The Virtue of Faking It

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image by Rebekah Choat 

 

During times of tragedy, after unfathomable acts of hatred and violence, social media is flooded with reactive posts. Some, thank God, offer love and support to the victims (which, by the way, include the families and friends of those who have been physically harmed). A few present thoughtful reflection on the events and their underlying causes. Far too many express knee-jerk reactions – those instantaneous, unthinking first thoughts in response to an incident that touches a raw nerve, so to speak.

It is rare indeed, especially within the first twenty-four hours after a horrific crime, to read an impassioned and well-reasoned response to violent acts perpetrated by humans against fellow humans. Actor/director Sean Astin, however, posted just such a response on his facebook page early Sunday afternoon, setting an example that I hope will be emulated by many other passionate, reasonable people. I urge you to read the full post at http://www.facebook.com/SeanAstinPublic/posts/1228326873855099. I am sharing here a few of what I felt were the most salient points of his discourse, along with the thoughts they awoke in me.

 

…the survivors and the families shall have warmth and a genuine outpouring of love, as much as the world is capable of giving, the likes of which they have never seen or felt. They have earned no less through their unimaginably awful sacrifice.

Yes. The inevitable outpouring of love and compassion that follows the far-too-familiar atrocities of our times helps me hold on to my fragile faith in the residual goodness that is the enduring birthmark of all mankind, all beings created in the image of God – despite the also-inevitable eruption of vitriolic language and actions of those who have somehow lost sight of the truth that we are all – all – invaluable members of this human family. If not for the kindnesses and kinship that spring up in the aftermath, how could we escape despair?

And it’s never too early to protect each other from future harm. Such is the fleeting chance we have now…the same one that we almost always have at these moments…the same one we almost always forfeit…for no good reason, save our common failure of imagination.

This moment, gushing with agony is actually pregnant with hope and opportunity.

It’s so simple, you’d think, and yet we fail to do it, time and time again. Without minimizing or rushing past what has happened, can we not notice and remember and imagine ways to better care for each other from this day forward? Surely careful examination of and reflection on the pre- and post- behaviors of perpetrators and the scenes of heinous crimes could reveal seeds for new approaches to eliminating their recurrence. Surely these brief intervals in which we set aside our differences and embrace our common grief, our common humanity, could be prolonged until we learn to really live these sentiments.

Let us make a newfound commitment to be patient, careful, thoughtful, and generous.

In God’s name, whatever your faith, or no faith, please, let us do what is in our power. Communicate, respectfully with each other. 

Patience, caring, thoughtfulness, generosity, respect, kindness, gentleness, hope, peace, self-control, altruism, hospitality, compassion, honor for the sanctity of life, love for fellow-creatures, basic decency, common courtesy: call them Christian virtues, fruits of the Spirit, pillars of faith, innate goodness, steps toward enlightenment, ancient wisdom, noble truths, good manners, whatever you will; these are the qualities that we must nurture, in ourselves and in each other, if beauty is ever to rise from the heap of ashes we keep building.

(In the interest of complete honesty and sincerity, I should tell you that the previous paragraph does not mean that I hold all creeds and belief systems to be equally true; nor does it indicate that I believe human “niceness” will ever be enough to right all the wrongs of this world. I am a follower of Jesus Christ, and my hope for ultimate, eternal peace and justice is rooted in His divine nature. I freely confess that I do not believe homosexuality is God’s perfect plan for human relationship.  I do not, however, harbor any malice toward those who do not share my beliefs, and I deeply regret that some ‘Christians’ (as well as professors of other faiths) do. I dearly love my baby brother and his husband. I know that their close-knit community is made up of intelligent, talented, funny, wise, extraordinarily caring people.

Now is a time for grieving and support. Now is a time for putting forward inspired suggestions. 

To everything there is a season: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to be silent, and a time to speak; a time to sit down and wrap our arms around victims, and a time to rise up and bring justice upon victimizers and hatemongers and terrorists; a time to weep quietly with the wounded and broken, and a time to shout out in righteous wrath against those who maim and kill. The difficulty lies in being sensitive and discerning of the times and seasons, and there are no hard and fast guidelines – except that it is always the time to hold life sacred. The best you can do is let grace guide you.

PS: If you make comments on the post, please please please realize my vision…fake it if necessary :-)))

This postscript, especially these last four words, particularly stood out to me. Perhaps some readers were put off by them. Ours is a society which has, rightly, made authenticity one of the most highly sought-after virtues. We believe in truth, justice, and the American way. We expect people to be up-front and aboveboard in their dealings with us. We hope that our leaders and the press are giving us accurate information. We long for genuine connection with one another, naked soul to naked soul. We try to live authentically ourselves.

Authenticity is an honorable, commendable, right quality. But this good, like every other good, can be, and too often is, twisted to evil. It is interpreted as license to say and/or print hurtful words and behave in destructive ways. We make – and answer – demands for brutal honesty.

