My Shelter

If you have been to Indy Metro in the last several months, you know the premise of the book of Nehemiah pretty well by now - we rehash the story every Sunday. If you haven't been to IMC, and aren't aware, good news. They finished the wall! Despite massive opposition, the people of Jerusalem rebuilt the wall that was once in shambles (and in record time), all because of the leadership of one faithful man and the protection of one faithful God. So that takes us through chapter 6 of the book of Nehemiah... now what? Out of 13 chapters, the wall is less than half of the story!

It turns out this is not a story about a wall, it is a story about a people, who happened to build a wall. Preparing for Sunday morning, the creative team met tonight to discuss chapter 8 and what we might be able to bring to the service. "What is the point of chapter 8?" and we discuss.

"The people are coming together to hear the Word of God, the Law of Moses. They come together to worship and to celebrate." They come together.

They came together. The wall was not just about building this structure around the city, it was about building the people in the city. They came together for a common purpose, and God reunited them and brought them back to Him. Its kind of beautiful.

But driving home, something was still bothering me. The rest of chapter 8: God commands the people to build tents out of olive branches and fig trees and sleep in them for a week. Ok, so I made the connection - the Festival of Ingathering, when the Israelites lived in these kinds of shelters for 7 days and worshiped God to remind them of His protection when they were wandering in the wilderness. "But why now? Why do they need to build a monument to remind them of God's protection... they have the ultimate monument - THE WALL! Its the perfect reminder of God's protection, of what He has helped them accomplish, of what He has done for them and through them. Why are they building something to celebrate building something?"

And then the answer came. "They needed to remember. Not just to remember their history, but to remember that this wall was not God's first act of faithfulness. They needed to remember that God has always protected them, taken care of them. This wall was not the first time. And it will not be the last." The shelters make sense.

And I'm driving. "How comforting to know that God has always taken care of His people. I've always known Him to care for me, but to see that He's done that since the beginning... its so basic, and yet so life-altering!"

And I'm driving. And I drive past a woman on the side of the road. And that thumbs up does not mean she approves of my driving skills. She wants a ride. I don't really even notice her until I'm right beside her, and by then I'm past her. Of course, the guilt kicks in, but its always accompanied by the warning words of my dad. "You could be robbed or shot or raped or left for dead! You don't know who you're picking up! Don't you EVER... etc. etc." And my own words, "Its a bad neighborhood. Its late. I don't even know where she's going."

And then I remember. "The wall was not the first time God took care of His people. It is what God does. It is in His character. If we are faithful and obedient, God will protect us." I turned around. And I'm glad I did.

Thank you Father for the opportunity to practice faithfulness. Forgive me for my doubting and anxious heart. Help me to trust you more fully. And please bless Brooke. She's had a bad night.

"just" semantics?

"You are cautious with your words," a new friend said to me the other day. It was a profound observation. We had been discussing some heavy stuff and several times I stopped myself mid-sentence to define a word I was using. Not that I was using big, complicated words, and not, by any stretch, that this guy I was talking to was dumb. I defined the words I used carefully because I wanted to be understood precisely. When I talk about "perfection", it is important that he understands what I mean by perfection, because to him that word has a completely different connotation.

Today I was talking with this same guy and I found myself saying, with a touch of exasperation, "Semantics!" The conversation had turned to social justice and he was talking around the topic, choosing his words carefully. And I was annoyed. But isn't this what I was doing just days before? So this evening, I've been thinking about this issue of semantics, of language, of meaning. I'm not sure I've resolved the issue in my head yet, but its 5:30AM and I can't sleep, so I'm going to pour out what I've got so far into my computer and hope the conclusion comes to me before I come to the conclusion. (See how I used that word to mean two different things? words. love 'em.)

In the spirit of semantics, I thought it would be appropriate to look up the meaning of the word semantics (the irony of this didn't actually hit me until just now. go ahead, take a moment to chuckle to yourself... now, moving on). My macbook dictionary widget tells me that semantics is "the branch of linguistics and logic concerned with meaning" and also "the meaning of a word, phrase, sentence, or text". It also uses it in the sentence, "such quibbling over semantics may seem petty stuff." I imagine the authors of this dictionary got a chuckle out of that sentence, since they, of all people, understand the importance of semantics. They probably majored in it in college! Looking further, Webster's dictionary gives us this definition: "the study of meanings; the historical and psychological study and the classification of the changes in the signification of words or forms viewed as factors in linguistic development." It gives whole new light to the idea of saying what you mean... or is it, meaning what you say...?

