A Response to Walker Morrow #2

Dear Walker,

Again your thoughts in the Comments Section (see March 22 “A Response to Walker Morrow” Comment 3) are so thorough and stimulating that I feel the need to respond with a separate post.

I am struck by how much we seem to agree about and how minor our differences really are. The difference comes mostly in our interpretation of certain events, actions and people. This is critically important. We need to be clear in any human discourse that interpretation is taking place. Two people look at the same event, or person, or set of circumstances and come to different, sometimes radically different, conclusions about what is happening or has happened.
Not infrequently I have met with one partner in a marriage dispute. I listen sympathetically to her description of her marriage and wonder how can she bear living with her husband. Some time later, I meet the husband and listen to his description of the same marriage and wonder, how tolerates living with his wife. They are both describing exactly the same situation and coming to radically different conclusions.

There are times when I listen to conversations and it seems to me that the people are discussing a particular familiar object that I recognize quite easily. One of the people in the conversation is convinced the object they are discussing is a china cup. The other person is speaking as if the object is a watermelon. And I am sure in my own mind that they are actually talking about a table. The participants in this conversation view the world so differently that they do not appear to have any common meeting ground. It is tempting to walk away from the entire enterprise of human discourse in utter despair.

If we are ever going to persevere in any human conversation, we must acknowledge that we all speak from a particular viewpoint. You see a cup; someone else sees a watermelon; I see a table. Every viewpoint is a view from a point. And the point from which I start colours everything else about the way in enter into conversation. We see things the way we are conditioned to see things. We see things from the point of view we have already adopted or have inherited from our family, church, culture, or peer group. There are no absolutely objective perceptions. We all have prejudices. We all have blind spots.

I often tell the people in the church I serve that I do not ever want to belong to an organization in which everyone agrees with me. I need to be challenged by being around people who have different perceptions of the world. Having to live with people who disagree with me helps keep me honest and deepens and matures my perception of reality. If I walk away from everyone who disagrees with me just because we disagree, I condemn myself to a life of immaturity and superficial perspectives on life.

The story is often told, but bears repeating of the three blind men who were asked to describe an elephant. The first man grasped the tail of the elephant and announced, “An elephant is like a strong thick rope.” The second man felt along the side of the elephant and proclaimed, “An elephant is like a strong solid wall.” The third man felt the leg of the elephant and said, “An elephant is like a tree.” They were all touching the same animal but each man had only a partial vision of the truth. None was completely wrong; none was completely right.

The really important part of this story is that the vision of the whole would have been more adequate, and closer to the truth, if each of man would have been willing to contribute his perception to the whole. Indeed an elephant is a bit like a thick strong rope, a strong solid wall, and a tree. When each person contributes his insight, the whole is better than the parts.

This of course brings me to your thoughts on individualism. There is no first or second when it comes to being an individual or being “part of the whole.” We are all absolutely responsible for our lives, for our perceptions and for the choices we make in response to the way we view the world around us. But at the same time, we are all absolutely connected. We are intertwined as part of the human community.

We can deny the reality of our connectedness; we can fight against it, or pretend it is not true. But the air I breathe is the same air you breathe; it has already circulated through your lungs. There is something of you in me and something of me in you. We are connected. We are interdependent. The human community is profoundly impoverished to the degree that I deny my bond with you.

In I Corinthians 12 Paul uses the image of a body to speak about our interconnections. He says, “the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot would say, ‘Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,’ that would not make it any less a part of the body.’” (12:14,15) He goes on to say, “The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need of you,’ nor again the head to the feet, ‘I have no need of you.’” (12:21)

Paul is saying, whether we like it or not, whether we acknowledge it or not, we are joined. The only question is whether we are willing to acknowledge, manifest and work at growing in our awareness of and exercise of this human bond. Are we willing to embody this deep inner mystical connection between human beings in some tangible form? This is what church is for. As frail as it may be, church is an attempt to give physical expression to the hidden inner reality of our bond as human beings created in the image of God.

There is no doubt that we in the church frequently fail to give a compelling and attractive image of what it means to be one humanity joined in Christ. We often look fragmented, broken, conflicted, and confused. But the human condition is broken. When broken people come together with their partial insights, one will see the elephant as a tree, another as a rope, and another as a wall. If we walk away from each other every time our partial views of reality clash, we will never know the elephant.
The elephant is far bigger than any one of us. As long as we keep holding together to the elephant and feeling our way around this mighty animal, we will be able to grow in our awareness of what the elephant is. When we are willing to share our different understandings of “elephant,” we will come closer to the reality we seek to know. When we walk away with our perception of the elephant as a tree firmly clutched to our breast, we condemn ourselves to a tragically partial vision of reality.

The question is not who is right or who is wrong. The question is, can I stay open to you. Can I listen to you? Can I respect you even though we are different? Am I willing to allow my life to be broken open more deeply by the collison of our differences?

The four most important words for human community are, “I may be wrong.”

Am I willing to accept that my view is not the only view? Can I see that, even though we may disagree or view events in a different light, your view has validity and my view is not the only way of understanding reality? When we demonize the “opposition,” we are all diminished. The fragmented world in which we live desperately needs to see a place where it is possible for people to be together in respectful, open, accountable relationship in spite of disagreements. The world needs to see that there can be a place where people are willing to put aside disagreements in the interests of a greater vision. I pray that the church may be this place.