by Ellen Huang

I’m of the opinion dark humor saves lives. There’s some catharsis in being able to joke about darker things in life, almost as if laughter helps us fear a little less. The Addams Family is bursting at the seams with dark humor— after all, it’s a family of gothic people who delight in everything witchy and spooky—and yet I find there’s something about them that is so…wholesome.

The running humor in the black-and-white TV series is the shock of people who encounter the Addams and enter their lovely home. The Addams live next to a cemetery, they house the most unusual pets, their children play with headless dolls and explosives, and they have connections with people all over the world that the neighbors would consider crazy and strange. Living among their family, the Addams also have a towering Frankenstein-monster-like butler named Lurch and a disembodied hand called Thing that helps them with the mail, both of which the Addams are very warm and appreciative to as if they no less than were regular people.

Creepiness aside, you’d also notice that their family dynamic actually looks really healthy. Gomez and Morticia are very passionate, affirming, and supportive of each other as equals. Their children Wednesday and Pugsley work together and stick up for one another often. They speak very fondly of their dead family members and are always very hospitable, be it to the fuzzy creature made of hair Cousin Itt or to any old mortal human that comes their way. The kooky family’s even comforting to watch, because they just seem to be overflowing with love.

Funnily enough, what is biblically said about love can almost all be applied to The Addams Family. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. (1 Corinthians 13: 4-5 NIV).

I think film reviewer Lindsay Ellis (aka Nostalgia Chick) hit the nail on the head when she said:

“The joke isn’t that they’re cruel or bad at parenting or have any particular disdain for the world at large. They aren’t unkind to their neighbors or to the animals, and they’re deeply devoted to their children and to each other. They joke is that they’re happy.

“The Addams Family is missing a lot of the typical sitcom tropes. There’s no mother-in-law jokes, no arguing over who is supposed to fill what gender role; both Morticia and Gomez spend roughly equal amounts of time parenting the children, and the most remarkable is the relationship between Morticia and Gomez [. . .] usually working together. Rarely will party A keep something from Party B but for the most part they form little schemes together as partners. Both are heads of the household and they almost never disrespect each other — in a genre where that’s usually the joke.

“But the reason the Addams are happy is really because they exist outside of society’s expectations. Gomez is a man child who plays with his trains and that’s fine. Morticia fences with her husband and plays with weapons often. And it doesn’t occur to them to care what people think.”

Something that stands out to me as really refreshing about The Addams Family is that they actually don’t dramatize their weirdness like many other edgy goth characters in media. They don’t compare themselves to others or get defensive about who they are. They normalize. Everything they offer their confused neighbors is genuinely out of kindness + hospitality into their home, and their lived realty is that what the world thinks of them doesn’t even exist.

No one in their house is a burden, none of their odd friends are monsters, and not even the normal humans who judge them are given anything but the benefit of the doubt.

They simply live, and they love unconditionally, and in doing so they show us another way.

I wonder if Christianity in particular is supposed to do that: show another way.

The earliest Christians, being a minority so moved by Jesus that they were even willing to die as believers, showed another way. In a world where family was defined by long genealogy lines, they found family outside of blood, following Christ’s example of emphasizing spiritual siblinghood (Matthew 12:48-50). They were to recognize the Other as part of the same Body and no longer let differences divide them (Galatians 3:28). In a world of hierarchy and oppression, they were motivated by hope and provided for each other, even to the point that “there was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold” (Acts 4:34 NRSV).

Christians were eyed suspiciously for their chosen community, their delight, for their dangerous hope, for believing anything was higher than their emperor. People judged them for their weird ritual of claiming to eat a body and drink blood (perhaps there is danger in literalism) and rumor would spread that Christians were a cult, cannibals, rebels, troublemakers. Was it some kind of joke, how they caused a scene in their nonviolent protests such as turning the other cheek when backhandedly slapped, or giving their cloak also when demanded for their coat, or running an extra mile when forced to go one mile? Why did they see humanity where they didn’t have to? In fact, in an 8th century description of Chinese Christianity, engraved as a Xi’an stele inscription, Christians were known for their unusual ways of not keeping slaves, but regarding all men, regardless of high or low status, as equals. (Source)

The early Christians, being an actual minority (much different than today), lived outside of societal expectations. They didn’t hunger for power but acted as if they didn’t need it. They were grounded in a culture of loving the neighbor and the stranger, a faith in the unseen, a delight despite darkness, and a repurposed symbol of resurrection out of what used to be an execution device. They laughed without fear of the future. They declared where, O Death, is your sting? They would become even more undignified than this. They were to be known for their peculiar ways of loving even their enemies, believing greatness is found in the one who is a servant to all, and fearing no death for their liberated way of thinking.

