Rest in Pillows

One sunny afternoon, I was running down the national mall in my ripped corduroy jacket and sweatpants with an abnormally light backpack on my back. Struggling to run across the grass as quickly as possible, I passed by two tall twenty-something white guys and giggled. Their large Target brand bags revealing the obvious pillows, they smirked and asked if I was going to the same place. “Uh huh!” I exclaimed, with an unmistakable excitement in my voice.

My friend Ryan was sitting by the fountain and smiling as he waved me down. “I think they are starting,” he said as soon as I took off my jacket and backpack. We heard cheering as we ran in, leaving behind everything but our pillows.

There it was. Pandemonium! People – humanity - dancing the soulful dance of life without missing a step. Sprinting to sneak slams of softness, we giggled and grunted. We came there, weary and bogged down by the obligations and notions, and we climbed out of them the way we did our jackets, tossing them aside with backpacks, to be forgotten, even if only for a minute. We engaged in childlike play, and I pray that at least some of us can taste the childlike faith. No time or opportunity to over-analyze or trivialize. We existed in simple thankfulness, confidence, and peace.

I saw the reflection of the sun in the stranger’s eyes and giggled with her as we were both ambushed by the pillows of grown adults and small children. People of all shapes and sizes were laughing together, sharing in joy, and connecting in a nonverbal way. Now, that’s what I call nonverbal communication! On the outskirts of the naturally formed circle, photographers performed complex acrobatics as they struggled to protect expensive cameras while documenting the beautiful battle of peace.

An outsider approached me asking what it was about, and I said honestly that “people just decided to have a pillow fight and there it is.”

Nothing else mattered besides the energy exchanged between the tens or hundreds of us, constantly in motion and squishiness. Issues of race, identity, sexuality, purpose... They didn’t matter anymore. Neither did our political views, church affiliations, self-image, choice of words, salary, dating history, number of friends, and guilt. It didn’t matter if we did our devotionals or lived sustainably, if we drove or biked or rode the bus. It didn’t matter if anyone in our family had cancer or if we had a 401k account. It didn’t matter who might like who or who is getting married next, or who told a lie, or who didn’t like their roommates. Didn’t matter if your grandma is alive or if you were a bad friend because you didn’t provide your friend the right kind of support when hers was dying. Didn’t matter if you missed the fun concert your friends all went to, or if your crush was potentially interested in somebody else. Didn’t matter what your parents think of your life choices or what you will be like as a parent yourself. Didn’t matter how many people thought you were ugly or cute or what your grades were. Didn't matter if you had pimples and which desires of yours hadn't been fulfilled. Didn’t matter if you were an awkward loner or had a hard time trusting others in the past. Didn’t matter what sin you struggled with for hundreds of days. Didn’t matter what mistakes you or your parents or your spouse made. Didn’t matter whom you have hurt or where you have failed. Joy was present and the struggles were forgotten.

“What a bunch of fools!” one may exclaim watching the occasion from the outside. Many of us were young professionals, college graduates who carry important titles and wear black socks to work. But today, we shed these scaly dead skins of identity and were just children of God. I think that is why so many people wanted to watch and document the occasion.. Because it was so freeing to see the simple things transcend the complexities of modern society.
“Come to me, all you weary,” Jesus says, “and I will give you rest.” (Matt 18:28) His yoke is easy and his burden is light (like a pillow!). We came weary of our job titles, degrees and snobbery, heartbreak and arrogance, selfishness and loneliness. We came weary of wearing black socks while watching radiation spread in Japan, and weary of hurting the humanity that Jesus loved so much. Weary of our own sin and the sin of others, the toils and tears of life. Weary of banging our heads against the wall and failing to find Peace on Earth. And He gave us Rest - in pillows, but not in sleep. Rest in a joyful mystery that transcended the politics and confusion of this political place.

“I think there will be pillow fights in heaven!” I blurted out, my joy uncontainable. People around me laughed in a way that made me think they did not understand.

I had seen glimpses of God’s presence in a Heavenly way. Maybe some prophet spoke of something like this. I don’t know. This reminded me of the time that I saw the patients of a local psychiatric hospital going out on a day pass. Smelly, stuttering, unsteady gait… Looking misshapen and confused. I saw them and immediately thought of the Heaven that Brennan Manning talked about in the Ragamuffin gospel: a heaven of clowns and weirdos, or something like that. When I saw them, I thought, this is what heaven will be like. Joyful, with a bunch of misshapen unsteady ragamuffins. Today, on the national mall, I got to be one of them.

Flash forward two days. Several people sent me a link to a photo of myself in the Washington Post pillow fight archive. Excited to share the joy of the experience, I also felt stupid and self-centered. “What a bunch of fools”, one may say… spending so much time and energy on pictures of a childish pillow fight, when the world has got wars and disasters to worry about. When the US government is about to shut down, AIDS epidemic is infecting and killing people by the second, thousands of people are oppressed by dictators and greed, and the earth’s resources are running out...

Maybe it is foolish, to care so much about just a pillow fight. Or is it not?