Tuesday, August 31, 2010

My New Chair


It was an embarrassment, according to the session; my old chair. Even my mother conferred privately at the state of it. It sat here when I arrived seven years ago in all its black faux-leather glory. It was quite cozy. However, the armrest was tattered and spilling its spongy innards. Years of sitting compressed the stuffing so that it afforded an intimate connection with the metal strut supporting the seat. There was no question: lest I start buying stock in Preparation-H or driving my guests to squeaky insanity , it was time for the chair to go.

Excitedly, I strode through the front-door of "major office supply chain" and strode to the furniture section. I made a to-do of sitting in all kinds of chairs. I thought it would be something like dating: I would know which one was "the one" the moment our bodies were entwined. Unlike dating, however, I went from one to the next, all in the name of discovering my next ministry partner.

Memory-foam: check. Black leather: check. Lumbar support: check. Imposing visage that says "I'm god of the corporation": check. This was the one that came to the office with me. (see picture above)

Having unceremoniously shoved the old wreck out the door, I wrestled the large box into the study and set to work, like a kid at Christmas putting together the coolest toy he's ever seen. I even relished that "I'm a man and know how to put together complicated machinery" feeling (it required the twisting of 12 hex-screws!) and it was finished: my new chair was assembled, inviting me to enjoy.

But it wasn't the blissful derrière nirvana I had anticipated. But there was a sizable nick in one of the armrest supports. The black padding on another arm had a careless dab of silver paint. As I landed for the first time, it didn't feel quite like it did at the store; firmer and less welcoming. The seat didn't lower to accommodate my stubby legs as much as I thought nor did it seem as limber to my fidgeting. Sure, it's nice but it's covered in "different." To my surprise, I found myself missing the shabby familiarity of my old chair.

The tension between old and new is timeless. The old has a costly familiarity and the new, a foreign and irritating scratchiness (like falling in love with a pair of jeans in the store but then having them not fit the same at home). We know what to expect with the old and love knowing it, even if it's hemorrhoids. We don't like not knowing what's going to happen when faced with something new, especially if it promised to be so shiny and revolutionary at first. The questions that accompany the new are not comfortable, wondering whether it will ever get broken-in to our life, molding itself beneficially into place (like a new pair of boots), or whether it will be an irritating regret that we'll have to learn to live with.

And yet this is the place Christians are called to live: the tension between the comfortable old and the challenging new. Paul talks about removing our old ways and clothing ourselves in Christ. But it is a faithful place to be. We've been made to feel that faithfulness comes only with certainty. But it takes greater faith to trust in the midst of uncertainty and instability, believing that somehow all will come to its right conclusion.

The new chair is going to take some getting used to. But while the other chair might have been comfortably familiar, I know it is a healthier option to have a chair that will help me sit straighter and cushion the tush. And the adjustment will be worth it.