The Christian at play

When the Christian is not working, he is loafing or he is playing. And there is such a thing as Christian loafing and Christian playing.

First of all, the Christian is not a workaholic. His work may mainly define him as a layman, but it is not his whole definition. He is something in his own right, not simply what he "does." And so even if he is doing nothing, just sitting there in the sun, not "improving his mind" or anything else except his tan and his risks of skin cancer, even this is a gift of God and something that God is infinitely satisfied with. God has not given us "a task" that we are to perform in his world; in fact, St. Augustine should have said, "You have made us for ourselves, O Lord, and we will find no rest until we rest in this." Those who are so busy trying to "do God's will" obviously have no time to rest and just be; and when they get to heaven, they probably will be pestering the saints and angels with, "But isn't there something else that has to be done? What new project have we got that's not finished yet?"

Relax; God is running the universe; and if he runs it through us, generally speaking, there are times when we can say, "All right, Master, you take over for a while; I want to loaf." The idea that you can't is the notion that you're in control, which is the serpent's tail of good and evil sprouting out of your mind again. A certain amount of laziness lets yourself know that God is in charge, and this is even necessary for Christian health.

(As I write this, my daimon tells me it's true--and I think I read it in Chesterton somewhere--and it makes me realize what a sinner I am. Oh, well. In God's good time; if I'm driven now, this just means another miracle to make me relax when finally I get over on the other side.)

With respect to play, I think that the Christian finds his work his main form of play. What is play? First of all, it is not serious, which means that it is purposeless. Play is different from work in that work has a purpose, and play is activity done for its own sake. Play has an ostensible purpose, to make the playing challenging: you have to get the ball in the hoop under difficult conditions; you have to hit the ball and run around the bases and back to where you started before they can catch you; you have to fill in the spaces with letters; and so on. But the purpose of the game is not the purpose; the purpose makes the playing interesting, as I said much earlier when I mentioned that life is fun, not "serious." The playing of the game when it is play (and not something like professional sports), is for the sake of the play, not "to win" or "to see how high a score I can get," though these, of course, are what makes the game interesting, and not to play "to win" means that you won't do your best.

Now why is the Christian's work his main form of play? Because, he has probably chosen as his work and as his service to others something that he finds enjoyable in its own right; and even if he hasn't done so a priori, he looks on what he is doing as something interesting just in itself, and not solely for its purpose, whatever that is. And thus it is play as well as work and service. The purpose is there, but from one point of view, it just makes the game interesting. For instance, writing and teaching is my work; and even writing this, which is my work but not my job that I get paid for; and as my work it has a terribly serious purpose: it is vitally important to me that you who are reading this should be as numerous as the sands of the sea, and that your lives should be changed and made fun by what you are reading. But I don't even know who you are as I write this--though undoubtedly I do now as you read it; how does it feel to know that the author is looking over your shoulder and saying, "Read some more; it gets even better in the next chapter!"?--and if my view of life is wrong, of course, you don't exist, and neither do I; but I can't believe that.

In any case, from another point of view, imagining you out there is the purpose that makes me sit down at this keyboard again and pound out this stuff which no one may ever read--and no one is likely to read while I am in this world; and pick it up after leaving it for months and resume the thread after rereading up to where I'd left off and saying, "Damn it, it's decent after all; it's got to be finished." In one sense, it's like finally throwing up after a day of an upset stomach: hardly what you'd call fun. But in another, there's the vomit that turns out--I hope--to be ambergris.

The whole thing is a game; it is the writing that is what it's all about, from my point of view. I write to an audience because I can't write not to an audience; but I am a writer, and writing is my act. It's--God help us!--my fun, my play. My wife twits me sometimes when I'm at my books with, "Well, why act as if you're in such agony? You enjoy it, don't you, or why are you doing it?" Ask the long-distance runner after the fifteenth mile if he's enjoying himself, and why he's doing it if he doesn't. Ask the golfer who's just about to break his five-iron why he's out there if he's not enjoying himself. Ask the chorus member after the third hour of practicing Handel's roulades why he's doing it if he's not enjoying himself. It's agony, that's what it is.

But it's worth it.

Why? Because it is. Because it is existence. Because it is.

There is no reason why it's worth it. It is worth it because we decide that it's worth it; it is itself reality. It is the agony we define as "fun."

And this, of course, is why the Christian's work is his play; it is his reality, and it exists in its own right. It is his suffering, and his suffering is his joy--not because he grits his teeth and bears it, but because it is. Because it is existence. Because it is. It doesn't have to have a purpose, even when it has one; it doesn't have to succeed (though it will hereafter, if not here); it simply is. That is the Divine attitude. For the Christian everything is play.

Which does not mean that the Christian doesn't do things that are simply play. He listens to music. He plays bridge. He bowls. He does crossword puzzles. He knits. And when he does, he doesn't take what he is doing too seriously, because he doesn't take anything seriously. It really doesn't matter if his partner goofed and he lost the rubber, or even if he himself goofed and he lost the rubber. In the eternal scheme of things, what importance does it have? In the eternal scheme of things, what importance does anything have?

Eat, drink, and be merry; for tomorrow you live forever.