In the film The Addams Family Values, even when the Addams are all hooked up to electric chairs by the villainously entitled Debbie Jellinsky, who yells, “So long, everybody! Wish me luck!” the Addams are prepared to even wish her good luck (killing them). It’s ambiguous, but I’d like to think this is because they already knew that it wouldn’t kill them. (Other interpretations include that they sympathized with their enemy, loved their enemy the entire time. After all, they later bury her in the family graveyard).

Granted, we are mortal human beings, and it isn’t best advised to actually be oblivious to the rest of the world (especially during a pandemic!). Maybe in these days, we actually should hold a healthy fear and responsibility for affecting others’ lives. Maybe rejoicing about the afterlife isn’t the only faithful response to death. Maybe we can hold space for negative emotions about abusive enemies. Yet all this can be true while looking at things another way. All while living into an inclusive, redefined family dynamic such as that of the adoptive, hopeful, diverse kin—dom of God.

The joke is that they’re happy. They don’t need power, they don’t need to be in the majority, they don’t need a spirit of dominance nor conformity. They’re living as they’re created, and they’re happy.

I feel our progressive “introvert church” Christ Kaleidoscope can be that kind of light. Where love is patient, love is kind; it does not boast, nor envy, nor insist on its own way. It does not dishonor, keep record of wrongs, nor rejoice in wrongdoing. We honor everyone.

What if love couldn’t run out? What if there was room for anyone to be family? While justice and prophecy will win out, what if the powers that kill the body but not the soul were not to be feared? (But please wear a mask, the Addams would probably encourage that kind of mysterious look while saving lives still anyway). What if we were happy being the inclusive outsiders?

And perhaps in doing so, as Madeleine L’Engle would say, we’re “showing a light that is so lovely that [people] want with all their hearts to know the source of it.”

By Andrew Tai

During quarantine, two of the best movies I’ve seen have been two documentaries: The Last Dance, featuring Michael Jordan and the 1998 Chicago Bulls, and Free Solo, featuring Alex Honnold and his free solo climb (i.e. without rope) of El Capitan.  It’s fair to say that Jordan and Honnold are perhaps the two greatest athletes in their fields of all time.

Jordan and Honnold certainly have different personalities–Jordan is petty, ruthless, and unhealthily competitive; Honnold is intense and passionate too but seems to have a “whatever will be will be” attitude even during his riskiest climbs.  Yet a common theme I noticed in both of these documentaries is the impact of the words their parents spoke to them as children.

In The Last Dance, we learn that when Jordan was younger, his father favored Jordan’s older brother (who at the time was the better basketball player), and how his dad once disappointedly told him to “get back in the house with the women.”  Jordan’s sister writes, “It was my father’s early treatment of him and Daddy’s declaration of his worthlessness that became the driving force that motivated him.” 

In Free Solo, Honnold talks about how “in his entire life, no one in his family had ever used the L-word (love).”  Honnold’s dad frequently demeaned him when he was younger, and his mom’s favorite sayings were “Almost doesn’t count,” or “Good enough isn’t.”  Honnold, probably one of the most accomplished climbers in the world, talks about how he feels that “No matter how well I ever do at anything, it’s not that good.”

In reflecting on these two I’ve thought about how profoundly the voices we hear shape and influence us, and of course on what voices I’ve allowed to shape me.  I think about mixed messages I hear as a kid; on the one hand, my dad’s favorite refrain to me as a child–“As long as you try your best, you are the best”–often comes to me and brings comfort when my plans don’t go as I’d hoped or I encounter failure and disappointment.  On the other hand, I can still remember my mom’s disappointment after I got a 44% on a math test in 4th grade; I can remember the silent and tense car ride home and the immediate enrolling in Saturday morning tutoring classes.

Whether through my parents, school, or media, somewhere along the line I learned that I’d be a failure if I wasn’t successful professionally; that what matters most are my accomplishments; that people only care about me because of what I do for them.  I’ve spent years now trying to unlearn and unhear these voices, though frankly I’m not sure they’ll ever go away.  

