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…everyone is fighting some kind of battle.
This quote has been attributed in various forms to everyone from Plato to John Watson. Maybe it’s because it’s a universal reminder that needs repeating. I know I need to hear it more often, because I was harshly reminded of it this summer.
Last spring, I worked with a difficult professor in an advanced Creative Writing class. It was handled workshop-style, where each of us has class periods to reveal our heart-felt and delicately-forged story as we would the beloved child of our loins. Then ten to fifteen people talk about what works in the story (you hope at least SOMETHING worked) and what needs to be revised, and how you might improve it. Sometimes we show our baby and the class agrees it is ugly. This can be an uncomfortable process, and it was made much worse by my elderly professor who would snap, “This is crap.” “You’re not writing a believable character, do you even know the basics of character delineation?” “You’re writing bullshit. Write a REAL story.”
Honest professional feedback is absolutely vital to a writer, but this became so painful that some students stopped distributing their work in the workshops and avoided talking during class. Though I received some relatively positive responses, I was upset at this crabby, rude old professor who really hurt some young writers.
While talking with another English professor this summer, I mentioned my experience. And though he agreed with my perspective, he also gave me an additional one. It turns out this professor is one of many forced into an early retirement because the state of Illinois is considering cutting pensions. Unfortunately, this professor has neither a partner nor children, so his teaching was his life. And right before my semester started, he was diagnosed with cancer.
My heart crumpled up.
With our own lives devastated the past few years with every conceivable misfortune, I can understand how trouble causes someone to be irritable and withdrawn and how easy it is to forget that others are hurting, too. There were times when a kind word or action would have been a healing balm on my soul. It’s quite possible that the poor man felt his problems were so insurmountable that he was unable to see how he affected others.
I don’t mean to say that we should be kinder to others so that they are kinder to us. I am saying that we all need more kindness; kindness breeds more kindness, and there is never enough of THAT in the world. Though I may be absorbed in my own problems, when I encounter meanness, anger, irritation, or cruelty, I should look beyond the behavior into the beautiful, hurting soul that could use a little love.
Feel free to keep reminding me of this thought.
Once, when I was going through a difficult situation, a wise friend told me, “Sometimes you have to give up your right to justice for the greater good.”
Everything in me rose up against that statement. As an American, I don’t give up my rights to anybody. I stand up for myself and fight for what’s right. But when I really thought about his advice, I realized that obtaining justice would make me feel better, but would cause damage that I could not live with.
This year, I have faced another situation where I was not given justice. I was doing what was right and honest and was treated badly for it. This wasn’t a minor issue; it broke my heart and led to many impassioned discussions and crying bouts. And I kept thinking of my friend’s advice. Did I want justice badly enough to allow other people to be hurt in the process? Was I willing to accept collateral damage?
In the end, I decided I was not. At the same time, I removed myself from that environment and relief and healing have poured into me. By giving up justice, I am not saying that the way I was treated was okay. I’m saying that there are people I care about more than I care about being proven right. While there are times in the future I will insist on my rights, I hope I always remember to consider all the consequences beforehand.
As the pain clears away, I’ve found something to be thankful for. At the university I write down words I don’t know and look them up to increase my vocabulary. Then I write the definition on a post-it note and stick it to the world map above my computer. Here is one word I looked up this spring:
Obdurate (adj.) 1. Stubbornly persisting in wrongdoing; hardened in feelings. 2. Resistant to persuasion or softening influences.
I don’t think I will ever forget the meaning of that word; it might always be connected to the events of this spring. But thankfully, this time it does not describe me.
Around the train station there are always a bunch of beggars who are getting shoved along by cops or chased out of the food court by restaurant managers. I always have mixed feelings about giving money to panhandlers, though the bible says, “Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back.” (Luke 6:30). It also says that we should be as shrewd as serpents and innocent as doves, and I haven’t been able to reconcile those two ideas to my own satisfaction.
A few weeks ago a guy approached me while I was eating lunch and said he was hungry and out of work, like half the world. I gave him half of my lunch. On my way out the door, I saw the man being chased by the manager of McDonalds. Then I saw him standing next to my bus stop, borrowing a lighter from a woman so he could light a blunt.
The lunch I gave him was tossed on the sidewalk.
