Remedy Me This

I’m sitting in the doctor’s office.  It’s early… very early.  I’m the youngest person in the waiting room by 50 years.   The guy next to me is trying to straighten out the wrinkles in his socks.  I wonder if he’ll ever discover he isn’t wearing any.  I’m probably the only person within 100 yards that actually gets to sleep with their teeth in their head.  My only reason for being here is psoriasis.  It is a disease of the skin.

The nurse opens the door and calls my name.  She is surprised I hear her the first time.  I place the magazine in my chair as I stand.  She points me to a room that is only best described as white and silver, flirting with the idea of turning a light shade of blue.  I am reminded of the film A Clockwork Orange.  She asks the reason for my visit and I tell her about the war within my skin and how it doesn’t look good for the home team.  She isn’t impressed.  She checks my vision.  Weird.  She tells me, “the doctor will be in to see you shortly.”

I look around the room and notice a poster behind the door.  Interestingly, it is titled The Anatomy of the Eye.  Weird.  Upon entering, the doctor asks me about my psoriasis.  I tell him the usual, about the war within my skin and how it doesn’t look good for the home team.  He doesn’t even crack a smile.

After a few more questions, he checks my vision again.  Very weird.  I go with the flow, trusting he knows what he is doing.  Afterall, he is the doctor.  A few questions later, he tells me I have great vision and that I should rest assure that my psoriasis in no way has effected my vision.  This is just too weird.

If I was worried, I would have been assured.  But that is not the reason I got up so early.  Unknowingly I had seen an opthamologist, not a dermatologist.  The war within my skin carries on.  It’s looking worse for the home team.  Nonetheless, my vision is flawless and I will have no trouble watching my body go down in flames.

I think I feel this way about the church sometimes.  I attend service looking for a quick fix and find the pastor doesn’t have a clue what my problems are or how to relate to me.  I leave dissappointed and no better off than when I came in that morning.  My only comfort is in the all-you-can eat buffet and sunday afternoon football that follows.  Before long I just want to quit going.

I guess what I am trying to say is that if I had taken the time to wake up and open my eyes, then I would’ve realized I didn’t need that particular doctor.  I was looking for a  remedy to my problems in the wrong place.  Maybe I don’t need the church so much as the church needs me.  And maybe I need to stop going to church for a remedy.  We are the church.  The blind cannot lead the blind.  We can only make each other feel more comfortable about being blind.  We might even help each other learn a little brail.

Tags: Christianity, Church, Faith, God, Purpose