As Christians, at the end of all our theology, our musings and reflections, our prayers and worship, lies the simple but bottomless truth that we are God’s chosen and beloved children.  God’s words to Jesus, “You are my Son, and with you I am well pleased,” are spoken not just to Christ but over all of us as well.  The Christian life can be difficult and challenging, and ultimately I think cannot be sustained apart from the continual reminder of this truth.

I pray that even during this crazy, quarantined time, you all would hear the words of God spoken over you and try your best to allow them to speak more loudly than the others in your life.  If we might let them, these words can serve as an antidote to all the voices around us that tell us we are not enough, and can move us to deeper relationship with our God and with each other.  

By Timmy Horng

“Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.” – Mark 11:24 (NIV)

Well, Jesus. I’ve prayed for things—good, just things—and believed with all of my heart, and they did not become mine.

“God answers every prayer, though not always with the answer we want,” they say. The numerous platitudes designed to assuage Christians’ doubts about prayer have not worked on me. The analogies describing God’s perfect knowledge and plans, far surpassing my own, have done little to placate my suspicions that our prayers are often nothing more than wishful thinking. If God is going to “answer” in his way, I’m inclined to say we might as well roll dice.

So, are prayers Sisyphean tasks? If we treat them as barely more than appeals to influence God’s actions, they can certainly seem so. Because of this, I rarely pray anymore. At least not with my eyes closed.

Over time, as I became more and more disillusioned with the prayers that came from “my heart,” I came to deeply appreciate the prayers composed by the corporate Church over the centuries. Now, whenever I “pray,” my eyes are literally open—I’m reading my prayers, written by other people. Once, when I was going through a tough time, Ken gifted me the Paraclete Psalter, a collection of all 150 Psalms, arranged by a monastic community for their daily fixed-hour prayers. The introduction quotes Athanasius: “For I believe that the whole of human existence, both the dispositions of the soul and the movements of the thoughts, has been measured out and encompassed in those very words of the Psalter.” The Psalms may be old, but they certainly are not outdated.

The prayers I often use for opening our Sunday services are collects that come from the Book of Common Prayer (bcponline.org). These tried-and-true prayers, like the Psalter, often reflect the very things I personally wish for our church community. Whenever we read and hear the written prayers in our Sunday services—the psalms, the common prayers, the confessions, the benedictions—are we not surprised at how personally relevant they often are? How much they remind us of things that have happened to us, give voice to our emotions and desires, and shape us to participate in the divine work of this world?

Reading prayers slowly and out loud helps me see and hear the words I am saying. It engages me in a heartfelt prayer that was written by someone else, whose words connect the highs and lows of my own life to those of his or hers and countless others. It reminds me that even when God’s ears seem deaf to my requests, he has given me the gift of his people. When I read these prayers with the Church, I am not alone, even if I am the only person in the room. 

I have come to understand prayer not so much as something we use to change God, but more as something he uses to change us. I am sure many of us still make requests of God, praying from “the heart,” and find that the very act of prayer encourages us to move in ways that respond to our needs and the needs of the world. By no means do I aim to discourage those of you who choose to pray spontaneously. And those of us who take time to compose prayers for others to hear are a great blessing to the community. But whether we pray words of our own or those written by others, we join a chorus of people that shares in the joys, sorrows, thanksgivings, and disappointments of prayers that have echoed throughout creation. And with them, we find ourselves changing for the better.

A prayer from Scot McKnight’s blog:

God of All Patience,

You created and permitted creation to form into humans,
You watched Adam and Eve sin and you waited,
You made covenant with Abraham and you waited,
You liberated the children of Israel from Egypt and you waited,
You gave your people the Law and you waited,
You opened the waters to the Land and then waited,
You made kings and prophets and waited,
You waited more,

And only then did you send your Son and your Spirit – after all that waiting,

Grant to us divine patience in our homes and with our families,
Patience waiting for our country’s healing from this virus,
Patience in waiting for so many intrusions to sort themselves out,
Patience in waiting for one another in our communities.

That we might display to others divine patience,
The kind of patience that evokes your goodness and grace and understanding,

Through Christ our Lord who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,
Now and forever.

Amen

By Luke Lebsack

Let me start by saying I suck at meditation. On my phone there are currently three meditation apps, two of which I’ve never opened and one that has for the last three months been congratulating me on completing my first lesson. People like meditation; it’s good for you, by now most of us know this (if you don’t know this you can read about it).  Over the years I’ve put meditation in the same category as kale smoothies or early morning jogging. It’s healthy and I know I should do it but let’s be real; the only people who actually do that sort of stuff are either trying to get Instagram famous or drive a Subaru. 

