Over the past few months several people have asked why my essays are published under “The Ceramic Episcopalian.” Since I've now written four essays under this heading it's time to explore how I came up with the name.
The first component is actually the Episcopalian. I noticed over the years that regardless of my relationship with the church, a particular congregation, or God I identified myself as an Episcopalian. Not only did I hold that identity in my heart– I wore it on my sleeve and shared it with new friends regardless of whether or not they were Christian, pagan, or atheist.
When I was growing up I went to church nearly every Sunday and played an active role in worship then, about three years ago, it became hard for me to go to church. First it was a severe faith crisis and now it's mostly that I have a very active two-year-old and cramming one more thing into my schedule isn't going to happen. Someday I will return to active worship but now I am content reading, reflecting, and on the days I believe in god, praying.
The second component is ceramic– and much more light-hearted. When I began writing essays it was in part in response to friend mine who writes very good essays under the really cool name ‘Sans Fig Leaf.” Having a column name helped tie his series of essays together– and at times acted as a springboard for new essays.
I looked at my own writing and realized that a frequent theme I return too is my relationship to god, the Episcopal Church, and nature of spirituality.
I have read a series of books by Terry Pratchett set on his Discworld. The thing I enjoy most about his works is that, depending on the reader's mood, they can either be read as escapist fantasy or as commentaries on our modern world. They are also funny, which helps. On the Discworld– atheists are in real trouble because the gods are real and tend to treat dis-belief as an opportunity for target practice– leaving only a pair of smoking sandals where once there was a questioning mind (and a body to go with it).
In his book, Feet of Clay, Terry Pratchett introduces Dorfl the golem. By the end of the book Dorfl has been through fire and is transformed into his own person. A very small part of the book has gods throwing lightning down on Dorfl when he says he will only worship a god that can be proven by worthy disputation. Here– it's better if I just quote:
“But the gods plainly do exist,” said a priest.
“It Is Not Evident.” [said Dorfl]
A bolt of lightning lanced through the clouds and hit Dorfl’s helmet. There was a sheet of flame and then a trickling noise. Dorfl’s molten armor formed puddles around his white hot feet.
“I Don't Call That Much Of An Argument,” said Dorfl calmly, from somewhere in the clouds of smoke.
“It's tended to carry the audience,” said Vimes. “Up until now.”
Later in the same scene Vimes realizes that not only is Dorfl an atheist, he's a ceramic atheist. Fireproof!
When I read that line– the two things came together and formed a broad category under which my essays could live together. I have found that when I lack for inspiration I can come back to that name and use it as a basis for reflection until a new idea strikes “The Ceramic Episcopalian.”