Church Faces

The clothes in the drier were still damp, there wasn’t enough milk for both of her children to have cereal, and, because the car needed gas, they arrived late to church. Applying lipstick, she said to her disgruntled children:  “It’s time to put on our church faces.”

The notion would be funny, if it wasn’t so sad. The idea of putting on a church face goes against everything the church should be, but this family felt such faces were necessary. They aren't alone. In church, we speak of loving our neighbor, but it’s easier to offer that love to those whose church faces are in place. Coffee hour conversations go so much smoother when faces are on, marriages are glistening, and the children are on the honor role. (In fact, sometimes it’s also easier to love ourselves when we look at our church face and not the one we carry with us wherever we go.)

Of course, this has nothing to do with churches, and everything to do with faces . . .  Yours, and mine . . . The real ones and the fake.

Just ask the gay man who remains locked in a closet that looks like a business suit because he comes from a respectable family and lives in a part of the world where he will be judged.

Ask the woman whose credit card was declined after six months of unemployment when she tried to buy a new pair of shoes for a dinner with a college friend.

Ask the child who got a D on his social studies test when all his classmates were talking about how easy the test was.

Ask the priest who is well thought of everywhere in the community except his own home.

The “churches” come in all shapes and sizes, just like the faces we feel we need to wear. If there’s a hell, it’s wearing our “church faces” all day long. If there’s a heaven, it’s taking them off and showing the world who we truly are.

It seems we have a choice at to where we live our lives.

The power of a preposition.

On the anniversary of my choosing to live a sober life, I attended a 12 Step meeting and asked people to discuss what it’s like to “trudge the road to happy destiny.” This familiar line from the Big Book of AA has always been a favorite, but it was pointed out that it is not the road to happy destiny, but the road of happy destiny.  Suddenly I had to rethink this favorite line. The change in preposition changed the very nature of recovery  . . . and faith.

When I first came into the rooms of AA, I have to confess I focused on what I would get out of not drinking: Think of all the sugar and calories I'll save, surely I'll be thin! Think how much healthier I’ll be! Think about all the money I’ll save! As wonderful as it all would be, none of it has come true in 9 ½ years.

Measuring recovery in such ways is misleading. I now know I was thinking of the journey as one to some place . . . to fitness, to health, to financial security. The changing of the preposition, however, reminds me that recovery itself is the happy destiny. Regardless of what has or has not changed in my life, the life I now lead is the gift itself. Yes, there are days when the trudging is all I see, but other times it's the happy destiny surrounding me.

I have often made the same mistake thinking of the life of faith. Like many, I sometimes focus only on the future, thinking of faith as a road leading to a happy destiny beyond, or mistakenly think the life of faith will spare me from life’s trudging. At such times, I need to remember the power of a preposition. The life of faith is the gift, that happy destiny is here and now, just as it will be known fully one day.

It all comes down to the preposition.

Open Sesame!

As I approached the store, I wondered if the doors would open. It seems the days of handles are all but gone, and the sliding glass doors that often greet me make me want to wave my arms and offer the command: “Open sesame!”

I find it hard to trust the doors. Some open quickly, others take their time, and I am left to figure out which kind is in front of me. Sometimes, I approach tentatively, tapping the ground in front to see if I can trigger the doors. Other times, my confident gate causes me to smash my face against the glass. There are also times I have to scurry to enter the rapidly opening doors before they close.

Such doors resemble my life of faith. For me, faith is a journey, about feeling a call to do this or that, heading here or there. The problem is, the way is never certain (for me anyway), and I’m left wondering if the doors will open. Sometimes I tap my foot to see if I can get the doors to open, other times I walk too quickly and smash my face against God’s timing. There have even been times when the doors have opened before I’ve arrived leaving me pick up my pace to make it.

I suppose, like so many things, such spiritual travel requires balance - trusting the doors, walking with purpose, but not too quickly.  Balance, however, has never been my strength. Today, I am just grateful that the sliding doors surround us, and pray we have the courage to approach, and the pace to enter safely. There’s new life on the other side. Open sesame!