Jean Vanier: "Become Weaker"

Jean Vanier, French theologian and humanitarian, founded L'Arche communities (http://www.larcheusa.org/):
Founded by Jean Vanier in France in 1964, L’Arche communities bear witness to the reality that persons with intellectual disabilities possess inherent qualities of welcome, wonderment, spirituality, and friendship. We make explicit the dignity of every human being by building inclusive communities of faith and friendship where people with and without intellectual disabilities share life together. L’Arche USA exists to strengthen our local communities, welcome more people into our life and work, engage in advocacy on behalf of those often on the margins of society, and to raise awareness of the gifts of persons with intellectual disabilities.

After moving to Boston I had the opportunity to visit a L'Arche community in nearby Haverhill, Massachusetts. It's an interesting experience to spend the day with a group of people with whom you can immediately let your guard down. I discovered that I am a more carefree dancer in Haverhill... I also learned that community members--individuals with developmental and intellectual disabilities--save their grocery money one day per week and send it to another L'Arche community in a third world country. They eat a simple dinner that night and a volunteer reads a letter or passes around a craft or gift from the international community with which this specific L'Arche house is paired. This act of solidarity brings meaning to the lives of community members, which is in contrast to the marginalized status they are often given in society.Additionally, L'Arche community members have various responsibilities--such as local jobs, house chores, and event planning. L'Arche homes are warm and intimate, which can be in contrast to other facilities and living environments for individuals with intellectual and developmental disabilities.
 

Vanier's vision for L'Arche creates a reality in which weaknesses are valued (http://www.jean-vanier.org/info/en/the_message/jean_vanier_on_becoming_human):

In exploring what it means to be fully human, Vanier invites us to observe the tension in our world between the pressure to achieve mastery or control, and our longing to find ways to live at peace with our own, and others’ imperfections. Where modernity privileges progress and perfection, Vanier has drawn attention to imperfection and fallibility as important and overlooked aspects of being human. Vanier believes that highlighting the universality and centrality of our shared fragility has the potential to unite us in commonality: “The weak teach the strong to accept and integrate the weakness and brokenness of their own lives.” Vanier’s narratives reveal how people really blossom when they are welcomed as they are, with their gifts and their weaknesses together.
 

Sometimes it's hard to imagine a world in which everyone could look at themselves in the mirror, recognize their fragility and brokenness, and still feel affirmed and loved (especially after working in a middle school for a year!). Vanier frames our vulnerabilities as spiritual gifts for those with whom we enter into relationships. That's kind of mind-blowing. A lot of times we view vulnerabilities as inconveniences or things that people need to work on, but Vanier encourages us to "become weaker": http://www.larcheusa.org/2011/08/jean-vanier-become-weaker/.

Logistically, this can be a difficult invitation to accept since people do have different boundaries and comfort levels. Additionally, sometimes people need more professional help and support--and it's often challenging to understand if/when our weaknesses become burdensome to others. But such a view of humanity--and relationships--is life-affirming, I think. To enter into a relationship knowing that you are loved despite--and perhaps even because of--your weaknesses is truly something special. Similarly, to disarm someone else with a smile and to greet them with the desire to know them and to love them is to create a meaningful reality--one in which we belong to each other.

Tarzan Time

Hmm...I have a lot of thoughts on my mind right now (surprise surprise), but I feel most moved to write about Tarzan (using a jungle green font, of course). First watch this video(below) and then I'll explain. Also, it's best to watch the video on a computer with a functioning sound system (Mom). 



So, where am I going with this? Well, I actually find this video quite powerful. To me, it captures a vision of life, love, faith, and hope that I struggle to keep at the center of my own life. I think I can best describe this vision by first introducing the concepts of "chronos" and "kairos". The ancient Greeks have two words for time: "chronos" and "kairos". According to wikipedia:"While 'chronos' refers to chronological or sequential time, 'kairos' signifies a time in between, a moment of indeterminate time in which something special happens. What that something special is depends on who is using the word. While 'chronos' is quantitative, 'kairos' has a qualitative nature."

