The Rapids
When I applied to Calvin, one thing just about every admissions counselor and tour guide and upperclassman told me was that it'd be easy to get to church, and the way that they said it made it seem like it'd be more than ludicrous to worry. I'm not blaming anyone for anything, because I'm... picky, I suppose, but it didn't work that way for me.
I am sitting in the middle of a completely empty mall after the second week I've tried to get downtown for church. I asked three different people for advice on how to read the freaking signs and sat at two different stops for half an hour after the busses were supposed to come and saw no single bus go by. Then I get up and start walking, and in the ten minutes it takes me to walk down the street, not one, but two busses pass me on their way downtown. Seriously? I'm pretty sure they could tell I was a freshman, because this isn't supposed to happen to people.
Remember when I said the mall was empty? I am also pretty sure Western Michigan is a theocracy, because like I mentioned in a Facebook post a few weeks ago, this place looks like there's been some type of evacuation or bombing on Sunday mornings. It actually really freaks me out that the entire society is religious enough that absolutely NOTHING goes on here on Sundays. Actually, I lie. Where I'm sitting in this ghost town mall, there is an elderly lady doing laps with a couple canes in workout clothes, seeming as though she'd tried to find the emptiest and quietest place she could practice walking.
I've heard so many lovely faith stories from my new friends the past few weeks. Everything seems to work out just like it's supposed to for other people: the love of Jesus fills their hearts and they get plugged into a great church and build this amazing fellowship in which they feel like they belong and have heritage and can grow. But I always seem to be the one that gets up three hours before church starts, obsess-stalks the place I'm going online to make sure it's the right place to visit, does tons of research beforehand to make absolutely sure I'm going to the right place at the right time, walks to the stop alone, and then... misses the bus that drives past me five minutes later. Metaphorically speaking.
I went to camp as a kid. I decided to play on their ground, I believed as deeply as I was capable of. I immersed myself in inquiry. I went on service trips. I read my Bible, I prayed without ceasing. I was in two worship bands and paid attention during Bible classes and sermons. I applied my faith to everything I could think to. I asked my teachers about stuff I couldn't understand or didn't agree with. I trusted that there would be answers. I trusted that something would work.
My faith has not produced any kind of heritage; it has produced an anti-heritage. It takes mental exercise to bring myself to enter a church service without biases and prejudices, and even when I've succeeded, the biases and prejudices I've finally excised from my vision are reconfirmed by what I experience in the service itself. I am scared of reading the Bible, but I read it occasionally anyways. I've read pretty much the whole New Testament and large chunks of the Old Testament, but I have no one ask questions, and huge chunks of it does little but remind me of ways people have used the words to justify their exclusion and moral superiority.
My faith has not really produced community. I love the people I've met in my church and at my Christian schools, and I have lots of great Christian friends to talk with about the concept of faith, but even so, it's been a long time since I've found substantial and uplifting religious community with anyone.
I have had several conversations over the past few weeks that have had the effect of giving me a taste of exactly how freaking privileged I am. How many ways my life could have been a million times shittier than it has been. How my faith might have had a harder time finding its place. I have a comfortable bed and chocolate and tea; I eat good meals and am surrounded by cool and interesting people; I have had access to what has effectively been 5 years of Christian liberal arts college; I've had gazillions of Christian friends; I have had times in the past where I literally could not think of anything in my life that could be better. And even here, even in the midst of all this outrageous privilege, I am powerless. Even having been given almost everything I could wish for, there seem to be huge holes in the fabric of reality. Is there no peace? Is peace really what we're looking for? Will times ever be as good as they used to be? What does it mean to optimize the quality of a life? What does it mean to be satisfied? Where are all the other people that keep missing the bus?
I am sitting in the middle of a completely empty mall after the second week I've tried to get downtown for church. I asked three different people for advice on how to read the freaking signs and sat at two different stops for half an hour after the busses were supposed to come and saw no single bus go by. Then I get up and start walking, and in the ten minutes it takes me to walk down the street, not one, but two busses pass me on their way downtown. Seriously? I'm pretty sure they could tell I was a freshman, because this isn't supposed to happen to people.
Remember when I said the mall was empty? I am also pretty sure Western Michigan is a theocracy, because like I mentioned in a Facebook post a few weeks ago, this place looks like there's been some type of evacuation or bombing on Sunday mornings. It actually really freaks me out that the entire society is religious enough that absolutely NOTHING goes on here on Sundays. Actually, I lie. Where I'm sitting in this ghost town mall, there is an elderly lady doing laps with a couple canes in workout clothes, seeming as though she'd tried to find the emptiest and quietest place she could practice walking.
I've heard so many lovely faith stories from my new friends the past few weeks. Everything seems to work out just like it's supposed to for other people: the love of Jesus fills their hearts and they get plugged into a great church and build this amazing fellowship in which they feel like they belong and have heritage and can grow. But I always seem to be the one that gets up three hours before church starts, obsess-stalks the place I'm going online to make sure it's the right place to visit, does tons of research beforehand to make absolutely sure I'm going to the right place at the right time, walks to the stop alone, and then... misses the bus that drives past me five minutes later. Metaphorically speaking.
I went to camp as a kid. I decided to play on their ground, I believed as deeply as I was capable of. I immersed myself in inquiry. I went on service trips. I read my Bible, I prayed without ceasing. I was in two worship bands and paid attention during Bible classes and sermons. I applied my faith to everything I could think to. I asked my teachers about stuff I couldn't understand or didn't agree with. I trusted that there would be answers. I trusted that something would work.
My faith has not produced any kind of heritage; it has produced an anti-heritage. It takes mental exercise to bring myself to enter a church service without biases and prejudices, and even when I've succeeded, the biases and prejudices I've finally excised from my vision are reconfirmed by what I experience in the service itself. I am scared of reading the Bible, but I read it occasionally anyways. I've read pretty much the whole New Testament and large chunks of the Old Testament, but I have no one ask questions, and huge chunks of it does little but remind me of ways people have used the words to justify their exclusion and moral superiority.
My faith has not really produced community. I love the people I've met in my church and at my Christian schools, and I have lots of great Christian friends to talk with about the concept of faith, but even so, it's been a long time since I've found substantial and uplifting religious community with anyone.
I have had several conversations over the past few weeks that have had the effect of giving me a taste of exactly how freaking privileged I am. How many ways my life could have been a million times shittier than it has been. How my faith might have had a harder time finding its place. I have a comfortable bed and chocolate and tea; I eat good meals and am surrounded by cool and interesting people; I have had access to what has effectively been 5 years of Christian liberal arts college; I've had gazillions of Christian friends; I have had times in the past where I literally could not think of anything in my life that could be better. And even here, even in the midst of all this outrageous privilege, I am powerless. Even having been given almost everything I could wish for, there seem to be huge holes in the fabric of reality. Is there no peace? Is peace really what we're looking for? Will times ever be as good as they used to be? What does it mean to optimize the quality of a life? What does it mean to be satisfied? Where are all the other people that keep missing the bus?
Church just got out and the mall is filling up. I think I'm going to go buy a big cup of coffee and walk home.
Where are all the other people who keep missing the bus? I suspect that there's one or two others even at Calvin itself.
ReplyDelete