On A Lighter Note [guest]

After church the other day, while a few of us were standing around in the sanctuary trying to decide where to go for lunch, two friends whipped out their wallets to exchange some money. I teased them, saying, “Didn’t Jesus tell us not to change money here?” One guy found the joke mildly amusing and chuckled as he moved on. The other, however, told me that I had missed the mark with my interpretation of the biblical passage I was referring to and spent the next five minutes explaining the hermeneutically correct way to understand Jesus’ actions in the temple that day.

As a good Christian girl, I tried hard to listen intently. I made eye contact, nodded and looked pensive. After all, misinterpreting God’s word is a serious thing, and here was someone who earnestly wanted me to know what he knew. But, honestly, I didn’t catch most of what he said because this small voice in my head—that sounded, disturbingly, like Keanu Reeves—kept repeating, "Dude, lighten up."

We live in somber times, and we are all well aware of it, thanks to the news media. There are wars and rumors of wars, warnings of environmental catastrophe and economic collapse. Social injustice reigns supreme, people are hungry, families fall apart and, as the song goes, we are so fragile, and our cracking bones make noise, and we are just breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys. There are so many issues that need attention, all of them equally important. There are so many facts to learn, eyes to open and truths to comprehend.

Yes, this is a serious life—but I just can’t believe that an extra measure of gravitas will carry us on to victory. Sure, I could set my mouth in grim determination and soldier onward with the best of them through these dark days, but I am looking to transcend.

I’m looking to lighten up, to let Jesus’ grace wash over me with effervescence, a rush of tiny bubbles lifting me out of the depths. And I don’t mean grace as a profound and weighty concept, which it can be. I mean grace manifest in its lightest, most gossamer form: little birds hopping through piles of dead leaves, a smile shared among strangers, the scent of a freshly cut lemon.

When this kind of grace gets into your system, you can’t help but lighten up. It reminds me of a Volkswagen ad I saw on television a few weeks ago. A guy is driving his VW City Golf around and around in frustration, looking for a spot in a multi-level parkade. He finally reaches the rooftop, sees one spot open and puts on his left blinker. A woman in another car pulls up to the same spot, seconds too late. She looks defeated. But instead of claiming the spot that is rightfully his, the guy gets a funny look on his face, then relaxes, smiles and waves the woman in. The voice over calls it a “blatant act of road joy” because “when you get into a Volkswagen, it gets into you.” I call it marketing genius because, at that point, all I wanted was to buy a City Golf and be a kind and decent person.

It’s all about staying buoyant in the heaviness of life. Buoyancy lifts us outside of ourselves. VW guy, I’m sure, needed the parking spot as much as the woman did, and he certainly could’ve taken the spot with a clear conscience. But he chose to let it go and, in doing so, lightened his load a little. I mean, aren’t we all sick of being anchored to our giant sack of personal wants, needs and concerns? Wouldn’t it be nice to just let a few items fall out and not even turn to see where they’d floated off to?

So, this spring, I’ve asked God to help me lighten up, to help me commit blatant acts of joy, and to help me throw off that which hinders. It’s the right time, I think, as the snow finally melts and our thoughts turn to new life, the return of hope and the wild promise of a risen body.



Teresa Wong lives in Calgary, AB and works with words. She thanks God for spring.