This morning while scrubbing a pan I had what I call a "naru hodo" moment. It's a moment when various factors that have long been with me suddenly converge in a way that makes me suddenly say to myself "Oh! Now, I see!"
This morning I was thinking about what Giussani says about verification and trusting witnesses. My mind ran through scenarios where certain individuals really could not, through no real fault of their own, be trusted to give me accurate information. But suddenly I saw something much bigger: People who are not trustworthy witnesses need not be feared or hated.
This may not be an astounding revelation to you, and actually I hope it isn't. I hope that others have not suffered through my difficulties with appropriately judging. However, in my life, I see that I have erroneously lumped love and trust together in a way that mandated they stay together, for good or for ill. Similarly I've lumped mistrust with either fear or hate, or some other expression which is actually a combination of those two, a word for which I can't produce right now. So I've had people I've loved but who have not been worthy of trust, and I've gotten burned by trusting them anyway. I've had other experiences of not even venturing trust and definitely not venturing love. I'm happy to say that both extremes of my experience are far back in my past. And yet, what of the subconscious effect of my previous "lumping" styles? I think this is what snapped into view today.
What is to be my attitude towards the person I cannot trust, or whom I cannot trust readily? Just like everyone else, when I am with them in mind or body, I stay aware of the reality of Christ. I stay aware of the presence of the Holy Spirit within me, allowing me to see Jesus present. Jesus is present in my pity, in my sympathy, for that person's need, and my own. That person has a need for Truth, for Beauty, for Goodness -- for Love -- for God, in other words, just as I have this need for Him.
I think the shock of this realization for me comes from the fact that I presumed, once, that hate was necessary, that making an enemy of the one I could not trust was necessary, out of self-defense. In my experience, particularly in my much younger days, people who proved untrustworthy also proved to usher in tremendous pain into my life. But because I found it impossible to express anything about this pain productively in the direction that I at least perceived it to belong, I instead lashed out against untrustworthy "categories" of people, like Catholics. It's strange, but true. Because I so strongly identified with my Protestant religion as "safe," my biggest target for vitriol was this amorphous entity I knew as "Catholics."
So of course God called me to become one of those, and one I've been for 15 years. And today while scrubbing a pan I saw this mental construct of mine as completely strange and defective. The truth is clear, and something I can now touch. Years ago, this would have hit me like a blast of dynamite: Love is for all people. My trust is not for all people to the same extent.
So how do you instill in a child that we Christians love all and trust as trust is earned? Other than, of course, modeling this behavior in our relationships, especially with our children? I think for me, the beginning of the answer to that lies in constantly beholding Christ, fixing my eyes on Him, and therefore being attracted, allowing the attraction, to everything that resonates with Him. What that is, and is not, becomes part of the joy of each day's discovery.
2 comments:
I know what you mean about those moments. Sometime we know something in our heads, as a bit of theology or wisdom, but it doesn't come to life for us until we've let it settle into our own experiences and thoughts. I'd call it meditating, but that sounds like a method, and I'm not at all sure that it responds to methods. But if there is one, it's probably washing dishes or sweeping a floor!
(And on a related note, I think this is one reason that leisure in education is so important.)
I also know what you mean about the specific instance of trust. One of my own life lessons involves people who want so badly for things to go well that they'll tell you they're going well when they're clearly not, and I'm talking about concrete, verifiable things that you have been encouraged to count on. Yet, how can you not feel for such a person?
I'm not sure I'd even talk about it with a small child, because I'm not at all sure they can get it. I think you just have to guide the small ones' actions in each instance. For older children, I think you can model it and talk about it honestly but lovingly. Or maybe some literature illustrates this (Jane Eyre?), but I'm not sure.
Mine is an easy case, I think, because I do trust this person's good motives. Some people willfully deceive, and that's harder. I don't know which situation you're facing, but I'm glad that you're able to find God's love for the person involved.
Hi Laura,
I should probably be clear (for any readers who are trying to figure something out!) that "the person who is untrustworthy" in this scenario is purely abstract. What got me thinking along this line actually was various people I know who have been diagnosed with various mental illnesses. This is a classic illustration of the point, but the principle extends beyond this sort of case, of course.
And in terms of how one deals with children, I guess I'm just thinking in terms of how my children could avoid falling into the same trap I did, as I know for me it started in childhood. Which makes sense! By definition, a child is not as able or as likely to reason about others' motivation, but is able to feel the sting of things gone wrong.
It also helps when those to whom one turns for the meaning of life are not implicated in the problem itself!
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