A Tale from the Crypt

At first, I thought I remembered this incident for no particular reason. I was returning home from UCLA around 10:30 pm after delivering a baritone sax to my wife, who was playing a gig at Ackerman Union. The band's bari sax player, who shall remain nameless for tonight, failed to show--he's a notorious flake--so she needed a horn for the leader to use.

I thought of my first faculty party at Center for Creative Studies in Detroit. Here I was, a new faculty member at an art and design college. It was December, end of the semester, and time for the big Christmas Party. I knew some studio faculty, but not many--there was not extensive communication between the academic department and the studio faculty. In fact, academic faculty were tolerated, at best, so the college could offer a bachelor's degree. "Academic" had a particularly ugly ring in the mouth of the fine arts chairman.

I showed up at the front door of the new president. He had a large-ish house in Grosse Pointe. What I remember most about the house was an extensive collection of African masks he and his then wife had accumulated, and a pool table on the second floor. My then-wife was with me, a reticent person entering the forbidding world of "artists"--people who think strange thoughts and do strange things. I at least had been teaching there for awhile. This was her first glimpse.

Vaguely familiar faces turned in our direction. The president must have been up playing billiards. Behind us, outdoors, was snow and chill. Indoors were a big fireplace, bright lights, a tree with Christmas decorations, a mix of people in the living room, some appropriate music. I was aware of my wife boggled by it all. Then I was aware of the chairman of the ceramics department--Gordon O'Rear. He and I had said hi in a friendly manner several times on campus. He left his wife's side and approached us with a welcoming smile. I started to extend my hand and introduce my wife. Instead of taking my hand, he grabbed my shoulders and kissed me solidly on the lips, then held me at arms' length. I'm not sure what I said or did, but I must have passed muster because he laughed and brought the two of us into the living room, where we proceeded to enjoy the party, though I think my wife's first introduction to the surreal happened that night, and she may never have recovered.

There were many lessons here, but the first was: take the unpredictable in stride. I think I passed a test that night--I was generally accepted into the Art College milieu after that evening. The other lesson is The Test itself. Fortunately, I passed.

Perhaps I remembered the incident after dropping off the horn because that, too, was a test, though neither my wife nor I would have thought of it that way. She needed the horn--I had the time to drive it out. She's done the same for me when I forgot cymbals or mallets, or music. The unexpected kiss, the instrument transport: such tests are meaningful because they have real-world consequences. They result in better collegial or domestic relationships-- compared to the "testing" that God is often said to do to certify one's faith. Husbands and wives do favors for each other--that's wonderful. Colleagues test one's ability to handle the unexpected. That's fine.

An earthquake comes, and the house collapses. Or the doctor gives us the news that we have cancer. Or we trip on a raised sidewalk and break an arm. These are random occurrences and have no connection to what we deserve, so they are chalked up to God's divine wish to "test" the faith of his creatures. This glib, specious speculation is intended to keep one from questioning. But it's easier to recognize the circumstance for what it is and leave God out of it. The circumstance is random. One is lucky, or unlucky. No self-respecting god (or no God that a self-respecting human could respect) would waste his time ingeniously creating sufferings. If the testing theory were true, God would be awfully mean-spirited: essentially, He would be thinking it's a good idea to make people suffer to see if they continue in their faith. That's a form of entrapment--tempt them to defect by making life unendurable, and when they defect, punish them.

So, my wife and I will keep doing favors for each other because it's a good thing to do, and we give each other plenty of points. And, I'll be a good colleague. But don't mention God to me--my life works fine without Him. And if things go wrong, I won't speculate that I'm being tested, I'll do some trouble shooting.