On Embodiment 🦶

What does it mean to really live where you live?

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

I’ve been thinking about the idea of embodiment — this weird word that basically means “a visible or tangible form of an idea.” It’s a cousin of sacramental, the thing Seth and I broadly talk about on Drink, which adds to the idea that because we can find God’s fingerprints everywhere, that visible form becomes sacred in its own right. A baby’s grin reminds us of God’s love for the world; autumn’s changing leaves point to God’s unchanging reliability.

Embodiment, then, seems to be the precursor to sacramentality, which means that if I want my ordinary, quotidian life to speak of things that matter much more than the here-and-now, becoming a tangible form of an idea is a prerequisite.

But what idea? It’s obvious that embodying just any ol’ idea doesn’t cut it. If things like living a life that’ll impress my parents, social media followers, or former high school classmates is the idea that matters to me, then it’s not too hard to achieve. I simply live on credit, trade up on new cars every two years, and stay abreast of what everyone else is watching on all the streaming services. If the idea of being seen as a Thought Leader or guru is what I’m after, then I better embody that idea by having a Very Important Opinion on every newsworthy event that makes headlines, and I better say it right away on all the platforms.

If you’re reading this, you already know I don’t care about those things.* These sorts of priorities would make for a very exhausted, unfulfilled, un-embodied me. No thank you.

But if I actually care about the ideas I think I care about, then it’d behoove me to make damn-well sure my visible self reflects these ideas — as best as I humanly can, anyway. And if to embody an idea means that it’s visible or tangible, then it seems like it means it’s physical. As in, not just digital. We’re talking analog. Dirt-in-the-fingernails, bringing-casseroles-to-my-neighbors sort of embodiment. Sitting in the pew next to my fellow parishioner from a few blocks over, and not just tuning in to my YouTube channel of choice for virtual church (or virch, as well call it around here when we’re sick and can’t make it).

Sacramental living means perhaps, indeed, holding a well-formed conviction over a recent SCOTUS decision, but also embodying that conviction in action — not just tossing up a social media post like a yard placard and calling it good. It means participating in my local elections, caring more about who fills those roles than the better-known federal positions that’ll hardly scratch a dent in the daily life of my neighborhood. It means recognizing the holy sacredness of my ordinary choices and habits, that their embodiment of my values serves to model to my kids what it means to mean what I say. It means donating diapers to my neighborhood pregnancy help center or delivering meals to the homebound, to sharing our extra garden tomatoes with our next-door neighbor.