The mystery of another person....

Dave sent me an article some weeks back by Sam Wells, Dean of Duke Chapel since 2005. In it, Sam asks us to "pause and wonder for a moment at the mystery of another person -- another mind, another imagination, another myriad of experiences, energies, enthusiasms and enjoyments. Could one ever exhaust that person?" It is this "mystery" of another human being and her story, that makes things like l'Arche and pacifism and marriage and parenthood possible. We are created beings. We are, each of us, valuable, mysterious, unique. But it's not enough to SAY this. It must be lived, like any good theology.

This is where it gets hard. To value human life consistently, wholely, profoundly impacts our daily lives. It means approaching the hurried bank teller, the irritable coworker, and the hoard of school children around the Tidal Basin with the same (or with some semblance of similarity) awe and wonder that we approach our spouse, our child, our best friend. Sound difficult? We are not only called to value the persons we find annoying, but also those we may even consider disposable - inmates and delinquents, unwanted children and the elderly, the mentally and physically disabled, the Welfare mothers and the deadbeat dads, the pornographers and the prostitutes. THESE people have a "myriad of experiences, energies, enthusiasm, and enjoyments;" they may also have a myriad of sorrows, disappointments, anxieties, and dreams deferred. But their lives remain worthy of our witness and our attention.

Occasionally, when I am in a particularly pensive state, I find myself both overwhelmed with the idea that so many human lives have walked this earth, felt love and loss, celebrated and mourned, experienced pain and redemption. It is mystifying to me, the rich diversity of human stories that are enfolding at one time on this earth, the way they are intertwined with our own stories, yet vary so greatly from our own experience. Imagine, at this one moment, the multitude of human experiences that are occurring simultaneously - an umbilical chord cut, a guitar strummed, a kiss exchanged, a letter received, a casket closed. The great beauty and mystery of human life is occurring all around us. And it has been for 100,000 years. Wild.

People are wonderfully mysterious to me - this I have no hard time entertaining. What is most difficult, in believing life is sacred, is living in a world where life is not treated as such. I have heard horror stories from Dottie about the institution, Forest Haven, where some of our DC core folks use to live - the deplorable conditions, the medical and social neglect, the isolation and the torment. I have Rwandan friends who escaped the genocide that took so many of their family members some 2 decades ago. I have seen the scars of communist totalitarianism in the faces of Romanian shopkeepers and miners. I have read the seemingly endless stories of people affected by violence in Iraq, Afghanistan, the West Bank. I have broken bread with the homeless, friendless, HIV-positive men who roam Boston Common. I have prayed with men and women rotting away in our nation's industrial prisons. What of THESE lives, these disposable people? Will we ever witness their stories, share in their delights and sorrows?

There is no depth to human cruelty, no end to human kindness. We each have the capacity to demystify human life, to rationalize it and try to control it and even destroy it. But we each have the capacity to recognize human life as sacred, to see each other as uniquely created beings, to encourage one another's growth. Isn't this what Christians are called to do? Why do we suck so badly at it?