The Garden and the Walk

If you went to High School in the Houston area, and you were in band, you might recall there were a few kids who left, and you never saw them again. No, not the stoners. I mean the kids who went to HSPVA, the Houston School for the Performing and Visual Arts.

Think about the division in that title. Two kinds of arts, visual and performing.

When I was young, I liked reading the philosopher Mortimer Adler. I remember that he wrote about a Good Life. He said the good life was not like a painting or a sculpture, which you could finish and walk around it look at it and handle it, which exists apart from the artist. Rather, the good life was more like a song or dance, which has no existence apart from the performance, but is experienced live and once it is done it is remembered (and anticipated again, I might add).

I was reading some Jacques Ellul the other day, and he made an observation about the Sabbath. Not the usual kind of observation about man's rest, but an observation about God's rest. He mused that human history has been unfolding in the seventh day, after God called his creation Good and is resting. That, in itself, is an interesting topic for another time. But Ellul's comments turned my thoughts to the different aspects of God's creation.

He created for Adam and Eve a garden. But in addition to that He apparently created for them a walk in the cool of the evening. Creation was both a visual and performance piece, both a garden and a walk. The walk must have been at least as significant as all the stars and animals. God not only appointed for us a great place with all its furnishings, but also appointed a continuing conversation with us. We became estranged from both aspects of His providence, the visual and the performing, the static and the dynamic.

We stepped off of Eden's dance floor, but first we missed our steps in the Dance. We stepped out of Eden's concert hall, but first we lost the tempo and key of the Song.

Maybe this is a little bit of what it means when Jesus tells the woman at the well.

"Believe me, a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem (the visual, the static, the stage). You Samaritans worship what you do not know; we worship what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews. Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit and in truth (the performing, the dynamic, the dance), for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in the Spirit and in truth."

The King of Fruits

If you know me, you know that I love the durian smoothie, especially with chocolate or coffe blended in. Here is a description of durian as found on Wikipedia:

Widely known and revered in southeast Asia as the "king of fruits", the durian is distinctive for its large size, unique odour, and formidable thorn-covered husk. The fruit can grow as large as 30 centimetres (12 in) long and 15 centimetres (6 in) in diameter, and it typically weighs one to three kilograms (2 to 7 lb). Its shape ranges from oblong to round, the colour of its husk green to brown, and its flesh pale yellow to red, depending on the species.

The edible flesh emits a distinctive odor, strong and penetrating even when the husk is intact. Some people regard the durian as fragrant; others find the aroma overpowering and offensive. The smell evokes reactions from deep appreciation to intense disgust, and has been described variously as almonds, rotten onions, turpentine and gym socks. The odour has led to the fruit's banishment from certain hotels and public transportation in southeast Asia.

The five cells are silky-white within, and are filled with a mass of firm, cream-coloured pulp, containing about three seeds each. This pulp is the edible part, and its consistence and flavour are indescribable. A rich custard highly flavoured with almonds gives the best general idea of it, but there are occasional wafts of flavour that call to mind cream-cheese, onion-sauce, sherry-wine, and other incongruous dishes. Then there is a rich glutinous smoothness in the pulp which nothing else possesses, but which adds to its delicacy. It is neither acid nor sweet nor juicy; yet it wants neither of these qualities, for it is in itself perfect. It produces no nausea or other bad effect, and the more you eat of it the less you feel inclined to stop.

In a previous blog post, I called you pointless. Now I am calling you the King of Fruits, right? Do I also mean to say that you are hard, prickly and smelly? That's not what I'm getting at. Not necessarily, anyway.

I mean to say that you are an acquired taste.

I remember hearing and reading about durian, and noticed that the local asian tea houses carried durian smoothies. How could a fruit be so loved and so hated? How could something disgusting be called the king of fruits?

I was determined to see what the durian lovers saw.

The first durian smoothie was an adjustment. Immediately the smell slaps you through the straw. If you encountered this smell in your house, you'd head straight to the kitchen trash can to see if someone was derelict in their chores. And then there was the taste. It was like onion vanilla pudding.

It is said you have to try any new food several times. This is true. After four tries I acquired an addiction. Now I can tell when a durian smoothie is proper by the strength of the stench. The interesting thing is that once you start drinking, the smell goes away. I mean, it goes away for the drinker, but bystanders are still scandalized. My wife knows that if I order a durian smoothie, she can take a swig to inoculate herself. But my youngest girl refuses to partake, so she must endure my company with her shirt over her face.

The brothers and sisters are also an acquired taste, especially in an open house church.

Maybe you visited a particular organic gathering for the first time, but you left baffled or turned off. Maybe the people seemed weird, maybe the vocabulary was opaque, maybe the potluck was odd, maybe the format seemed too random or else too rigid. Maybe you never went back.

It's a shame that you didn't give it four tries. It's a shame that you didn't jump right in and take a sip to inoculate yourself from the first whiff. The odd brother might not seem so odd once you know him. That vocabulary might not seem so foreign after some conversation. After some repetition, the format might not seem as random or as rigid. Furthermore, you will never know how your ongoing participation might have changed the experience for everyone.

The potluck is the parable of the open meeting. You guys make some strange stuff at home. But I want to see what you see in your family recipes. I need my palette expanded. I need to get the nutrients that aren't found in my ordinary diet. I need to know that there is a wide world outside my door, where different does not equal bad.

I need to get past first impressions and see what your spouse sees in you. I want to discover the depth and nuance of Christ's work in you so far. I need more than a taste, I need something to chew on, something to stick to my ribs and help me grow.

I need to acquire a taste for your fellowship.