::wright wisdom

Elizabeth Ruhlen, May 2009


Remember the ballerina, who, when asked to explain what her dance meant, replied, "If I could have said it, I would not have needed to dance it."

~Bishop N.T. Wright

::r u txting?

I am a frequent text-er (-or?).

I am not entirely proud of this, but it's a fact.
My brother Joshua, who is in charge of our family's cellular plan and actually bears witness to the number of texts I send and receive each month, has been known to refer to me as "Textzilla."

I try not to plan New Year's Resolutions in the traditional sense, because my track record of actually clinging to them is spotty at best.
But one thing I did decide this year is, I would love to spend more time ignoring my cell phone.

For me, there is nothing richer than being in the actual physical presence of the ones I love, beholding their precious facial expressions, bodily gestures, subtle nonverbal cues that tell me more than spoken words - or words displayed on a screen - could ever express.

In texting, Instant Messages, Facebook comments, e-mails, etc., some of us try to configure colons, semicolons, dashes, and parentheses into feeble hints of emotive expression.
I suppose we figure that any attempt at conveying tone is better than none.

But typing words onto any-sized screen, while it is convenient, handy, necessary and even fun sometimes, will never even scratch the surface of the joy and satisfaction held by flesh-and-blood interaction.
If I love you, I want to see you.
I want to give you a warm, joyful hug, sit beside you, see your smile, hear your voice, watch your face as you tell me all about the nuances and details of who you are.

Call me old-fashioned if you wish.
And yes, even if you do so via text, I will appreciate the irony.
I may even "lol."

::la mort

Having experienced several instances of grief in my life, it has become a familiar experience, though never a welcome guest.

This month, I have lost two significant women whose etchings upon my soul are immeasurable.

After losing a close friend to a severe asthma attack at the tender age of 11, I learned very early on that death would be a part of life.
I am not uncomfortable discussing it, referencing it, or even joking about it.
I do not become visibly anxious and agitated when the subject is broached.
I do not dismiss it with complaints about the conversation having turned "too morbid."

The more I think about death, the more I feel convinced that one of the reason why it causes us such pain, discomfort and anxiety is because we have no control over it.
Because of technological advancements and human discoveries, we are able to postpone it, delay it, straddle its boundaries, and even invite it, if we wish.
But ultimately, it remains immune to our manipulations.
We will die, the people we love will die, and we are powerless to prevent it.

In the face of such sobering realities, it's no wonder that we feel so heavy-hearted when death brushes against us.
Having grown up in the Christian tradition, I know very well that God is sovereign over all facets of life, even death.
I'm well aware that the Bible says "we do not mourn as those who have no hope."

But the fact remains, we do mourn.
There is no escaping that disturbing fact.

The last thing I ever wish to sound like is a cliched idealist.
But I do believe there are things we can control that may offer comfort in the face of death's unavoidable encroachment.
We can choose to be kind, empathetic, and patient with one another.
We can resolve conflicts with humble, contrite communication.
We can make concerted efforts to ensure that those we love are fully aware of our concern and compassion for them.

When I was sixteen, I went to Pittsburgh for a short-term mission trip, fixing up houses for low-income families with The Pittsburgh Project.
Our leader and teacher, Saleem Ghubril, instructed us, "Think about what you want people to say about you at your funeral."

I still think about that.
Every day.

::peace and rest

Last week, a significant mentor of mine passed away.
Mary Alice Lacey.

[Mary Alice with her grand-niece, Andrea; photo courtesy of Kim Lacey]

At the church I grew up attending, she was my Sunday School teacher.
She was 89 when she passed, and for 71 of those years, she taught Sunday School.
So, I believe it's beyond fair to say that thousands of children were blessed by her humble, sprightly spirit.

At her funeral on Saturday, more than 200 people gathered to mourn her passing.
But since she was so gracious, and craved neither credit nor fanfare, her funeral wishes specified that she did not want any attendees to stand up and talk about her.

When I was eight years old, she asked me to write and perform a "Tribute to Mothers" for a Mother's Day celebration in our Sunday School Department.
I have never forgotten the way I felt when she requested this of me.
She believed in me.
She trusted me.
She actually took me seriously.
She awarded me the dignity of a legitimate, gifted human being, rather than nonsensically dismissing me as a foolish child.
I suspect there are thousands who could (and should) tell similar stories of her immeasurable impact upon their young souls.

When I ponder the passionate commitment that she constantly exhibited, I am reminded of these words, spoken by Jesus Christ in Luke chapter 18:

Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them; for to such belongs the kingdom of God.
Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.

These words, I suspect, were engraved upon her very soul.

::Cantique de Noël

There is so very much I could attempt to articulate; so many abstract concepts I could try squeezing into awkward molds of eloquence.

I believe John Sullivan Dwight has taken a phenomenal stab at this already.

Truly He taught us To love one another;

His law is love And His gospel is peace.

Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother;

And in His name, all oppression shall cease.

Those words, sweetly blessing my ears this evening, gave me such hope and solace.

Merry Christmas.

::wise words

The very first Sunday that I attended Trinity Church - July 25, 2004 - I fell in love with its liturgy.

Many Sunday mornings find me feeling inspired and often confounded by the assemblage of words we read responsively.

My spirit is often probed by this phrase:

Before God, with the people of God, we confess to our brokenness: to the ways we wound our lives, the lives of others, and the life of the world.

The Confession of Sin is purposely humbling, and often so beautifully articulate.
I found this morning's Confession particularly provocative.



Confession of Sin for the Fourth Sunday in Advent:

Almighty God, our Father, the days grow darker and colder, and yet somehow we grow accustomed to the gloom around us. We have become all too familiar with death, war, tragedy, sorrow and worry in the world.

Lord, have mercy on us.

The world around us is full of violence and injustice; whole nations are in the grip of darkness as they seek power instead of peace, choosing greed over generosity, loving self above sacrifice.

Christ, have mercy on us.

Our very lives are filled with dysfunction and sin. We neglect and abuse every good thing You have given to us. We are left brooding over our troubled lives, even as we remain indifferent to the suffering of others.

Lord, have mercy on us.

Loving God, break the grip of darkness in our lives, so that Your peace will dawn in our hearts.

Look with favor upon Your people, Lord.
Grant us Your blessing.
Amen.

::what up, doc?

MTV broadcasts a show called Teen Mom.
It chronicles the lives of girls who were formerly featured on the series 16 and Pregnant.
As all of MTV's documentary series tend to do, it captivates me.

Something that has always bothered me is this: if a girl becomes pregnant and finds herself in very difficult straits, there are many who will dismiss her obvious struggle with statements like,

"Well, she brought it on herself!"

"She should've thought of that before she decided to have sex!"

While I understand the tendency to make such statements, I'm also slightly appalled by their hypocrisy.
It seems to me that the human condition is a near-constant stream of our own poor decisions placing us in painful places, so what right do we ever have to degrade someone else for their decisions?
Even if it's something simple as oversleeping and missing a test or a meeting at work, or willfully disobeying the speed limit and getting a ticket, who among us has not been in a difficult situation that we "brought on ourselves?"
The very notion that a person somehow deserves less compassion or concern - and not only that, but ridicule instead - because they were the architect of their own pain? That just seems utterly ludicrous.
I actually have a theory that when you're struggling with something you've "brought on yourself," it hurts more than something that just happens to you, because there is the added factor of guilt in the equation.

It would clearly behoove us all to gaze upon our fellow humans with the humility expressed in
There but for the grace of God, go I.

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