Life As Performance Art 2

I have been sometimes accused of taking God too seriously. The first time I heard those words was from my father's live-in girlfriend. I was seventeen, it was November, 1974, and I had been kicked out of home by my father just a month earlier. I moved to Vancouver where I lived in the booming metropolis of Duncan with my mother and her live-in boyfriend. I was in Vancouver for the weekend, staying with friends in Vancouver. I phoned my father about visiting. I was invited, I think reluctantly, for dinner. I was upset, and said that I felt unfairly treated by the way he kicked me out. He got angry and upset and started screaming at me about throwing it in his face. As I was leaving, his girlfriend could think of nothing else to say but that I take God too seriously. I replied that I didn't really know what that had to do with anything. We did agree on a kind of unspoken truce, and I do recall being there for Christmas, even staying a couple of nights, though it was hardly what I would call a heart-warming reconciliation, just a matter of not bringing up anything that would upset poor old dad, which is to say, to not speak the truth in his presence (he was an alcoholic, you know). Following the November fiasco, I visited a friend, and when I told her about my father's girlfriend's advice about not taking God seriously, she just spat out, "How else are we supposed to take him!" There are many different ways of understanding this statement. I think this is because there are many different ways of expressing and being a Christian. There are those who are so solemn and sombre about their faith that they are sometimes privately mocked as walking religious caricatures. I have been like that in the past. My take on it is that there is a process of spiritual maturation, in which we learn to balance things with our faith in God. It takes a while to get there, and it is usually a long, painful and often humiliating process getting there. I think that what really happens is that we grow into an experience of the living God, and that this becomes our fulcrum, our axis and our starting point. The reality of our faith becomes so internalized, that without even thinking of it or being aware, it begins to influence and inform many of our actions and attitudes and perspectives. God becomes always there, and always present to us, and so we don't have to posture or pose about what we believe. It is as real, and even more real, than the air that we breathe. This is really for me a huge relief. I already know that God is always present with me, and this helps me relax and be comfortable (though not complacent). It also introduces a lighter sense of what it is to be a Christian in a world that is hostile to this faith, and it really helps one nurture and develop a sense of humour. Humour, especially when it becomes part of your personal foundation, can open you in many ways, and chiefly for me, this has helped me take things with more joy, and really a sense of delight and laughter. This isn't always present, and neither would it be appropriate in every context, but it sure helps me get through the day.