The Muddling Glory of God: Thoughts on Anne Lamott

I recently finished Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith, Anne Lamott’s newest book and the fourth I’ve read by her.

 

I do not want to meet Anne Lamott. If I did, I would not like her. I know who I am, and I feel like I have a pretty good idea of who she is, and the two just don’t mesh. For one, she’s fervently liberal, about pretty much everything one can be liberal about. Here’s a little proof:

I don’t hate anyone right now, not even George W. Bush. This may seem an impossibility, but it is true, and indicates the presence of grace, or dementia, or both. While I still oppose every decision he makes and am appalled at his general level of malfunction, I no longer want to hurt him. (Grace 127)

 

(Just a note, so that this does not get misread–Bush dislike alone does not make one fervently liberal. This is just one example; one that I thought was humorous.)Though I’m not terribly conservative these days, nor am I a fan of Bush, I cannot claim any liberal cause with great passion.  Liberal fervor (and Conservative fervor too, really) annoys me. Speaking of annoying me, second of all, Anne Lamott is the archetype of a Progressive Christian, and a whole lot of Progressive Christianity annoys me too. Look, I believe in Social Justice, but I also believe that one should preach Christ Crucified and not Water Conservation (ask me about that sermon sometime). And don’t give me any of that “God the Mother/Goddess” crap. More seriously, I find it impossible to reconcile issues such as abortion and euthanasia with Christian belief, and am often skeptical of Christians who can. And Anne Lamott is not just talking about all of this, she’s walking. I was floored to read of Lamott’s experience helping a man “die on his own terms” in Grace. 

 

I would not like Anne Lamott, but I am utterly convinced that she knows Jesus. In her I see a strikingly personal faith, a faith that she cannot separate from any aspect of herself, a faith so deep and sincere that it oozes out of her, sometimes poetically, sometimes awkwardly. Her moment of conversion (which brought me to tears) is as gorgeous as St. Augustine’s, despite (or, rather, because of) the “F*** it. I quit,” that immediately precedes it. Though I kind of want to quote more from that story right now, I really think you ought to read it for yourself (Find it in Traveling Mercies.). Really. Please read it.

 

Anne Lamott’s Christian experience is nothing like mine, but she has challenged me to live for the Lord the way few events, books, sermons, or people have. More than once, God has spoken to me through her writing.

 

First, Anne’s  faith has forced me to view God in a new light. When I first read Traveling Mercies, I was startled to encounter a prejudice that I hadn’t really known I held—a half-formed belief that progressive Christians went to church and spouted social values, but didn’t actually know Jesus. But Anne Lamott clearly knows God personally, loves Him deeply, and has felt Him tangibly in her life. Because of her, I’ve been challenged into taking God out of the box that dictates with whom He can be in relationship. Furthermore, I’ve been struck again by the knowledge that the vast majority of doctrine is so very insignificant when it comes down to really knowing Jesus. 

 

Much of the reason that I see Anne’s faith so clearly is her astonishing and sometimes disquieting honesty about her continuing daily failures, stumbles, and doubts. So much of Christianity feels the need to paint Christians as holy and happy at all times. That’s so fake to me and I imagine it is even more so for non-believers. No wonder Christians come off as hypocritical so often; we don’t paint an honest picture of ourselves to begin with. Anne’s picture is real, and that’s why I see God in it. For example, in Grace she tells the story of how her then ten-year-old son adjusted to his bedroom in a new house. He started out sleeping in Anne’s room in a sleeping bag, and every night he would move the sleeping bag three feet further away and closer to his bedroom: “The second night we moved the sleeping bag three feet away, to the foot of my bed…On the fourth night, he made it to the door. He slept there two nights before he was able to put his sleeping bag in the hall…Then there were four nights in the living room, as he crept overland closer to his own room, with four three-foot scootches, one stall, and one night when he had to drag his sleeping bag back three feet.” It’s the best metaphor for our walk with God that I’ve heard:

That’s me, trying to make any progress at all with family, in work, relationships, self-image: scootch, scootch, stall; scootch, stall, catastrophic reversal; bog, bog, scootch. I wish grace and healing were more abracadabra kinds of things; also, that delicate silver bells would ring to announce grace’s arrival. But no, it’s clog and slog and scootch, on the floor, in silence, in the dark. (50-1)

Anne is honest about her constant, desperate need for God to help her escape her sinful self. It’s clear again and again that God redeems her, again and again. That’s a better testimony than any happy-go-lucky Christian can offer.

 

Finally, Grace showed me something new. I was struck by how passionately Anne lives her life. She seems to find a purpose, a meaning, in the most mundane events. She embraces them fully, knowing she will learn and grow. Her encounters with others are messy and uncomfortable, but she still digs deep into them, as if to pull everything possible out of them. When she screws up, she sobs and flails, and then takes hold of God’s grace just as passionately. She clings to every last bit of life, as if believing that God is in every single bit. I too think He is. I want to live life with that kind of vibrancy, full of focused emotion and meaningful passion. I don’t want to shrink from the uncomfortable and the ugly. I want to fling myself around and soak in God through every pore. Right now, I fail at that, and I am challenged by Anne Lamott’s life.

 

One final, final thing. A few random quotes from Grace that resonated with me.

• “A good marriage is supposed to be one where each spouse secretly thinks he or she got the better deal.” (Totally true!)
• [Speaking of where to be when your mind is eating itself] “I realized I was going to get through this disappointing [church] service, and anyway, you have to be somewhere: better here, where I have heard truth spoken so often, than, say, at the DMV, or home alone, orbiting my own mind. And it’s good to be out where others can see you, so you can’t be your ghastly, spoiled self. It forces you to act slightly more elegantly, and this improves your thoughts, and thereby the world.” (Yes! When I am my “ghastly, spoiled self” it is good for me to get away from just me.)
• “Finally I thought of one true thing, which is that sometimes I act just as juvenile as I ever did, but as I get older, I do it for shorter periods of time. I find my way back to the path sooner…” (Also true for me, in many cases. Lately this 23-year-old has been realizing just how much growing up she still needs to do.)

So, thanks, God, for loving Anne Lamott and for letting her tell me about how she loves You.