Well look at us being all grown-up and buying a house! (Ed. note: Contract pending.) And because consistency is overrated, we decided on a dwelling that ran contrary to our original plan of No Fixer-Uppers. Being completely inexperienced and unfamiliar with fixtures, designs, floor plans, and materials hasn’t stopped us from diving headfirst into that world. I have already started praying for the kind of patience that is all but absent from the process of demolition and construction and waiting for the Before shots to turn into the After. But there is something wonderful to be found in the rubble of making a home your own rather than pitching a tent among someone else’s color scheme, and in (rather blind) faith we press forward to that reward. Spoiler alert: blood, sweat, and tears ahead.
Speaking of blind faith, it’s a theme for us lately. That thought occurred to me as we sat in the half of a gym that houses our church, a new plant by the name of Grace, with about a hundred members instead of the five thousand regular attenders we were surrounded by at Redeemer in New York. I have no problem with well-oiled machines; in fact, I am partial to them. But again with that beauty in the rubble…being a part of the small beginnings means showing up and knowing your face will be seen and recognized; it means an involvement past attendance and entering the realm of self-sacrifice, because how else can an introvert refer to a constant request for vulnerability? Being there at the start means being a part of the at times uncomfortable During that comes between Before and After. Spoiler alert: awkward moments ahead.
In between buying a house and attending church, we hit the couch and noticed a recurring theme on the black box this week. First there was Glee‘s Grilled Cheesus alongside Kurt’s lack of faith, accessorized with a fabulous hat and tear-inducing pain. Then there was Modern Family and Jay’s Golf vs. God conflict. Finally, Jeff faced the issue of death with insistence upon a belief in nothing on Community. The Husband and I turned to each other and asked, “Is it God Week on TV?”
Not played so much for laughs, Kurt’s response to religion was the most profound. He cited the “Church’s” opposition to gays, women, and science. Whenever I hear a similar viewpoint, I struggle between two responses: “Which church are you talking about?” and “Tell me about it.” I marvel at the unfathomed depths of God’s love that go unrealized by people who use His name to preach hate and ignorance; I cringe when the same people who rightly point out that ignorance and intolerance exercise their own form of it. Being one who falls in the camp of believer, and having never known any other campsite, I know I take for granted my inclination to faith while others struggle with all the questions it raises. But as I read all the commentary on the Grilled Cheesus episode, I kept seeing words like atheist and agnostic and agnostic with atheist leanings and (Word Dork that I am) noticed something these designations have in common besides alliteration. The a- prefix meaning “not” or “without.” Not being something, not having something. I think about how even our language reflects a human inclination to seek something beyond ourselves, and not finding it lands you in the Without camp. Linguistically speaking. And then I think about people like Kurt and so many others I know and love whose “No thank you” to faith is accompanied by a veneer of anger, which is really only a lid painted with brushstrokes of pride and independence that, when lifted, exposes a cauldron of boiling emotion underneath. People simply don’t not care about this subject, no matter which side of it they’re on. (I’m looking at you, Dawkins and Hitchens. Shut up, Pat Robertson.)
As for me, I can only testify to how the greater narrative of grace (NOT religion) coincides with mine. I can tell you how far a regimen of self-improvement got me, which is to say Nowhere, and that redemption is the only During that takes one from Before to a very different After. I can say that something inside me aligns with the idea of a vision powerful enough to lead from rubble to beauty, that something in my soul shifts when I know that everything good about me began in a paradox of darkness and apparent weakness and ultimate vulnerability and sacrifice. I cling to a faith whose best stories have been told not under vaulted ceilings and in marbled hallways, but in dirty troughs and tombs. I believe because, even though my daily inclination is toward a glass-half-empty brand of pessimism, the deeper and truer part of me yearns for the transcendence of more; wants to always look for that glittering line just beyond the edge of my sight; has to leave room for mystery; only makes sense as part of a story where Before always becomes After. Spoiler alert: glory ahead.