But doesn't God live at CHURCH?

I've been reading Carl Jung's essay "Achetypes of the Collective Unconscious," which has got me thinking: do we keep the "Divine" in church (where it can be properly revered, censed and what have you) or do we welcome it in to the rest of our lives (where it can see that we pick our nose and how long it takes us to go to the bathroom)? The question is simply to we pray best when in front of the altar or while on the throne?

I don't really know. I struggle with both, actually. But maybe because I grew up Protestant, it is easier for me to see my failure to comply with bringing God everywhere than with properly observing his divinity while at church (again, though, not great at either).

Why the point about being a Protestant? We were the image breakers, after all, the iconoclasts, who would have no mere objects of wood, dye or metal to which we would bow or pray. Instead, we'd rather go to church all the time. Two times on Sunday, then small-groups on Monday, Bible study on Wednesday, revival Friday night (at which you re-dedicate your life) and Saturday drama practice or Men's Group. You think I'm joking? I am not.

Instead of integrating our faith into the rest of our life, we simply made faith (and a very particularized expression of it) into our lives.

I recall a neighbor who lived on the first floor of the apartment I rented while in college. Every time I left out the side door, I would go past her front door and could hear her singing loudly to praise music that was coming (loudly) from the radio or TV. Then, I would find her little boy outside, either bored or hungry, and usually just hanging around on the stoop.

OK, extreme example. But it seemed to me that she wanted to be in church so bad that she neglected all else.

I've never been like that. I'll leave church all pumped up, excited to read some more of the Bible, which I started doing either because of the sermon or despite it. I'll get home, have lunch, yell at the kids, play with the kids, do some work, clean up my office, and that unstruck iron of my religious fervor is cold to the touch. It is replaced by a sense of guilt that hangs around and gets progressively stronger until it, like a turkey timer, is about to pop on Sunday morning (We have GOT to go to church "for the kids' sake"). By the time the sermon is over, my guilt has been replaced by zeal. I'm on fire again. And so it goes.

Still, I never wanted to be one of those people that said "Praise the Lord" instead of "that's great" upon hearing about the Bears going into the SuperBowl or that Whole Foods had that feta we liked in stock. It also sounded a little fakey, a little too churched for my taste.

But who am I? No one's making me say things. Yes, but I felt bad not saying that as well.

Or "Good luck?" What a can of worms. See, Christians don't believe in luck because all things are ordained by God, not by chance. So, don't ever say "good luck" to someone, say "God bless you," just like George Bush: "God Bless America." And, you can't be lucky or unlucky for the same reason. So . . . we are blessed to have enough money for Thai tonight or we are not blessed and so must put it on the credit card. That doesn't really fit with orthodoxy, either. You see the dilemma.

more on this . . .