Dinner thoughts

Katie called me to dinner with something on her mind, it was clear. Under the guise of the words "catching up" was a subtle hidden overlay of a deeper agenda-- she wanted to talk about something specific.

Not having talked to her one-on-one for a while, this intimate dinner was a warm welcome. We caught up on various aspects of our lives, brief gossip (if one calls it that), and other chitchat. And then she asked me this-- "So...why are you getting baptized?" And there it was, that one thing she had meant to talk about all along.

She continued: "Because it seems really random to me, especially with everything you had said at the beginning of the semester, about how you felt about church and stuff... So why are you doing this all of a sudden?" *sigh* It was a question that was not unexpected, though no one had really asked me about it. Everyone else just responded with "Oh? Okay" or "Congratulations" etc. Leave it to Katie to be the one to ask.

Then I had to explain myself. But it was a good question. Why am I getting baptized? What's the point? Jesus said we don't even need to be physically, literally cleansed with baptismal waters as long as we were baptized with the Holy Spirit in our faith and acceptance of Him. So what's the point? Why partake in this highly ceremonious ritual of a spectacle?

Hmm. I guess... I had been thinking of baptism for a while-- ever since Fall of last year. Should I do it? Not do it? Is it worth it? Is this what I want to do or am I just conforming to the standards?-- these were all questions that constantly ran through my mind on this subject. Fall '09 came and went, with little good emotional results, it seemed, so there went that opportunity. I was in Paris for five months, thereby missing the next chance at baptism. And of course, there was this past Fall-- what was my excuse for missing that month?

Bitterness. In this case, with Katie, I had to distinguish my bitterness at the church and its members between bitterness at God and his faithfulness. To me-- and hopefully, to everyone-- the two are mutually exclusive, although to some degree, related, I would imagine. However, the fact that I was highly discontent with Harvest and some of its more contentious practices being as it was, that did not mean that I faltered in my faith with God because of that. Well, I mean, not to a hideous degree. During that time, I began to realize the difference between the eternal kingdom of God and the mortally flawed institution of the church; and I came to accept that no matter how holy the church should be, it will never be completely as such, for it is made up of human beings who are, by nature, bound to make mistakes and be flawed. I may not always love the church, but my love for God remains nonetheless. And why shouldn't I want to tell the world? It's nothing shameful to speak of my beliefs-- if I can continually talk about how much I love chocolate and how it serves me well, then why not about God?

How fitting that this baptism will take place in spring. A time of renewal, rebirth, remembrance-- pretty symbolic for a religious rite of passage.

Beauty in sadness

We see the beauty in happy things-- but there is beauty in sadness, too. A photo essay by Yves Marchand and Romaine Meffre captures the haunting beauty in Detroit's demise, as featured in this Time article.

This is Detroit Central Station. I've often stared at it as I passed by it in train rides and car trips, wanting to photograph it. There was something so inexplicably attractive about this building-- the essence of a grandeur that no longer exists, the ever-standing reminder of a lost era.

We see the beautiful in happiness, which is why we tend to ignore the beauty that exists in sadness, as well. An aching, haunting, mesmerizing kind of beauty that captures our hearts and makes them long-- for what, we don't know. But the more we seek the sunny side of things, the more we eschew the darker aspects of life. The more we shun sadness, the less we notice of it. We care not for crumbling buildings and broken windows-- we want high towering buildings of shiny stainless steel and bold reflective windows; we do not gaze upon rusting metals of old desk chairs and falling fluorescent lights-- we always cry out for more comfortable cushioned chairs, gleaming white boards stretching across walls; we would not attend a tour of a Spanish Gothic theater, caving in on itself, built at the height of the twenties-- we would rather watch football games from the newly built skyboxes of plastic and metal, placing ourselves well above the rest of the world.

We do not care for sadness. We do not care for eras lost. We do not care for the impoverished, the helpless, the struggling. We turn our heads from obviously crumbling, unsustainable infrastructures, children without proper education, cities without safety and stability. And as we do this-- as we try so hard to ignore all that is wrong with the world-- all that we see to be ugly, all that we think can never be beautiful-- we ignore those who desperately need attention and help. We do not care for them. Because we would prefer to view the beautiful things in life.

But here it is: there is beauty in sadness. So look deeply, think carefully, and act-- because if this is what Detroit is like in its "ugliness", then imagine how it once was and could be again, in all of its beautiful splendor.

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Taken from Arts, Ink