On Religion and Dentistry
Sometimes I think Christians are in love with feeling like shit.
I guess it's a little schizophrenic. On the one hand they, like all of us, are allergic to any sort of real suffering. But on the other hand, they're fascinated to an almost obsessive degree with how wretched and sinful they are, and how many self-improvement boxes still need to be checked. That is, assuming they're not afflicted with the reverse emotion, that of spiritual pride. But being in touch with your own suckitude can also be a source of spiritual pride. It's a race to see who can be the most repentant. Let us go on cataloguing sin so that grace may increase.
I've been on the receiving end of all this more times than I'd care to recount. And I don't say that in an "oh, poor me" sort of way. This is not a bid for sympathy, nor a fishing expedition for reassurance. Most of the time, people are probably right in what they say and I could remove myself from the situation but I don't. I get what I ask for, and so no one should feel bad for me. About 30% of me is galled beyond belief that my good qualities (surely I must have some, lol) and my efforts go apparently unnoticed. About 70% of me knows they're right, though I'd prefer to be relieved of the excess guilt that comes with that realization.
I guess what I'm saying is that, for all the talk about Christian joy, I know a lot more sad-sack Christians than I know joyful ones. And most of the time, Christian joy seems to be something akin to my experience with dental fillings.
The nerves in my jaw display an almost incomprehensible resistance to novocaine. A shot doesn't numb my nerves so much as it dulls them. Fortunately, I've also been blessed with an extremely high pain tolerance. So most of my time in the dentist chair is spent telling myself that it doesn't really hurt all that much, because if I stop to think about it, I'll wind up having to stop the procedure entirely. And the only thing worse than being drilled on in this state is getting five more shots of novocaine, waiting and waiting and waiting, and then finding that the experience is only improved by a tiny margin (which is what happened the one time I had a really deep cavity and I had to stop them because that stupid air thing felt like it was blowing sub-zero air directly into my tooth). This tendency must be genetic. My dentist always tells me that I'm so unlike my mom, who is a "great numb-er." In reality, my mom just has an even higher pain tolerance than I do.
Christian joy seems to be the process of digging your nails into your hands and convincing yourself that this whole thing doesn't suck as entirely as it seems, or at least that it sucks marginally less than all the more painful alternatives. Christian joy usually doesn't seem to be joy for its own sake. It seems to be relative joy.
Churchill once said that democracy is the worst form of government, except for all the other ones. I've often applied that logic to religion. Christianity is the worst form of religion, except for all the other ones. Most of the time when I've said that, I say it with some degree of self-awareness. It is an acknowledgment of all the faults of Christianity (at least as it is practiced today), but also the realization that Christianity is perfectly imperfect. And that realization is a place of some peace, as odd as that sounds.
But other times, it's a depressing realization of how low our standards must have sunk, to be satisfied with nothing more than fanciful exercises in visualization when the reality is an endless painful whirring, caused by my own inability to deal with the suck (and yes, I've flogged this metaphor to death now...thank you for your indulgence).
Time and time and time again, I've returned to the idea of how one can possibly form a functional human existence while holding that most of the basic truths about life are built on a foundation of how much you suck. Emailing a friend recently, I explained my relationship with Christianity like this:
"The whole idea of God and all that fascinates me. It intrigues me. It absorbs me like nothing else does. I do believe it's true. But it doesn't bring me a whole lot of joy these days, or really ever."
This rant is probably not rational. I'm not making any claims that it is. I also realize that this is probably one of those rants I'm going to be tempted to take down in a few minutes, just because it feels too raw and I know that, by posting this, I open myself up to comments about how ill-informed my perception is. In other words, I open myself up to more comments about how much I suck.
Ain't no gettin' out of this trap, I suppose.
meegs
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Reader Comments (3)
The bit where you said: "The whole idea of God and all that fascinates me. It intrigues me. It absorbs me like nothing else does. I do believe it's true. But it doesn't bring me a whole lot of joy these days, or really ever."
Maybe this is a little example of what Jesus said to Thomas about blessed are those who believe without seeing. Maybe we just believe because we know it's true and not because we "get joy" or "get forgiveness" or "ge perfect." Maybe it's not about our saying to God, "OK I'll believe if you give me joy/forgiveness/perfection. I don't believe the sky is blue because it makes me happy, I believe it because it's true. (OK bad analogy I know. I can see with my eyes that it's blue...I couldn't find another example. But I think you catch what I'm saying.)
Maaaaayyyybe.
I'm in a much better frame of mind now than I was when I wrote this original post, so I hate to keep whinging on like some sort of adolescent. But here goes...
I probably wouldn't say I believe because I know these things are true. I would say I believe because I believe that these things are true, well aware of the self-justifying trap I may just be walking into. This is partly because my epistemological convictions dictate that pure knowledge is impossible for finite beings, and it may in fact NEVER be proper to speak of "knowing" something. This is also because I feel the need to be honest about my own deep-seated doubts.
Furthermore, I guess it goes back to the old "friends with benefits" entry I wrote back in the day. I think it's proper to avoid believing solely based on a "what am I getting out of this?" rationale. Believing for the outcome, as it were, instead of the process--when the outcome is not guaranteed (e.g., if I believe, I'll receive [insert blessing] or accomplish [insert virtuous deed], etc.). But does it then follow to say that we still believe when it seems to make no difference at all? When I wrote that entry, I believed that there has to be a middle ground and I think I still do.
Always a writer, I'm in love with the story. There's a complexity of plot, a depth of theme, and a richness of character to the whole Christian story that I doubt any human being could make up. It absorbs me, just as a good book absorbs its reader. But what happens when you put down the book and find that, compelling as the story is, it only seems to depress you in real life? I don't have a good analogy for that, and I won't even attempt one...so I'm a little behind you, I suppose.
Now we're getting into the whole faith and reason thing. You can know something by faith. If we understand that faith is a gift from God that builds upon our own natural reason. As I learned this summer, faith isn't suggesting that 2+2=5. It only makes 2+2=4 fuller and deeper and more true for us.
But that's all I got. And I'm afraid you're going to get depressed and ask why God hasn't gifted you with faith. Maybe your willingness to wrestle with truth and faith and doubt is the greater blessing for you. I dunno.