Kitsch and Make Up

Once in my adolescent angst I got into a heated argument with my mother. I wasn't sure I was right, but I knew I could win. My father stepped in and told me to stop arguing. Neither mother nor I could resist discovering who would win so we started up again. To my surprise, my father took up the argument and gradually backed me up to the door which he opened and graciously pushed me through. "You may re-enter my house when you are willing to respect your mother and obey me." Then he gently shut the door and walked away. I have terrific parents so it didn't take me long to return contrite. Dad beamed and welcomed me in, then took me to my anxious mother and said "Now, kiss and make up."

I've been reflecting on that moment recently. I'm on the outs with church. I had an ugly disagreement with the one I was attending and as I cannot be reconciled with them I've been making the rounds of the rest. I am greatly discouraged. Everywhere I go I find the church filled with meaningless kitsch. Brand name Bible studies, the "right" music, programs and pamphlets galore, all of it is depressingly empty of meaning. It amounts to either window dressing or the spiritual version of masturbation. Only occasionally do I catch a glimpse of the real thing, but even in those churches much is done for a show of spirituality instead of simply waiting for the real thing.

The best church I've spent time in during this journey had a leaky roof. Leaks happen. Repairs are needed. They began a fundraising campaign complete with sanctuary decor, color brochures, comic books and church-shaped piggy banks. Every member was challenged with their responsibility for this practical need. There's nothing surprising about that, we are responsible for the material needs of the church. What did surprise me was the complete amnesia the church experienced concerning our dependance on God. Granted, this was a giant church filled with wealthy people, several of whom could have solved the problem with a single check, but even then the church must depend on God. I did not hear a single prayer requesting God's provision. No sermon I heard included an injunction to pray for the needed funds. None of the printed materials encouraged us to ask God to meet the need, though the comic book did make a reference to the pastor's super powers. The only place you could find the words "In God we trust" was on the money in the piggy banks. All the faith in that church was cosmetic, when faced with a real need the treasury was empty.

The church is symbolized as a woman in the Bible. To me, the picture implies comfort and nurture. We come to church expecting comfort and nurture, healing for the scrapes and bruises of life. Instead of finding a woman to comfort us, more and more there is only a heterosexual transvestite with all the wrong parts and only one thing on his mind. I won't go home to that. I won't kitsch and make up.