Body Worlds 2 is an exhibition that is presently showing at the Ontario Science Center. This exhibition uses real bodies that have been transformed into plastic sculptures by Gunther von Hagens with a process he developed called Plastination.

You get to see the human body as it really is, through the posing, cutting, stripping away, disassembling and finally, the Tupperwaring of Von Hagens.

I would be lying if I didn’t say that I am both fascinated and creeped out by this exhibit. Interestingly, all of the donors willingly signed up to be immortalized in plastic and apparently there is a waiting list of 6,000 to join in being Barbie or Kenized.

The exhibition clearly shows the complicated beauty of the human machine but therein is my social/spiritual discomfort—you can’t vacuum form a soul. You can’t take the real essence of what makes us human and surround it in Playdo and then put it on display. After all, what makes us human is the fact that we were created in the image of God (Gen 1:27 ). You may be able to take the bodies of real human beings and turn them into plastic, but that doesn’t bring us any closer to understanding our nature or our purpose.

In the very least, Von Hagens process is merely a metaphor for our current society. It seems to me that our fascination with celebrity/entertainment and the shallowness of many of our relationships have turned our souls into the equivalent of Ken and Barbie. Maybe that’s what bothers me most about all this-some days I really do feel quite plastic.

I was recently at a lunch meeting with a few of the local pastors in our area. It’s always interesting when you get a pack of ministers/pastors/reverends together. There is such a range of dress and background and attitude—but there is always a lot of laughter.

There is something very liberating about being in a room with people who, regardless of their background, share the same faith, same struggles, same problems, and same joys as you. It’s kind of like when war veterans get together and talk about the war. There is a different dynamic in talking to someone who’s experienced the same battles as you—others just don’t understand.

At this particular meeting I met Pastor David Emery from Farmer Memorial Baptist Church. It was a pleasure to meet him and I really enjoyed his sense of humor. At one point he shared a bit of the history of his church.

Apparently the church building had been built on what used to be the town of Swansea’s dump. (Swansea is an area of Toronto south of Bloor Street and West of High Park.) It seems that you can dig down 62 feet through garbage before you hit the bedrock.

Now, I am sure building the church on such an unstable foundation has probably caused some troubles over the years, but I just can’t help but love the image. God’s people redeemed a place of refuse and turned it into a place of worship and salvation.

In one way all churches have this in common with Farmer Memorial. Every church has been built on the redemption of throw away lives. God takes our garbage and turns it into something that brings Him glory. He takes our brokenness, our bondage, our pain and brings us healing.

OK, so you know the deal with guys and directions right? I mean, I am not alone as a man who is somewhat suspicious of directions, am I?—especially if the person giving the directions was recently operated on and in a semi-conscious state due to the high levels of pain-killers coursing through his veins.

Now, it could be pointed out that there were three other people in the van who were all local and somewhat in agreement with my drugged-out, pain-wracked friend, but these facts are virtually inconsequential because the others weren’t really vocal, at least they weren’t vocal enough to drown out Mr. Trippy’s slurred rants.

All this took place while we were recently in Frederick MD, on our way to supper in the downtown district with our friends. (Thanks Jon and Stacy for showing us a wonderful time!) I was driving and Jim, the drugged-out guy with the gammy leg, was the vocal one. He suggested that I take a short-cut down what can only be characterized as an alley. It was narrow and most-likely seedy—although it was too narrow to even see if it was seedy, so I, as the driver, made an executive decision to not to go down said, alley. Instead I took another street and arguably complicated our journey in a modest, unassuming, almost inconsequential way.

Unfortunately my unwillingness to heed my friends’ advice created a social faux pas that was no doubt exaggerated by my friends’ delicate condition. His comment was: “Sure don’t trust the advice of three locals who’ve been down that road before.”

Hum, my friend, Jim, must have been almost catatonic at that point, because he was actually making sense. It even stung a bit. He was right, I should have trusted someone who had already gone down that road, but my problem was that there is an alley close to where we live and several times I’ve been stuck waiting in that alley because a truck was blocking the way. I hate waiting! So, I trusted my experience over the expertise of others. BIG DEAL! What’s wrong with that?

Nothing, except I was unwilling to trust our journey to someone else more experienced than I. Spiritually speaking, I was unwilling to yield. I was unteachable. I was arrogant. I was a control-freak! With the situation in hand, it cost me a minute or two and the relentless scorn of my buddy. No biggie, I am used to his scorn. I eat his scorn for breakfast.

But, the question that really bothers me is: what does it cost me when the directions come from the Lord and I’m still unwilling to yield? What happens when I trust my own experiences over the expertise of the One who already has a bird’s-eye view of the lane? What happens when I trust MY experience over my Creator’s wisdom, guidance and direction? How many times have I had to circle the block spiritually because I refused to stray from the path that seemed clearest to me? This is yet another place I really don’t want to go!