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I’ve always tended towards quality over quantity, but the older I get, the stronger the impulse is. For example, I have grown weary of fast fashion. Many of us wear clothing considered fast fashion, which simply means it is made for seasonal offerings of affordable materials. Manufacturers choose styles, colors, and patterns, and mass-produce their items for nationwide distribution at a price point consumers will find appealing. That’s not all bad – the days of bespoke average clothing are long gone, and designer pieces wouldn’t be designer if they were mass-produced. Some people require access to fast fashion to clothe their children and themselves. But if you’ve read up on fast fashion’s impact on landfills and the environment, you know the downside.
There is a middle ground that involves finding well-made, high-quality pieces that will hold over time and have what we might call a classic or timeless cut. For me, that would be something like well-made chino or wool pants, or a shirt made for many washings over many years. For instance, I’ve moved towards more wool because it can last a very long time and doesn’t need washing after every wear. Similarly, it’s why I tend to spend more on a quality pair of dress shoes than on whatever's on sale. I have some formal shoes in my closet that are fifteen years old and still looking great. I had to learn how to condition and polish them, and I am a big fan of shoe trees—all of which do wonders for longevity.
My current project is to figure out how to get the Rector’s office chair refurbished. When the decision was made to move the Rector into what used to be the library, rather than buy a new desk, we had the desk that was being used as a library table refinished and had a piece of glass made for the top. It shows battle scars from the arms of chairs that got pushed into it again and again, but it’s still a lovely piece. The rolling chair from a set that lived in the library has been my desk chair since I moved, too. It’s not an executive chair, more of a nice task chair, with a back that stops at my shoulder blades. The problem is that the piston mechanism won’t stay raised, and the leather on the seat is cracked and peeling getting lumpy as the filling compacts over time. It’s a beautiful chair with camel leather and nailhead trim around the front and back.
I’ve been looking at replacement options on and off for months, and in the meantime, I've just raised the chair back up a few dozen times a day, thinking about how low it has sunk. But it does need to be dealt with in the long term. All that I can find to replace it falls short of what I might call quality, meaning it would never reach the twenty-plus-year life span this chair has already had. I researched the brand, and if they still made this chair, which they don’t, it would be quite expensive to replace it. So, I’m researching having the seat reupholstered by a local shop to keep it in play. I’m guessing it will cost about what a new mass-produced chair would cost, and it seems like better stewardship all the way around. Modern desk chairs cost at least several hundred dollars, and many wear out in less than five years. That’s bad for Church resources and a waste of a quality and beautiful piece of furniture.
As we wind up Lent this week and enter Holy Week in the coming days, I am struck by gratitude that God chose the path of restoration with us. Genesis tells the story of Noah, a story that captures God’s insight about not tossing us out with the trash when we have worn out our welcome. God promised never to destroy the world again. Later, when humanity had fallen short yet again, the God who makes all things new found a way to restore us without destroying us. And it wasn’t a cheap option; sending God’s Son into the world to bring about that restoration came at great cost. The days of Noah were costly, too, but Holy Week reminds us just how personal the cost and love were.
We are the quality materials with which God works. God should know, as the one who crafted us. Anyone who makes things knows all that goes into creative work. A finely made chair doesn’t just pop out of an overseas factory. The best work is done by hand and assembled with great care. And when something has been made in that way, when the creator has put a little bit of themselves into their creation, it is not disposable. As our Lenten journey winds down, we have been reupholstering our worn-out hearts, refinishing the rough, damaged places from a life of usefulness, and dealing with stubborn stains and marks that only a master can remove. We’re not headed for a display case or a museum, but simply to be restored so we can get on with everyday living.
As I sit here in this lovely but weathered chair, this is what I’m grateful for. I also realize I have sunk back down to the floor, and it’s time to pull the knob and stand up to raise the chair back to its full height. That’s what Holy Week will finish doing for us, too. And at the end of the week, when we reach Easter Sunday, we will rejoice that God has raised Jesus who sank into death, and we inherit a promise that we will be raised, too, when the time comes. Until then, we’ll keep refreshing and renewing ourselves here and there and keep on doing what God has tasked us to do.