Our words are wholly important! Seriously powerful! Each and every word we use has meaning, and in most cases, several shades of meaning. Language is not an exact science; it has a human component that must not be overlooked. We understand words through the context of our own experience, and yet we typically assume that everyone around us understands these words in the same way we do. I'm getting a bit metaphysical here, so perhaps its time for an example.

When I say, "God is a perfect Father," what do I mean? Well, I mean to say that the Divine Person that I understand to exist and who I call "God", as a part of his character, possesses the traits of what I would imagine to be a perfect father. I had a friend who would never call God "Father", because his own earthly father was abusive and the word held such distasteful connotation that he refused to use it in reference to God. To this friend, the term "perfect Father" is a contradiction in terms, like calling someone a "loving rapist". The words are so powerfully opposite that the adjective cannot possibly qualify the noun. When talking to this friend, should I instead say, "The Divine Person that I understand to exist and who I call God possesses, as a part of his inherent character, a loving determination to help me succeed in life"? But then, to another person, the words "succeed in life" might be taken to mean "be rich and powerful and famous" where I truly mean "live in a loving, compassionate service to God and his creation, with a full understanding of the grace and love I am given."

I could go on defining the words I'm using all night (or all morning, as it is now 6:06AM). I won't do that. This blog already has too many words, all of them probably inadequate. So I'll move on.

Most words have several denotations, each with individual connotations, and "semantics" is no different. Webster's also defines it as "the language used (as in advertising or political propaganda) to achieve a desired effect on an audience especially through the use of words with novel or dual meanings." This is why I cringed when I called my friend on his careful word choices. It is the difference between using words to say what you mean, and using words to not say what you mean. It is, in short, word abuse.

I wish words were easier. I wish I could just say what I mean, simply, and know that you would understand. I wish I were better at putting my thoughts, my meanings, into exactly the right words so that even the shades of meaning were fully understood. But for now, I'll have to settle for muddling through the sea of words, trying to find the right ones, and often, pausing to define the inadequate words I have.

Wit

Wit, a play by Margaret Edson, has been one of my favorite plays since I read it years ago, perhaps because it is the perfect collision of my two, sometimes seemingly opposite, worlds: theater and medicine. It is the creative analysis of the scientific world. I've learned in my years of theater that opposition is intriguing. My favorite director has been known to say, "It's not interesting to watch someone act drunk. It IS interesting to watch someone act like a drunk trying to act NOT drunk." It is not interesting or brilliant or creative to watch someone bawl their eyes out, but it is fascinating to watch someone who is utterly broken try to hold themselves together. This is human: to feel one thing, while trying to portray something completely different. And this truth of humanity is wholly fascinating. 

So perhaps this is why Wit is so special. In all ways, it acknowledges the opposites in life. It openly admits that we are feeling one thing, but saying another. Throughout the play, Vivian's monologues allow the audience to see the little child (at one point literally) inside her. We see her hurts, hear her private thoughts, share her most intimate memories. And yet, to all other characters in the play, "she is tough." In one scene that, if I'm not mistaken, was actually cut from the movie, Vivian's student gets it. She gets it brilliantly! "Why does he hide behind all this Wit? Why doesn't he just say what he means? If he were really not afraid of anything, he would just say it more simply." She has stumbled upon not only the brilliance of poetry, but of Vivian herself.

Fear can be paralyzing. We, as humans, have a deep, God-given desire to be known. Its why we long for intimate friendships and why we pour ourselves endlessly into relationships of all kinds. Not because we want to know others, but because we want someone to know us, in every sense of the word, and accept it all. But that outpouring of ourselves often leads to deep hurt as well. So we put build fences or walls or chasms between ourselves and the world, longing all the time to be known, but too terrified to allow it. In Vivian's case, and in mine as well, this chasm is called wit. Wit can either mean intelligence or humor, but either applies. Both are defenses, and quite adequate ones, to prevent discovery.

When the student begins to ponder the use of wit as a mask to hide behind, the audience may believe for an instant that Vivian's mask will be shattered as well. Until, of course, Edson uses wit itself to provide for escape. "So far, so good," says Vivian with an all-knowing grin. "But they (undergraduate students that is) can think for themselves only so long before they begin to self-destruct." At this, the girl begins to stumble over her thoughts. She stares at the page of her text-book for a moment, and all is lost. Wit, the ultimate protector, triumphs again, leaving Vivian and I to our reverse isolation, where there is nothing to fear but loneliness. And at least that is expected.