Religious Hypocrisy: Celebrating Self-Sabotage

Here is the revised article:

When I first saw the kitchen table in the house we now call home, I instantly knew we had to have it. The owners weren't selling, but they directed us to a store in town, where we discovered it was a David Marsh piece. I was already intrigued by the half dozen signatures carved on its underbelly—a unique touch that defied the modern obsession with individualism and "building one's brand." Instead, it spoke to me of collective investment and community, harkening back to my wife's and my time in Salvadoran refugee camps, where we first met.

As a retired Presbyterian minister, I have always been drawn to the idea that "no man is an island." And so, when our beloved table showed signs of wear after two decades of faithful service, I reached out to the store for advice on refinishing. Little did I expect a call from Marsh himself, who generously offered to pick up the table and work his magic in his shop.

I was dumbfounded by his offer and even more so when I met him in person on the cusp of Midsummer. We talked for five hours, delving into his unique philosophy on life and craft. Marsh, a former protégé of Buckminster Fuller, is a man of keen intellect and a wealth of experiences. He has chosen to build a cottage industry, training one-time strangers in his unique style of functional art, only to render himself "useless" in the end.

Marsh's philosophy is a two-step process. First, he embraces the idea of getting "use-lost," a made-up word that captures his intent to "be of use without owning anything." This, he says, is inspired by none other than John Steinbeck. The second step is to remove himself from the process, to become "beautifully anonymous." He jokes that his former students have become his greatest competitors as they now own the franchises for bookcases and dressers, while he continues to craft tables and mirror frames.

Marsh's furniture is a tactile dialogue, a belief system he ascribes to as a cultural anthropologist. He speaks of "mana," an elemental power that exists within both inanimate and animate objects, and a board telling the craftsman what it wants to be. Marsh's unique hand-planning technique leaves his furniture redolent with his own mana, a distinct texture and feel.

His journey into craftsmanship began in Guatemalan refugee camps, carving logs into boats—a complex application of geometry to influence culture without being at its center. He was inspired by "The Population Bomb," a 1970s classic, and calculated that humans would exhaust the Earth's supply of sought-after woods. Thus, he works exclusively with reclaimed wood or wood that is sustainably produced.

Marsh has always resisted the urge to "go big," shunning marketing and focusing instead on the joy of creating folk art that makes the common interesting. At 75, he still rises with the sun to work in his shop alongside his partner, Paco, speaking only Spanish as they craft. He takes pride in the durability of his creations, and even today, he can lift one of his tables with a single leg.

As we concluded our conversation and loaded the now-refinished table into his van, Marsh shared his thoughts on faith. "Faith comes out of awe," he said, "and when one notices the similarities between a butterfly's shadow and that of a falling leaf, how can you not have faith that something cool is happening all around us all the time?"

I couldn't agree more as I look upon our refreshed kitchen table, a testament to dialogue and community. Like Marsh's mother, I give thanks for a beautifully anonymous God and the artisans who find purpose in their use-lost state.

Terry Dawson
Faith on View