So what does meditation look like as a spiritual discipline for a novice like me? Firstly, it’s important to acknowledge that there’s nothing inherently spiritual or religious about meditation. Meditation, generally speaking, is a technique to focus intently on something or to encourage mindfulness about our experiences. Meditation is a tool that can be used in conjunction with prayer to develop our spiritual practice. Why is this distinction important?

Historically my reasoning for creating a meditative practice has always been to accrue the health and psychological benefits that come along with it, which is a good thing. However, when we use meditation as a spiritual discipline it’s done in conjunction with prayer. Our intention must shift away from the western default of self-betterment and instead reflect a desire to grow closer to God. Said another way, if I was to begin a diet that uses fasting to lose weight this might be a good choice for my health. But if on the other hand I chose fasting as a spiritual discipline so that I could lose weight the discipline itself becomes clouded by the intensions from which the actions are originating. In short, any kind of meditation would almost certainly have positive benefits on our brain’s health but when we add prayer to our meditation our focus should be on Christ.

Ok, we got the disclaimers out of the way. You’re bored at home and not doing anything, let’s strap up our brain boots and wade through the waters of Christian meditation. Where do we start? I don’t know, (we’ve been over this) so I asked my enlightened friend Lacey and my other less enlightened friend the internet.

Lacey’s Helpful Hints:

1. Start short, 1-5 minutes of mediation is totally fine to start
2. Sit, walk, or stand, be comfortable but don’t lie down if you’ll fall asleep
3. Be kind to yourself, if you lose focus or get distracted there’s no reason to be frustrated
4. Study yourself, notice what your body and mind are trying to tell you
5. Pray before or after you meditate, you will be able to get more out of both disciplines together
6. Just do something, what meditation you do matters less than the fact that you did it

Easy Christian meditation from the internet:

Concentration Meditation:

1. Find a short phrase or mantra you wish to meditate on
   • A mantra I used was “my peace I give to you” -John 14:27
2. Sit comfortably in a chair or on the floor. Close your eyes and take a few slow, deep breaths. Relax your breath to a neutral state.
3. Begin saying your mantra audibly in natural rhythm with your breath, focusing on its sound.
4. After 10 or so repetitions recite the mantra silently in your mind
5. If your mind begins to wander return to the mantra focusing on the sound of the words
6. Continue for as long as you feel is beneficial
7. Say a short prayer to end your session

Mindfulness Meditation:

1. Sit comfortably in a chair or on the floor. Close your eyes and take a few slow, deep breaths. Relax your breath to a neutral state.
2. Feel your breath going in and out and focus on its pattern
3. Eventually your mind will leave your breath and begin to wander.
4. When you notice that you have gotten so caught up in your thoughts that you have forgotten that you’re sitting in the room, gently bring yourself back to the breath.
5. After your focus begins to wane begin a prayer recognizing the thoughts that were interrupting your focus or preventing you from being present.

Escape Quarantine Meditation:

1. Go on a walk in an peaceful environment
2. In silence begin focusing on your steps
3. Focus on the mechanics of your body thinking either heel, toe or left, right with each step
4. As before your mind will eventually leave your breath and begin to wander.
5. When you notice that you have gotten so caught up in your thoughts that you have forgotten that you’re walking, gently bring yourself back to your steps.
6. After your focus begins to wane begin a prayer recognizing the thoughts that were interrupting your focus or preventing you from being present.

These are only a few of the hundreds of other meditation styles you can try. This week I’ve practiced the walking meditation mostly simply because it was an excuse to take a second walk every day. I don’t think I’ve reached enlightenment yet but there is a calm that comes with intentionality.

For me personally COVID-19 has stolen my ability to feel in control of my own life. Meditation is helping me realize I was never truly in control of the world around me. But it’s also helping me control my inner self and it’s bringing out the stifled fears I should have long ago brought to prayer. For me, and maybe for you, even small acts of mindfulness are a positive step towards dealing with the emotions that endless Netflix binges have been enabling us to avoid.

Sources:

hhhhttps://www.yogajournal.com/poses/mantra-meditation

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/the-courage-be-present/201001/how-practice-mindfulness-meditation

https://ggia.berkeley.edu/practice/walking_meditation