Don’t Water Fake Plants

Many years ago now, my dad bought a plant from IKEA. He was determined to keep it alive, so he strategically placed it near a window, attentively watered it weekly, and turned it clockwise ever so slightly each morning, ensuring that the plant would receive an equal amount of sunlight on all sides. He kept up his practice of caring for this plant for a little over a month before he realized that he had, in fact, been attending to an artificial plant. 

You can laugh. You can roll your eyes. I also bet some of you are enthusiastically shouting to yourself, “That happened to me too!” Or, maybe quietly admitting you almost accidentally bought a fake plant.

In a world that creates so many binaries that we begin to believe we only have two choices in everything, let’s not overcomplicate Christian love by putting up barriers to God. 

For the life of me, I could not understand how my attentive and detail-oriented father—someone who identifies as a gardener and photographer, someone who usually notices the small details many of us miss, unknowingly paid money for and then brought into his home and then cared for a fake plant for over a month.

I asked what made him realize that the plant wasn’t real. He explained he accidentally overwatered it one morning, and when he went to clean it up, he noticed that there was no soil. Through my laughter and tears, as I pictured his face at this realization, I asked another question: Why did it take you so long to realize that the plant was fake? To which he responded, and I am paraphrasing: I don’t know—I wanted a plant for the bathroom and I liked this one so I bought it. I assumed it was real. I don’t remember there being a sign indicating I was buying anything other than a real plant.

Because of the sheer laughter this story produced and because I found a wealth of metaphors within it, I went to my local IKEA that same week and intentionally bought a fake plant. Years later, this plant still thrives in all its plastic glory in our upstairs bathroom and serves as a gentle reminder to me that not all things are what they seem and not all things deserve my attention. I keep the plant far from the window because, well, fake plants do not need sunlight or nurture.

“Not All Christianities are Created Equal”

This story comes to mind as I think about the condition of Christianity today. For many of us, we could replace the word “plant” with something else in our lives (or in the lives of someone we love). Try it: I was searching for ___ and I found this and liked it, so I bought into it. I assumed it was real. I don’t remember noticing a sign that indicated I was buying anything other than a real ___.  (At this point I assume the metaphor is evident. If not, just replace “plant” with “Christianity” and reread the whole first part of this story. I’ll patiently wait.) 

If I am going to make a case today for Christianity, I first have to define what kind of Christianity I’m talking about. Not all christianities are created equal—and yes, we do need to take responsibility for the kind of Christianity we put out into this world. To be clear, I do not think there is a right version of Christianity. In fact, I think getting distracted by denominational identity attenuates the breadth and depth of what Christianity offers. However, there are many forms of Christianity sold to us that turn out to be completely different from what they claimed to offer. Choosing to enter into a relationship with God is different than choosing to enter into a relationship with an institution.

Digging in the Dirt

In our overstimulating and consumer-obsessed culture, it is easy to pay attention only to what is directly in front of us, which at times is targeted to us, leaving us seeing what we want to see. And unlike my dad, who was not scarred too deeply from the fake-plant incident, there are many people who spend years—decades—of their life trying to undo the harms of the particular Christianity they bought into and invested themselves in, only to realize there was no soil; they nurtured something they believed would flourish, evolve, and grow, but only stayed the same. 

The kind of Christianity I practice invites us into a living, breathing relationship with a prophetic commitment that calls for continuous testament to what God is doing now in our lives. Our Christian theological identities should evolve over time as our relationship with God deepens. More often than not, though, the spiritual openness and curiosity we held as children falls away. Answers and certainty become more important than the mystery and messiness of discernment. 

This commitment to Christian growth has led me both away from and towards various congregational communities, where I experienced both expansive and limited forms of the faith. I am making an argument for Christianity today because I am exhausted by the loudest Christian voices out there. People need to know there are versions of Christianity that do not put stipulations on God’s love, that invite us to be more like children with their unrelenting questions and ability to name what they see. They do not complicate things the way adults tend to do.

Back to Basics

The Indigo Girls sing, “the hardest to learn was the least complicated.” We complicate Christianity by our denominations, by the barriers we create, and by the restricted definitions of love we impose on each other. Defending our faith becomes more important than growing in it. Christianity then becomes a power struggle of who is right and who is wrong, separating itself from its uncomplicated foundation, which I would argue is the sacred relationship between love and justice.

I can still vividly remember being 25 years old, on a young-adult retreat, and explaining to a priest how I was Catholic but also gay.^[1] Father Tom let me talk for a while and then calmly said to me, “Karis, could you try saying ‘and’ instead of ‘but’?” I was so taken aback because I did not realize how I was holding these very two strong identities of myself so far apart from one another—as if being gay was the opposite of being Catholic. In fact, I knew plenty of gay Catholics, yet for some reason I identified as a Catholic but also gay. By polarizing my identities, I was limiting my ability to follow where God was calling me. It took me years to truly claim “I am Catholic and gay.” It took even more years to drop the Catholic identity for something else.

The Mystics Await

It is a tricky thing to want to be a part of something that does not want you in all your fullness. It is a painful thing to want to be a part of something that was not built for you, but at the same time shaped you. So what do you do? Do you continue to fight to be a part of it? Or do you move onto something else—to a place that does want you? Those are questions I held as a younger Christian. Luckily, at an early age I came to understand how deeply spiritual and integral questions are in one’s journey of faith. 

I discovered that the case to be made for Christianity is not found in denominational alignment or arguing for the right kind of external Christianity, but requires looking inward. I find guidance in the mystics who don’t evade the mysteries of faith—Rilke, Hafiz, Julian of Norwich, Pauli Murray, Kahlil Gibran, St. John of the Cross, and many more. Christianity is filled with quieter voices that show us how to connect with God. The mystics sustained me when it was too painful to pray in church. They taught me that prayer is the gentle sound of the knife as I chop vegetables for family dinner; that prayer is finding my rhythm as I dig into the dirt running through East Rock Park; that prayer is writing a love note to my wife; and that prayer is using my entire body as I watch my kids squeal with glee on the swings. 

Christianity has the capacity to teach us of God’s love for us and remind us to pause in God’s creation. It’s urgent that we look beyond the most conspicuous voices for guidance to be reminded that God is found everywhere—in each other, in the water, in the wind, in the soil, in the chaos, in the questions.

In a world that creates so many binaries that we begin to believe we only have two choices in everything, let’s not overcomplicate Christian love by putting up barriers to God. Let’s extend to ourselves and to others the invitation of a Christianity that seeks light, rests in darkness, remains deeply rooted in justice, and flourishes in our own individual ways of nurturing it. There is already so much effort out there to water fake plants, which is funny, until it’s not.

Karis Slattery ’20 M.Div. is Director of Operations and Congregational Vitality at Spring Glen Church (UCC)in Hamden, Conn. She grew up in Philadelphia, where she attended Mennonite and Catholic churches. She has an undergraduate degree from Emmanuel College, where she focused on psychology, religious studies and women’s studies. At YDS, she received a diploma from Andover Newton Seminary and is discerning ordination in the United Church of Christ.