I think this distinction is especially important when one is trying to find and create meaning in his or her life. When I operate on 'chronos' sometimes I find myself valuing my schedule and my plans over my experiences and encounters. I value "doing" over "being" and I view time as something that is finite--something that I must seek to control in some way.

I visited my alma mater this past weekend and I was inevitably reminded of time: past, present, and future. I wondered: what made my time at Colgate worthwhile, and what do I hope for myself in present and future time? Additionally, I realized that my time at Colgate had passed, and that each year there are new students who are passing their time there (or, I suppose, actively engaging it!). When I met with professors and mentors I couldn't help but wonder how they view their time at Colgate--and what they hope for themselves and for their students. I recall that I initially applied to Colgate because of a quote from the guidebook from former president, Rebecca Chopp: "The purpose of a liberal arts education is to enable* students to live a life worth living and to create a world worth living in." (*not sure if this was the verb she used...)





Essentially, Chopp suggests that a liberal arts education empowers students to create their own realities--to choose their commitments, causes, values, and beliefs. Time passes, but we are active. Such agency can be both liberating and terrifying all at the same time. Again I find myself asking what I want in life. How will I choose to make my time worthwhile (and what will happen if I fail to do so)?

Back to the Tarzan music video. Tarzan's life trajectory reminds me that our agency is limited by the complex, unpredictable hands that we are dealt in life. He could not control the fact that the (not-so-)perfect storm shipwrecked him and his parents and forced them to find refuge in the nearest jungle. Tarzan did not choose to be raised by (exceptionally compassionate) gorillas, and he could inevitably only control a limited portion of his environment. But to me, the heart of this video--the 'kairos' of its story--is depicted through the response patterns of each character. In the moment in time when Tarzan's parents are shipwrecked, they responded with strength and hope. They commit to building a home so that they could take care of their son. Similarly, the gorilla responds with love and care when she chooses to raise baby Tarzan--and to help him navigate the dangers of the jungle.

When I think about what makes time worthwhile--or what a parent wants for a child or a teacher for a student--I prefer to use the language of 'kairos'. I am only beginning to let go of the idea that a particular path, belief, accomplishment, career, etc. creates meaning in time. I think we create meaning through the ways in which we respond to life's moments--and since wrapped up in that response is the unique combination of people, circumstances, and beliefs that shape us, the moment is special. Furthermore, when these people, beliefs, and moments are at the center of our lives, our time is worthwhile. There is a timeless quality to that which shapes our response pattern because our responses affect other people and places. "What we do in life echoes in eternity," as Maximus (and Zach Zipser) says!


So of course I have to try to bring things full circle and point out that "alma mater" means "nourishing mother" and that the title of the song in the Tarzan video is "You'll be in my heart." To me, a life worth living and a world worth living in are ones in which time is special. And the more tools and support we have to navigate life's complexities, the more deeply we can engage our responses and our lives: our precious time.

The Desire To Be Fey-mous; The Courage To Be

Last weekend I read Tina Fey's autobiography, Miss Bossypants, and I found myself pondering theological questions again (in-between laughs). Shucks. I guess in the midst of personally admiring Tina Fey and all that she has accomplished, I realized that her narrative seemed like a means to an end. I read the book because her story is one of success: her teenage angst and young adult awkwardness paved the way to comedic fame. In her honest and refreshing storytelling, Fey deconstructs stereotypes and standards, encouraging readers to embrace their true selves: awkwardness, quirks, flaws, asymmetrical body parts and all. But I wonder: is her advice worthwhile because she is successful? I am reminded of my anecdotes about Neil Pasricha and Steve Jobs from my previous post: their time of uncertainty, doom and gloom can also seem like a means to an end in light of their successes. But what about those stories that end in mediocrity or tragedy? Are they also worthwhile--and equally so? Are average narratives worth reading? Are "average" people deserving of love, admiration and celebration? Is a life less special if it is not marked by success?

