Month: February 2023

the church phalanx

Where I attend Mass, there is a foyer separating the sanctuary with stain-glass windows. When I am back there with my toddler– which is often– I can still see the church within, but it’s muddled and distorted through the geometric multi-colored glass. It’s a familiar sight line. It reminds me of my life before baptism when I was intrigued by the Catholic church but peering in as an outsider. I could make out some details, but much was unclear to me, almost incomprehensible. But it also reminds me of how I have felt at times as a Catholic, even of late. Sometimes I want to run, but where else can I go, Lord– you have the words of eternal life. Sometimes, I feel like a weary beggar reaching out along the road. Another hit of that spit and mud poultice, please Jesus– my vision is clouding.

But the good thing about being in that place spiritually is that it brings to mind the many who must feel like that all the time. There are so many Catholics who feel like outsiders. Whether neuro-divergent, or trauma survivors, or mentally ill, they don’t feel like they fit whatever mold a church community is selling. Our human desire for community sometimes means that we get so excited to find like-minded people, that we close in too tightly around one another and move through life like a phalanx. We think we’re keeping out the spears and arrows of our enemies, but who do we lose along the way? Or whom do we fail to see as we close in on ourselves?

Christ in the Gospels is a Healer. We should be a healing Church. We can’t even hide our wounds; one scandal after another proves that. And thank God we can’t hide from the rot. I think the secret sauce to rebuilding our Church is through healing. And that means seeking out the lost, the wounded, and beaten-down even within our own parishes. The outsiders who are looking in through muddled glass need to feel like it’s okay to be wrong, to not fit the mold, to be a bit messy when they step inside the sacred space. They don’t have to be bombarded with the mold and all its rightness. Love them. Be the truth, live the moral high ground instead of preaching it, extend compassion and mercy, and God will do His work. How long will they wait, peering in and wondering if their mess will be welcome? How long before they turn their backs and seek a warm, welcoming people with only half-truths to offer them?

Break the phalanx formation and look around. Attend to the wounded.

3 Rules of Improv for the Home

As a parent, there are lots of things that come out of your mouth which you never thought you’d have to say, like, “Do not chase the cat with a stick”, and “Yes, you have to change your underwear EVERY DAY”, or “Who took a bite out of the cheese brick in the middle of the night?” But the saying that takes the cake, which tops them all with its ridiculousness and frequency of replays is:

You are not in control of each other’s imagination!

I can’t believe how many times my husband and I have had to say this, usually with one child shedding tears of frustration and another fuming in rage. Here is an actual, real-life example: one daughter wanted her “magic” to be the color blue and wanted her brother’s “magic” to be the color red, but he didn’t want it to be red, he wanted it to be blue. It took us a while to figure out exactly what the conflict was, and I’ll never forget my husband’s face as he said, “Wait, wait, this ‘magic’ you’re talking about… is it an object you’re playing with, or is it pretend, as in imaginary, as in invisible?” It was, in fact, the latter, to which he replied in a low, firm voice, “You are not in control of each other’s imaginations. His ‘magic’ can be whichever color he wants it to be, and you’re just going to have to be okay with it.” He and I then debriefed, and laughed, and marveled at how often we had been called to intervene in imaginary games which made no sense to us but meant everything to our children.

And then it hit me: the rules of improvisational theater applied perfectly in this situation. Now, it’s not often that I realize what I spent a concentrated part of my life studying (and for which I am still paying for monthly) actually becomes useful. I was plum-giddy. I set out to teach my children some rules of improv. And… it worked.

Rules for Imaginative Play

#1 Comedy Comes in 3’s

How many times have you been sitting at the dinner table and heard the same joke repeated six, seven, fourteen times? Yeah, me too, and I’d rather stick a knife in my eye. So I showed my children vaudeville comedy routines like Charlie Chaplin, the Three Stooges, etc., to prove that comedy comes in 3’s. You take a drink from the wrong glass and spit it out once (funny), twice (hilarious), thrice (peeing my pants), four times (bored, what’s wrong with you?). I don’t know why; I don’t know what it is about our brains, but for whatever reason, the 4th time isn’t funny. Neither is the 12th. Therefore, a joke, punchline, or silly word may only be said three times in one sitting.

#2 We laugh WITH someone, not AT someone

Nothing kills creativity like self-doubt. This was especially apparent in the very small window of time I taught and directed high school theater. One of my mentor-teachers wisely told me (and I remembered this as a teenager) that a drama teacher spends the first year just breaking down the self-consciousness that keeps actors stiff, quiet, and uncertain. They’re so worried about what their peers will think and say (and let’s face it, people can be terrible to one another so the fears are real), that they don’t loosen up enough to play. But children, unless they’ve been through trauma, don’t have those walls up. They’re delightfully silly and their imaginations are wildly free. Imaginative play is vital for a child’s development—I would argue that it’s also vital for a strong faith-life—so it’s super important that each member feels free to be silly. Don’t mock or laugh at your playmates, but absolutely laugh with them! Don’t put down anybody’s ideas, which is related to the next, final, and most important rule:

#3 Yes, AND

One of the more challenging aspects of improv is working alongside someone else’s spontaneous ideas. If someone initiates a scene of invading aliens, you can’t decide that aliens aren’t really your thing and insist you’re an unlucky lobster in a grocery store tank. You also can’t half-ass the effort. The response has to be yes-and, meaning you immediately accept the idea and add to it. And, if you did get stuck with a bum-idea in the first place, the yes-and principle actually saves the scene much quicker than trying to completely change it. This is also the best way for children to approach imaginative play. It takes practice and a little coaching, but when kids use the yes-and principle while playing, each child (ideally) can feel heard, accepted, and included. It’s also important to establish that no one’s idea is dumb, stupid, boring, etc. And you don’t need to try to control the other person’s imagination; your different, unique ideas can work together.