40 Days 2018

When I first read this sentence, the first thought that came to my mind was, “Girl, please, you have no idea.” Yup, that was bitter. In fact I felt so bitter that I decided not to continue reading. I made pre-conceived notions that this author (who appears to come from a privileged background and have at least “fair” health, as evidenced by her ability to have both a job and a family) would not understand people like me—that is, those of us who battle chronic pain and autoimmune illnesses everyday.  I was afraid that my hardships may be belittled unintentionally, or that, even worse, I may miss out on an uplifting message because I just wouldn’t be able to relate. But, I am happy to report, I was wrong.

“Having a body is a lot of work.” Yep, it’s right there on page 37, in case this is news to anyone. Just a body’s maintenance is a lot of work, to say nothing of those times when it doesn’t function the way we’ve grown to expect. It’s no wonder, then, that much religion and spirituality—strands of Christianity included—seek fulfillment apart from the inconveniences of having a body. Saving souls and purifying beliefs, for example, may seem attractive alternatives to the hard work of tending to bodies.

Upon reflection, I realized that at 6 a.m. my brain couldn’t process deep thoughts or concepts like ‘quotidian’ or ‘liturgy,’ not to mention any metaphors for the Christian walk. So, I decided to re-read the chapter, determined to find a way to achieve that ‘embodied liturgy’ Tish spoke about. Lo and behold, there was mention of something I completely glossed over my first time through, and ironically,  it had everything to do with what could be referred to as “liturgical prayer.”

The tragedy of legalism is that it’s a subtle-but-poisonous distortion of a truth. Our ordinary everyday habits _do_ matter, but _not_ in ways that define our worth, our acceptance, or our embrace by God—not in ways that undermine Grace. Too often, I think, our legalistic scars leave us understandably wary of letting “choices” and “habits” anywhere near our spirituality.

There’s another reason I like this book. In each chapter, the author points us to two different poles of faith and then attempts to connect them. One is the sacred truths embedded in the ordinary habits of an ordinary day. The other is a formal Christian practice, a part of traditional Christian faith. I suppose it’s a kind of “spiritual-and-religous” marriage, and that makes me happy.

In chapter 1, Tish pairs the daily experience of waking up in the morning with the Christian rite of baptism, the entry point to the communal life of faith for all Christians.

Tish’s day, like all of ours, starts with waking up. She, too, longs for more sleep.  She, too, has bleary eyes and bad breath. Actually, she says it better. (If you haven’t decided to read the book yet, maybe this will help.) “I wake slowly. Even when the day demands I rally quickly—when my kids leap on top of me with sharp elbows or my alarm blares—I lie still for the first few seconds of the day, stunned, orienting, thoughts dulled. . . .”