Emergence Faith

One of my favorite things to do when I’m housesitting for someone happens on the first morning as I’m stumbling through their utterly unfamiliar home. No, I don’t rifle through their drawers, but after I’ve figured out how the heck their coffee maker works, I start my search. The search for a coffee mug.

Now I know where to find a coffee mug, of course. They are usually in a glass-front cabinet or display case of some kind, prominently featured and impeccably appointed. They are a part of a set of dishes, lined up and ready for service. But I’m not looking for the display mugs that get brought out for company– I’m looking for the real coffee mugs– the ones that folks actually use.

They are stained, chipped, and worn. Most usually ugly, but beloved, because they are such an integral part of a person’s daily routine. These are the mugs that have stood the test of time while inferior, less beloved mugs have been retired, replaced, or recycled at the thrift store. These are the real mugs.

They are usually tucked away behind some door somewhere, in a handy spot and usually close to where the coffee lives. Hidden partly out of shame because they are not beautiful, but rather beloved. They are valuable because of the history they share, or the stories they tell.

And even amongst this smaller collection of mugs there is a heirarchy of sorts. The mugs in the back are less used, generally kept around for sentimental reasons. Maybe they were an award of some kind. A memento of an accomplishment. A graduation gift. Something from the alma mater. But the ones in the very front, those are the cream of the crop. They are the most precious of the precious (the most valuable mugs might not even make it into the cabinet, simply resting on the counter all day and then once cleaned, all night, just waiting for that first pour in the morning).

My most beloved was one that reminded me of my Grandmother, a piece with delicate features and the familiar rosemalling so common in Scandinavian art. It said ‘Var sa god’, which is Swedish and apparently hard to translate, conventional wisdom suggesting it means something like ‘here you go’ or ‘there you are’, a very plainspoken gesture of hospitality. “Welcome,” it said, “and here you are.” The kind of greeting you give a friend who doesn’t need to be told where to sit, and doesn’t need to be offered cream or sugar, because they already know where to find it. This mug served for several years, until the handle broke off one too many times and I decided to stop playing ‘chicken’ with scalding hot coffee every morning.

I’ve got a few mugs that I wanted to make the cut, but just couldn’t. There’s an awesome mug a midwestern friend sent from a favorite home-supply store, with plain text declaring, “Menard’s.” But the rim is just too thick. A freebie from my favorite spice store was too blocky, and again had that thick rim on it. It went to the thrift store, where it disappeared quickly (I hope someone else can love it). There’s a tall ceramic job from the original Peet’s in Berkeley, but the coffee gets too cold too quick in such large measure.

I’ve been drug into the world of vintage Pyrex lately, cheered on by two conspiring friends. Thankfully the mugs are always less than a dollar so the stakes are pretty low. There was that one mug with vertical red stripes that my wife insisted were pink: it became a white elephant gift. And there’s a plain white one, but– you guessed it– the rim is just a few millimeters too thick (it’s better for afternoon tea). But wow, that ugly green/yellow/orange one with the pineapple shape and texture is a strong contender. Plus it reminds me of the mug that my father-in-law uses every morning, which reminds him of his own mother, who used it every morning before he did.

Here’s what I’ve learned: You don’t choose your mug; your mug chooses you. And often for reasons that are entirely unexpected.

Likewise, with our beliefs. We’d like to think that we surveyed the wide world of metaphysics, philosophy, and religion, carefully considered the options, and selected the very best one. But the truth is that we somehow found ourselves one day– and in often in spite of our earnest efforts– just believing some stuff. Or maybe we did do some searching, but mostly that moved aside some bad stuff until we eventually uncovered some essential elements that just worked.

Moreover, that’s how we continue in this journey as well. Life happens to us, and our beliefs shift right with it. Oh, sure, we like to tell ourselves that we are stalwart, deep-keeled ships in a stormy sea, or a lighthouse firmly grounded and providing direction for everyone else, but the truth is we come to our beliefs like an ant finds food: randomly, and mostly by chance. We find something that works until it no longer works, whereupon we shift and tweak things until we can live with ourselves. And then we do it again.  And this is a very good thing, indeed.

Go to the ant, you lazy person;
observe its ways and grow wise.
The ant has no commander, officer, or ruler.
Even so, it gets its food in summer;
gathers its provisions at harvest.
Proverbs 6:6-8, CEB