Honesty is right and good and ultimately always the best policy. But brutality (also known as savagery and cruelty) is wrong and evil and never appropriate.

Most of us, I think, don’t hesitate to “fudge” a little, to evade or delay or soften the “hard truth” in everyday situations. We understand that we should express  gratitude for gifts received, even if they’re the wrong color or age-range or style for us. We help and comfort our kids when they’re in trouble and save the discussion about why what happened was the result of their own actions for later. We paste on smiles and celebrate with loved ones when our own hearts are secretly breaking. We know that the right answer to “Does this make me look fat?” is “You are absolutely lovely, darling.” We intuitively “fake it” in deference to courtesy and kindness in appropriate circumstances.

Of course, the obligation to honesty remains, and the time for speaking the truth does come. If she doesn’t notice after a little while, tell your Aunt Gertrude that you don’t wear size 18 anymore. By all means, make sure your children recognize that their decisions carry consequences. Don’t hide your distress from your friends when you need to open up and ask for help. If it would be wise for your spouse to adopt a healthier lifestyle, encourage him or her to do so – with you. Lovingly. Calmly. Openly. Supportively. Firmly, but gently. Lovingly. Always. Do speak the truth – but do not be brutal in doing so. Do speak the truth – at the time when your listeners are able to hear it, which is seldom in the heat of crisis.

I believe Mr. Astin is on to something. There are situations in which the most appropriate action is to fake it. Surely we can stretch our imaginations to see this, to realize that love, real love, for others is not a warm, fuzzy feeling but a committed policy of extending respect and concern equally to all.

What if we acted like we believe the life of every individual on earth is a precious gift? What if we performed compassionate deeds for those whom we are really inclined to cross the road in order to avoid? What if we behaved as if we respected people who don’t look like us, or think like us, or live like us? What if we remembered that holy writings admonish us, not necessarily to feel affection for our neighbors and co-workers and castaways, but to refrain from mistreating the alien, to maintain the rights of the poor and oppressed, to do good to all people, to let our gentleness be evident to all, to bear one another’s burdens, and over all, to put on love?

“Fake it if necessary.” It seems to go against the grain, but what if such a counter- intuitive move actually helped? What if C.S. Lewis was right when he said, “Do not waste time bothering whether you ‘love’ your neighbour; act as if you did. As soon as we do this we find out one of the great secrets. When you are behaving as if you loved someone, you will presently come to love him.” [Ch. 9, Bk. 3, Mere Christianity]

Do we dare embrace such a radical idea, engage in such a revolutionary practice? I believe it’s worth a try. I’m willing to risk acting like love is the highest law of the land. Will you join me? It just might help to effect change, and what can it hurt? What have we got to lose? Yes, think about what we’ve got to lose.

 

 

Searching for Home

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image by Rebekah Choat

Once I needed to leave home.
My time had come to travel,
to start fresh far away.

And so I went away,
not knowing that home
cannot be reached by travel.

It took a while to travel
far enough away
to see I wasn’t finding home.

So I put away my travel shoes and built a home.

~ Rebekah Choat

 

Fan Letter

Dear Miss Rossetti, I remember you
long though it is since you have gone away.
Perhaps when you turned it was late for you;
yet your words counsel me and help me pray.

Though darkness and corruption worry, still,
a vestige of your thoughts also remains.
I mark your footprints on the road uphill
and seek myself the inn toward which you strained.

I’ve felt the weight of sorrow and sea-sand
and seen the brevity of spring and youth;
I’ve thought at times I’d almost seen the wind,
and all but drowned in ocean depths of truth.

I hear the bird sing in the apple tree,
and long for that birthday to come to me.

~ Rebekah Choat

Portrait of my Grandmother

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The hands that tied this apron on every morning
that I can remember first picked a hundred pounds
of cotton in a day at age five.
They wrote out sums and spelling words
through eighth grade, then went back
to the more necessary work of picking
peaches, beans, cotton, whatever was in season.

They accepted a simple silver band from
the also-calloused hands of a mechanic
one day right in the middle of the Great Depression,
and they laid down the tow sack and picked up the apron.

Those hands cared for a man and his clothes,
their house and their babies.
They cooked three hot meals every day
and washed up the dishes by hand.
They made the clothes and the quilts,
and ran them through the wringer washer,
and hung them on the line to dry.

Those hands cut and combed and braided hair.
They bound up cuts and burns
and placed cool cloths on fevered foreheads.
They canned peaches and made piecrust
and fried chicken and carried food
to new mothers and grieving widows.
They wrote letters, cut coupons and paper dolls,
and taught smaller hands to crochet.

Those hands planted and watered and weeded.
They could put a dry stick in a pot of dirt  and it
would grow. They ironed other women’s husbands’
shirts to pick up a few dollars here and there.
They cleaned the church on Wednesday mornings
and put dimes in the offering plate on Sundays.

Those hands were never idle until they were
folded on her breast in a peaceful pose.

Some people’s lives are written on their faces.
My grandmother’s story was held in her hands.

~ Rebekah Choat