Waiting for the R Train
Last week, I stepped off the rather cushioned belly of the New York City subway and found myself waiting for the R train. It felt a bit like waiting for a vision of the Virgin Mary in a cave.
“Trains D, R, and N are delayed,” echoed the MTA’s automated voice for what felt like the third time. Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead, making my shirt damp. The unpleasant scent of rats hung in the air as they scurried around, both inside and out of a nearby truck.
Modern advancements have somehow made the space feel more akin to a meatpacking facility than a place for reflection. Our Lady of Enduring Help has transformed into Our Lady of Enduring Refrigeration.
Suddenly, a light broke through the tunnel as the train approached. I let out a sigh of relief, grateful for my imminent escape from platform purgatory.
Chilled to the Bone
Upon stepping onto the train, a rush of Arctic air enveloped me. The damp spots on my shirt began to freeze, sending shivers through me. Instead of feeling fiery like Dante’s vision of hell, this was cold—a shivering, biting cold.
By the time I reached my stop, I felt almost hypothermic. Walking through the intense heat of the station, my stomach began to twist and turn. The sharp changes in temperature were clearly messing with my system.
At last, I arrived at a cozy café where I planned to finish writing a few thoughts. Yet, just as I settled in, a sudden, disruptive jolt of cold air caught my attention. To my astonishment, the café was even colder than the subway.
Seeking Comfort
As I took my first sip of latte, my moment of calm was interrupted by an urgent notification, one that felt far more pressing than anything regarding the R train. The barista handed me the bathroom code at Nick in Time.
Restoring my gastrointestinal balance reminded me of that light jacket I had stashed at the bottom of my backpack, buried beneath a pile of books, my laptop, a charger, cigarettes, essential oils, and, well, my bread maker. It took a little digging, but I wrapped it around myself and attempted to write again.
But it was futile—the thin fabric did little against the brutal chill. Realizing that perhaps a heat stroke was preferable to this freezing environment, I opted for a seat at an outdoor table.
Defying Expectations
Still sweating as I headed to evening mass, a part of me naïvely hoped that the spirit of modesty and humility might prevail in the house of God. Maybe a couple of simple fans and some open windows could do the trick?
But, no luck there. Modern technology has turned the nave into more of a meatpacking area than a sanctuary. Our Lady of Enduring Help had very clearly become Our Lady of Enduring Refrigeration.
Now, I understand the need for some temperature control, especially for the elderly or those with health issues. Yet this was just excessive. It’s a glaring example of our society’s trend to crank up the air conditioning, disregarding the needs of those actually inhabiting the space.
Confronting Comfort
The French philosopher Jean Baudrillard noted this trend almost three decades ago. In his travelogue “America,” he was scandalized and enticed by the “mindless luxury” he encountered. He described illuminated skylines at midnight, air conditioning systems cooling sky-high hotels amidst deserts, and artificial light that seemed to praise this mindless existence.
Recently, I’ve started to lean into that “mindlessness,” flirting with the notion of it almost being a kind of madness. I hesitate to use the term “playing God,” but is there something strange about our determination to eliminate all signs of summer from indoor environments?
Thus, I find myself declaring a crusade against air conditioning.
Now, I’m not suggesting that we ambush the nearest HVAC provider and declare that Christianity is meant to be unbearably hot. This battle, primarily, is against the mental laziness bred from our relentless pursuit of comfort.
Consumerism has forced the creation of “needs” that don’t genuinely serve our bodies or souls, and maintaining a perfect indoor temperature is definitely part of that.
Returning to Reality
Baudrillard argued that in this “air conditioning of life,” everything gets processed, consumed, and ultimately homogenized. Cory Doctorow calls it “enshittification,” which might explain my own chaotic digestive state.
Pope Francis observed the fixation on climate control back in 2015 in “Laudato Si’.” He pointed out that while people may be becoming more ecologically aware, they struggle to change harmful consumption habits.
It’s unfortunate that Pope Francis didn’t address air conditioning directly—opting instead to focus on things like cigarette sales, which he banned in the Vatican, and the Tridentine Latin Mass.
I can only hope that God keeps him safe from both extremes of temperature.
