Up and Down in the Valley

The flower doesn’t dream of the bee; it blossoms and the bee comes – Janet Conner

I was on a hospital visit a while back, and as I got on the elevator, I couldn’t help notice how strange elevator culture is.

When people go to the store, they act normal; they talk on their cell phones; they check out the shelves and the products; they talk with one another; and they make eye contact with employees and fellow shoppers.

The same is true of those going to a ball game, or those walking down the street, or those working out in their yards.  But put those same people in an elevator, and there seems to be a corporate nervousness and paranoia that sets in.

Eye contact is rare, as is conversation.  People get on board, scan the wall for buttons to push, push the appropriate one (and the door-close button if they’re in a hurry), and then step back with eyes set on “full vacant”.

What is it about elevators that sends people into zombie-like trances?  Is it the fact that they’re fully enclosed, affecting passengers with a form of corporate claustrophobia?  Is it an innate fear of falling (despite knowing the superabundant and redundant safety systems in place to prevent that very problem)?  Or is it a heightened fear of the stranger standing next to us (xenophobia, for those keeping track) who could be a priest in civilian dress – or Freddy Krueger enlarging his resume?

Whatever the cause or reason, I know I find elevators to be weird places in which to spend time.  The one in which I was riding was stopping at every floor, regardless of whether anyone had punched a button from inside or outside.  It was as if the buttons were for show only – to give the passengers a sense of control, but no real control at all.

When I was done with my visit, the elevators were out of commission temporarily, so I had the pleasure of using the stairwell.  It was a healthier alternative.

Getting back to our elevator idiosyncrasies, I find myself rejoicing that our route to heaven is described more as a journey – a stroll – than as an elevator ride.  I like the idea of walking hand-in-hand with God, our friends, and our loved ones.  I appreciate the idea of meeting strangers along the way we can talk to, look in the eye, and smile honestly with.

I like the idea of an expedition where bodies and souls are stretched and strengthened, and where one can step off to the side of the path for rest or refreshment as needed. I like the idea of being in a place where power and control are not the issue – but a life lived in peace and harmony with both the cosmos and the divine.

Someone once said that being in church is like being in an elevator: everyone is gathered together and heading in the same direction.  I personally find that a scary thought – it sounds a bit like the Stepford Wives, where everything is a little “too perfect”, but the reality is very different. The churches of which I have been a part are anything but perfect, anything but uniform; instead, they are quite diverse.

For sure, most churches and people have their ups and downs – that’s the nature of life, but that’s as far as it goes with respect to its comparison with elevators.

The hidden jewel in a life of grace, though, is that we journey together. There are folks who’ll care for us, who’ll reach down and lift us up when we’re down, and who’ll dance and sing when the lost are found.

When I wander around the church, I tend to hum and whistle as I work.  I do it because I’m generally more up than down.  I also do it to let folks know that I’m around.  More than once I’ve unintentionally snuck up on someone who came in to pray, or light a candle, or set up the altar and frightened the heck out of them.  So I whistle as I work.

Perhaps I should start whistling whenever I get on board an elevator – not as one who whistles in the dark, but as one who whistles in the light – for joy, pleasure, and in the service of others here in this, our valley.