I don’t know how to identify the “good” panhandlers from the “bad”. I don’t know if someone is going to use the dollar I give them for something I would approve of. I don’t even know if it is my job to judge, or ignore, or to give. I have noticed in my own life in these past few years of poverty and need that the poorer someone was, the more willing they were to help me. I can’t say that this is a general rule of life, though.
I guess if there is a lesson here, it’s probably that I didn’t need the other half of that veggie quesadilla. But I really, really wanted it.
What do you do about beggars and people who ask you for help?
On Christmas morning, my husband and I were vacationing in Minneapolis, and we decided to go to a church service at St. Paul’s Cathedral in St. Paul, the National Shrine to St. Paul the Apostle.
What an experience of awe and wonder.
I grew up Catholic in a rural community, but never celebrated a mass in a cathedral. Today we worship in a very modern Lutheran church that looks like a community center or a gym; most of the time we wear jeans to church and the music is contemporary and heavy on guitars, not so much a performance as a spontaneous celebration of God.
I like our church’s atmosphere. I love the feeling of God being woven so finely into the casual way we live our lives, and closer than our own pulse. It’s God on an approachable scale: Jesus in a manger, welcomed by sometimes humble, sometimes simple people trying to be shepherds in a world that doesn’t necessarily want any shepherds.
Mass at St. Paul’s took my breath away. Here is where we are reminded that we approach the Creator of the universe, the Lord of eternity, the King of everything. I am so used to thinking of God as the being who loves me most dearly that I can go before him boldly and confidently any time I want – and that he forgives me when in the middle of a discussion, my mind wanders off.
This gloriously-beautiful house of God, the service of people in special robes, swinging censers of incense, a ceremony millenniums-old and layered with symbols and meaning, the bells and the impressive organ, all reminded me of the power and majesty of God. It reminded me that when I go boldly before God as his beloved daughter, I am walking into the throne room of the King of everything. I know that God does not require gold-painted altars and special clothes to worship him, but worship does involve making our reflection into a holy, set-apart time that is special from the rest of our lives. Awe and wonder should be mixed with confidence in my worship, wherever that worship occurs.
“Shine Your light so I can see You
Pull me up, I need to be near You
Hold me, I need to feel loved
Can You overcome this heart that’s overcome?”*
I am still struggling in the Latin American lit class, where I’m constantly hearing put-downs and racist comments directed toward white Americans, and a professor who encourages this attitude.
Today seems more than I could stand. I pointed out that in the essay we studied, the writer was ranting about white middle-class ideas about her identity, compared to how she sees her unique identity. I said that anyone should be able to define her own identity, but that she was denying the other people their identity by lumping them all together into “white middle-class ideas.” I said that white middle-class people have a variety of perspectives on race. I found it offensive that she would demand respect for her identity but not give it to others.
Believe it or not, my Latina professor said that if it makes me uncomfortable, I deserved to feel that way because now I know how Latinos feel. I asked her how that makes the behavior right, and the class attacked me (um, verbally, not physicially). They hammered at me about my “dominant privileged culture” attitude for the last 15 minutes of class. One student suggested that if Latinos were not given respect, they should rise up and seize it with violence.
Tonight I’m going through various possibilities. I have thought of all kinds of nasty things that I could say. In my head, I’ve composed emails to the teacher and her department leader. I’ve considered dropping the class after I fortuitously received an email from the department saying that I have until this Friday to drop the class. I shudder at the thought of confronting her personally, but I’ve considered that, too.
But wait. These things happen for a reason. In this fallen world, I should not expect to reach out to care about and understand someone else, and be met with love. If I let racism make me angry, racism wins. If I let hatred sow hatred in my heart, hatred wins.
I don’t know how to treat my class decently, much less with love, after today’s session. I honestly don’t think I can offer this kind of love alone. I need God’s love in my heart so that I can love them. I need to see them the way he sees them and grieves over their anger and hatred.
The tests of our Christian behavior and commitment often don’t come in the idle, loving times, but in the ugly and dark moments when we wish God would just turn his eyes away for a moment and let us give in to our worst impulses.
Keep my heart in your prayers, my friends, so that evil does not win.
“Shine Your light so all can see it
Lifted up, ’cause the whole world needs it
Love has come, what joy to hear it
He has overcome, He has overcome.”*
*David Crowder Band, “SMS (Shine)”
