Blogging Through the Seasons

In our hurried modern life, we tend to think of a meal as a time to refuel. We try to get sufficient nourishment to get to the next pit stop, without overdoing it too much. If we get to share the meal with a friend or family, we appreciate their company, but the food takes priority. Not so in ancient times, or even in modern times for many cultures around the world, where the companionship takes first priority and nourishment is a side benefit. Even our language reflects that social aspect: the words “company” and “companion” derive from the Latin com (with) and panis (bread).

Losing keys, for our author, is an experience of apocalyptic proportions. Yes, in an earth-shattering sense—her States of Searching for Lost Objets will be all to familiar to most of us. But she also means apocalyptic in its literal sense: an unveiling or uncovering.

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.