hall of mirrors

Self portrait at the the Yayoi Kusama exhibit at the Fondation Beyeler in Basel (see "art!", below)

So yes, my most favored and only sibling was here for a rare visit and we did cool Swiss things (yodeling! churches! thermal baths! art! more yodeling!) and it was fabulous and also a bit exhausting, as these things tend to be, and his visit was far too short and I am sad that he's gone.

But also I'm away this week (all of [checks Google Maps] 15 miles from home, but still, away) at Hebrew Study Week, the result of certain deluded visions I had of having so much free time this year that I would be able to get a head start on the languages required for my as-yet-theoretical theology studies. The free time hasn't materialized. But I'd signed up, so here I am. Hebrew aside, I'm hoping that the German immersion will help with my psychological assessment next week. 

On which topic...once upon a time, long long ago, Daniel and I were jumping through the required marriage preparation hoops at church. We'd been asked to separately fill out questionnaires about common causes of domestic disputes: money, politics, having children and so on. And we were sitting with an older couple from the parish in Davis whose job it was to analyze our responses and conduct a premarital counseling session accordingly. Presumably the idea was to make sure that couples didn't rush into marriage without taking a breath and considering whether their values were aligned, which makes a lot of sense, but that wasn't a problem we had. In fact, in several areas our values were aligned just fine with each other's, but not with this couple's. So the session was awkward. We'd both said that we wanted to keep separate bank accounts, and were dutifully informed that having a joint account was critical to a healthy marriage. We'd both said that infidelity wasn't automatically the end of a marriage, and that was the right answer, but we had to listen to a lecture about marital repair anyway. And then we got to religion. "Susannah, you seem to be quite religious, and say that faith is a part of your life." Yes... "But Daniel, you...don't." Uh huh... "Is this a point of conflict in your relationship?" No... They seemed taken aback. "But Daniel, what is it about the church that you don't agree with?"

Put on the spot, my dear now-husband-of-20+-years couldn't quickly come up with a coherent answer.

"I don't believe in...um...uh...Jesus."

Stunned silence. For a brief moment I was afraid one or both of these kindly souls were going to keel over right there on the spot. Or that I might explode from the urge to inappropriately giggle at the absurdity of it all. But we all recovered. They very sincerely shared the joy of their own faith with Daniel. Would he maybe consider coming to church with me sometime? We left on good terms, the premarital counselors presumably leaving my godless fiancé's soul in God's (and my?) capable hands. All in a day's work...

This is all to say that 23 years later, as I spiritually exercise daily and imagine I want to start studying theology for reals next year, I'm not sure I believe in Jesus either. 

I mean, Jesus the historical person, sure. Jesus the seed of the Christian religion, also yes - although I'm more into Christianity being a collective movement rather than the creation of a male God and his only Son and his son's male posse. But I digress. Jesus/Christ as the archetype of Salvation or Love or...I haven't quite figured this one out yet but here also, yes. The Jesus I struggle with is the mystical companion Madeleine Delbrêl and those marriage counselors and believed in so fervently. The one without whom you are Not Saved.

At midday prayer here they sing the Christmas song Weil Gott in tiefster Nacht erschienen (Because God appeared in the deepest night), of which two of the verses are:

Bist du der eignen Rätsel müd? Es kommt, der alles kennt und sieht!
Are you tired of your own riddles? The one who knows and sees everything is coming!

Er sieht dein Leben unverhüllt, zeigt dir zugleich dein neues Bild.
He sees your life - nothing is hidden from him - and shows you your new image.

I am indeed so, so tired of my own riddles. But is my eternal salvation dependent on my experience of a perfect imaginary friend with a specific magic name? I hope not, 'cause I just can't get there. And I don't think anyone could accuse me of not trying.

Of course, "trying" won't work in this case. Faith is a gift. 

I just wish people who have been given this gift could be a little gentler with those of us who haven't?

And if I haven't, what business do I have even thinking I might become a minister?

Though on the other hand, maybe I'd be a gentler one?