Some experiences stick with us, whether we want them to or not. And sometimes this is good, because it allows us to learn lessons the first time around and relearn them the next time around. And every once in a while we learn a new lesson from an old experience, usually because the cook added a little ketchup to spice up that leftover meatloaf. And that is precisely what happened to me today.
My ketchup was Tozer. I am currently reading “The Pursuit of God” for my thinking book. My fun book of the moment is Christopher Stasheff’s “The Secular Wizard”, which flirts with thinking occasionally, but that is another rabbit trail for different hunt. Tozer was describing reality as a means of directing the reader toward the presence of the spiritual and our need to interact with it just as we do the physical. Now, granted he did preface this with reality-as-seen-by-a-lay-person disclaimer, which to me means more than any philosopher's attempt at clearing the water by dumping .3542 lbs of muddily strung-together words. His definition of reality was this:
"What do I mean by reality? I mean that which has existence apart from any idea any mind may have of it, and which would exist if there were no mind anywhere to entertain a thought of it. That which is real has being in itself. It does not depend upon the observer for its validity. [...] Faith creates nothing; it simply reckons that which is already there."
And here is where the meatloaf, to continue our leftover food metaphor, came in. The first thing I thought of was the Jain temple we visited in Old Delhi. This was the out-of-the-way-down-a-side-street one (which is saying quite a lot in Old Delhi), not the one with the bird hospital. On the first floor entrance, the check-in priest sat guard on a cot. We had to read a list of requirements, take our shoes off, strip of any leather (belts) or photography equipment and wash our hands. Up a narrow, steep staircase that had been crawled upon by so many sweaty feet the marble was slicker than a bald monkey's butt (and smelled just about as sweet), was a room about the size of a regular American apartment living room. The least decorated surface was the floor, with its understated white, red and black marble inlay. Enough shiny to cause a magpie to hyperventilate coated the walls, ceiling and pillars. The obligatory idol carved lotus style and dressed in silk was sheltered within an enclave at the end of the room. Along the length of the room, marble basins containing carved feet protruded from the wall at chin height, with a portrait of the god whose feet they were above them.
Before we forcefully shooed him away, a priest started in on a longwinded explanation of the ministrations that must be carried out each morning for the god's feet (the only part of the god they may touch). I will refrain from passing along the wind, short or long, except to say that it was extensive, tedious and absolutely ridiculous.
At the time I mused upon the difference between the idols who demanded the devout care for their feet and the Living God who offers refuge in His arms as a dove to her young (Ps 91:4). All praise be to the Lord from whom there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus and to whom we may approach with confidence to receive grace and mercy in time of need!
Now again, the temple was brought to my mind for another lesson. As I smelled the incense and witnessed the shloshing milk, I pitied the people enslaved to such lunacy and hated the demons who forged the chains. Now I see those laughable actions as even more than rituals to bind the soul. Could they also be attempts to reinforce a false reality?
Most, if not all, of the Hindu women we interviewed (and women who were previously Hindu) commented on the imperative to rise early and care for the gods before starting the day. Before any normal day activities occurred, the gods were washed, dressed and fed. Only then was the day ready to begin. Only after the gods had once again started caring for the mortal world could that world revolve again. One Christian woman, after describing her life as a Hindu, said that now her mornings felt free; she could sit in bed and pray before beginning her day.
Some might try to argue that this too is a form of making the world revolve again. And I would agree, but from a completely different direction from the Hindu. The Hindu’s morning rituals wake the gods, start them. I must admit I find it is completely understandable the regimen and fear driving these rituals. After all, what might happen to me if I forgot to get my god his morning coffee? Not only would he probably be cursing mad, he also would not be there when I need him.
But for the Christian, beginning the day with prayer in no way recreates or restarts God, but rather the opposite. We, as the created, are the ones in need of waking and starting the day “on the right foot.” So to seek to ground ourselves on the One in whom reality is found is both right and natural. He is still there; He always has been and always will be. I am the creature who requires that reminder.
So tomorrow, when I wake up in my bed that is still there, brush my teeth with the water that still comes out of the faucet and drink my coffee that still percolates from those odd little beans, I will pray and remember that God is still God and I am still His.
