?!), baptize a little differently and apparently do Ash Wednesday services too. This week it’s in place of commie community group, which 10 of us would normally collect over anyways, so I just go off to church instead.

The room is dimmed, I’m early and not many people are there yet, so I sit and scribble away on my nokia. I’ve had a good day of work, solved a significant problem in a simple fashion. I saw a german friend on the train ride over. So I’m feeling good about life.

So the service starts up. Somber songs with responsive readings, Ps 51 and such. No prob, I like somber. That’s why I’m here. But honestly, what’s the story behind why we’re here? It’s February, not easter, not even good friday. Incoming homily: What’s the usage of ashes in the Bible? (think: “Sackcloth and ashes” and “Ashes to ashes.. form the ground I was formed, to it I’ll return”). Exactly. That’s the point.

A few weeks ago one of the preachers spent 2 weeks on 1 peter 4′s suffering. This made a profound impact on me which has stayed with me and has provided a fine background for tonight: life is suffering. Enjoyment is passing. This life’s default setting is depravity.. brokenness. Suffering is SOP. And ya know what? That’s actually freeing, not depressing. What’s depressing is the blind hope for all of life to be happy-happy. Sadly, that only leads to us squeezing happiness out of any and all circumstances.. taking more effort than is possible, and leading us only into addiction and/or bitterness.

So we were to arise and line-up to be symbolically reminded of our mortality, and Jesus’ taking on mortality for us. The part that got me was after when the preacher said something about how impactful it was for him to tell his family of their own approaching day of death.

But overall, I had trouble handling this liturgical night. I’ve recently realized that my life has historically been void of both celebration but also of symbolism. There’s nothing in me that longs for incorporating any symbols of anything into my life. I guess I’m a pragmatic American like that. I found myself going over my previous typical emotional responses to such outward expressions: “It’s not the external that counts. It’s the inner reality.” Such words were uttered even by the preacher. So why ought I still go forward (why even are we as a church having a special occasion tonight?) Pragmatic questions arise: (1) how long will i keep it on for? (2) my roomies will ask (3) ppl on the train will look (4) I’m new to this, so I don’t now what to do/say/explain (4) Everyone just goes home in their cars and washes it off straight-ways. And there we have it: It matters to me. Socially. Not just the people outside, but these people here. Am I willing to identify myself with them? Are they sincere? Honest and faithful to live out the understanding of their mortality? If they are, then I have no shame in participating and identifying with them. But if they are not, then they are like so many other “believers” of my past who honestly were more sentimental and “standard.” No deep awareness of reality as I’m learning it to be. They’re too happy-clappy addicted. I don’t (and won’t) identify myself with them. Perhaps I need these new (old) forms, since the ones I grew up in hold so much falsehood to me.

But aside from liturgy, I was presented not with how I’m a poor, miserable failure of a human being (never the point anyways), and not even with “It’s ok, Jesus died for you and loves you.” Rather, I remembered, through much talk of Jesus’ upcoming suffering & death, that my day was only half-alive. And it hurt. “Joy is only half-joy until it’s post-sorrow,” I wrote.

So deep, I can barely breathe-
So true, I can hardly stand it.
Reorganizing my emotions
this may be life
but it’s certainly through death.
The pain I feel-
Pent-up sorrow?
Sadness for my misunderstanding.
Living only half a life,
All it’s joys now crumbling
into questions.

My death comes
Your death reminds.
and that’s the point
of my future state
now upon my head.