Reflection On

From the manse window

AFRIEND of mine sings with a band. A journalist reviewing the show loved the songs, and couldn’t praise the beauty of her voice enough, but felt let down by the fact that, after the show, she sat on the edge of the stage and chatted to fans, even sharing a drink with a regular.

For him, her being so down-to-earth spoiled the transcendental effect of her singing. Perhaps next time, he wrote, she’d let the songs do the talking.

For most of my life, I’d have been the person who left the stage immediately, if I ever set foot on one.

As a child, my mum described me to others as “highly strung”, which meant that I wouldn’t be talking. Usually I’d hide behind her skirt. Through my teens and early adulthood I walked my own path. Mostly alone.

Not talking led to a lot of watching. Watching led to some figuring out. Figuring out led to being repeatedly amazed by how wonderful people are.

Mostly, people are motivated by love and kindness.

Sitting in a café, I watched a man carry a bowl of soup to his table. He was unsteady on his feet, and had the bowl and cutlery in one hand, his walking stick in the other.

It occurred to me to help, but there were five other people closer to him than me, all watching, some putting down their tea or adjusting their chair, so they could step forward quickly if he stumbled.

He made it, dignity and soup intact.

People are a great source of beauty and inspiration. Would my friend be able to write such beautiful songs if she didn’t also engage with others as much as she does?

Possibly, but they might not have the same poignancy, coming as they would from a place of imagination rather than a place of reality.

If it doesn’t relate to how people experience this life, then what use is it? Jesus walked amongst people.

There are memes aplenty on social media telling us that the best way to love God is to love his poor and unfairly treated children. We can’t do that from afar, or from above.

And neither should we, for everyone’s sake.

Meeting people where they live isn’t just about helping them. Understanding others helps us understand ourselves. We find in them reflections of ourselves, in different circumstances, with different experiences.

The closer we get, the more we figure out how they manage. The more we figure out, the more we forgive (the others and ourselves).

The more we forgive, the more we love. In my friend’s case, the more we love, the more beautiful music comes as a result.

We don’t get any of that from the wings, from hiding behind skirts, from standing on a stage above others.

We get it from asking someone “How are you?” and really listening to the answer. ■

Next week: Maggie Ingall muses on the fact that from tiny seeds amazing things can grow.