Success stories reinforce virtues such as faith and hope, but they can also erode our own Courage To Be ourselves. But here is where it gets tricky: we must strive to be ourselves, but we ought not to become complacent. How can I be completely and uniquely myself, yet still aspire to something greater? We are constantly changing and growing, but always being. Additionally, as some theology suggests: our be-ing might have begun ex nihilo, but we (and all living things) are beloved. Slang: to be ourselves we must know that we be loved, yo. Eloquent, poetic, spiritual version: "Behold the one beholding you and smiling." -Anthony DeMello, SJ

On a related note, I sincerely appreciate Tina Fey's deconstruction of Western standards of beauty, namely because I think these standards often interfere with important states of being and knowing. A standard inevitably marginalizes; standards of beauty are such that if one does not look a certain way, he or she is valued less--and marked different, "other" and inferior. Similarly, I am often frustrated with standards of achievement in classrooms. If teachers value students based on achievement or particular kinds of intelligence, of what worth are the under-achieving, presumably "less intelligent" students? Theologically detached statement: our natural state ought not To Be perpetually insecure.

Tina Fey also has some interesting insights about Improv Comedy.  Improv is kind of like a metaphor for life (just used a simile to describe a metaphor) in that failure is inevitable--and valuable. Also, it takes a hell of a lot of Courage To Be an improv comedian. One must constantly make herself vulnerable. In front of an audience. Countless times. But failure builds resilience and confidence, and it leads to growth. Each time we make ourselves vulnerable, we wonder: will we still be loved? Comedians must endure the reality that sometimes they "behold the [audience] beholding them, and the [audience] is [not] smiling." It appears that "successful" people view their times of darkness with endearment, strength, and poise because they have something to show for it. But I think it's important to recognize that triumphs are unique and personal. Also, sometimes people leave this earth without ever having felt successful or triumphant. Perhaps they have only ever felt cowardly and worthless. I am not sure what these realities mean, but they are indeed realities--and tragic.

Interestingly (in my loco mind, at least), in the book that I am currently reading, The World As It Is, Truthdig columnist, Chris Hedges, offers some thought-provoking views on being--and our natural state--from a more macro perspective. He states:

"Rebellion--which is different from revolution because it is perpetual alienation from power rather than replacement of one power system with another--should be our natural state. And faith, for me, is a belief that rebellion is always worth it, even if all outward signs point to our lives and struggles as penultimate failures. We are saved not by what we can do or accomplish but by our fealty to revolt, our steadfastness to the weak, the poor, the marginalized, and those who endure oppression. We must stand with them against the powerful. If we remain true to these moral imperatives, we win. I am enough of an idealist to believe that the struggle to lead the moral life is worth it."

His moral voice illumines the socio-political reality of our state of being. Our personal state of being is one of constant flux and growth; our socio-politcal existence consists of ongoing rebellion. Both states are ever-changing, but grounded in love and worth. For Hedges, to be we ought to have the courage to advocate for ourselves and for each other. He contends that "to be" is not a singular act of success over failure, but, rather, a shared act of being--interconnected and together. According to Hedges, our natural state is community: to be in union with each other. And he suggests that, perhaps, in such living we are also in communion with something greater.

My arguments might be somewhat circular, underdeveloped, and theologically biased--and bedtime is approaching--but I will leave you with this poem:

                                                  With That Moon Language

Admit something: Everyone you see, you say to them, "Love me."

Of course you do not do this out loud, otherwise someone would call the cops.

Still though, think about this, this great pull in us to connect. Why not become the one who lives with a full moon in each eye that is always saying, with that sweet moon language,
What every other eye in this world is dying to hear?

                                                                         
                                                                              -Hafiz