The highways and byways of heaven. Paved with gold so unblemished it makes Dove soap look like 99 and 44/100ths percent pure chum. Lined with mansions – not of the Mc variety, but built pearl brick upon pearl brick by Otis the Masonic Archangel and his winged band from the Local 777. Inside each mansion, hallways feel wider than their specific dimensions would dictate. Festooned with living artworks reflecting the glory of the Creator, their surfaces transform from soft grass to polished marble to silky sands at the slightest whim of their residents.
And not a single Lego, Hot Wheels or Leap Frog talking dog (cranked to 11) to step on and ruin the moment.
Here in the terrestrial world, we mortals and Dick Clark must contend with streets paved with holes, houses so shoddily built they wouldn’t pass Hammurabi’s Code, and hallways littered with the detritus of “the children.” It is the avalanche of plastic surrounding me – everything from Happy Meal choking hazards to high-dollar American Girl accessories-cum-choking hazards – that has spurred some pontification fit for a pontiff, were I not so Protestantly bent. Yes, this material, once lauded as the key to 30-year-old college graduate Benjamin Braddock’s future, has much to teach us about the Spiritual Condition of Mankind, our Place in the Cosmic Chain of Being and other bits worthy of capitalization.
So let us learn, shall we?
Temporary Becomes Permanent – Most plastic items are meant to have a rather limited lifecycle. Plastic cups. Plastic bags. Plastic wives. But after their momentary usefulness passes, they are relegated to the literal or metaphorical scrapheap where they exist for eons, pining for one more refill of lemonade or season of “Real Housewives of Southlake.” Similarly (and quite frighteningly in some cases), our purposes and actions seem quite fleeting, yet their impact can reverberate through generations here on earth and on into eternity. The awesomely named Charles Studd once penned, “Only one life, ’twill soon be past, Only what’s done for Christ will last. And Hefty CinchSaks.”
Just Because You Can Doesn’t Mean You Should – Remember when toys were lovingly carved from felled redwoods, or appliances were forged and riveted from steel, iron and genuine man-sweat? If so, congratulations on seeing 100, Willard. For the rest of us, toys, household goods and even many cars are just reformed plastic things. Chunks of polyethylsomething spat out of some Chinese (or Bowling Green) assembly line. They’re easy to make. Easy to ship. Impossible to reach when they fall behind the sofa. And don’t last as long as a typical run-on sentence from yours truly. Just because it can be made, doesn’t mean it should. And even if it should, it doesn’t mean my kids need it. Likewise, just because can sin and be forgiven doesn’t mean you should. And by “sin” I mean, “use the Papyrus font in the church bulletin again.”
Everything Has a Repurpose – Life is full of failure. Most of us, if we care to admit it, are most successful at failing. Yet such failure, whether of our own making or God’s shaping hand, does not condemn to a life in the recycling bin that the office cleaning crew tosses in with the regular trash anyway. Even the lowly Target bag, once full of milk of magnesia and acne cream, can find plasticized self esteem once again as a transport of dog feces. And so can you.
The Bike Helmet of Salvation is a Single-Use Item – Now that The Man (The Mom?) has decreed that every child must wear a protective headgear when so much as looking at a photo of a tricycle, the plastic bike helmet biz is booming. What many folks don’t realize is that helmets are meant to be replaced after they’ve done their duty. Even if said duty was deflecting a pair of decidedly non-plastic nunchucks. The helmet of salvation is like that. You accept God’s gift and you’re good to go. One and done and all that. Of course, you never have to replace it. Or put Hello Kitty stickers on it. And, unlike real helmets, it’s truly one-size-fits-all. Looks like I just deconstructed my own analogy. Touché, self. Touché.
3D Printing is Super Righteous – Have you seen 3D printers in action? They take CAD (computer aided design) files from your computer and spit out the actual, plastic parts into the real world. Now anyone can rapidly prototype that praying hands-shaped potpourri holder they’ve been meaning to carve from soap for years. I have no idea what this has to do with the Holy Spirit, but it sure is neat. Although it probably falls under the “just because you can…” category. Bummer.
I think we’ve all learned a little something today. Something about plastics. Something about truth. Something, yes, about ourselves. But mainly, something about how an impending can lead a write to grasp at straws. Made of plastic.
Injection-Molded Spirituality
