To Compare is Human, Identify Divine

“I’m a high bottom drunk,” said the woman with an air of superiority. (For those unfamiliar with 12 step recovery expressions, "high bottom" refers not to a plastic surgical procedure, but to the fact that she came into the rooms before going to the absolute bottom of life.) While I was happy she was spared additional pain and suffering, her comment pointed to our propensity to find something to make us feel better about ourselves.

Like the poor man and Lazarus, we so often confess our sins while looking over at others and saying:, “I may be bad, but I’m not as bad as him or her!”  In other words, no matter what our situation, we can always find someone whose situation can make us feel better about ourselves. Like fast food, however, comparing may taste good at the time, but eventually we’ll see it for the poor nutrition it is.

I once held up an orange in theology class. The students were to respond with all of the wonderful things about oranges. Then, I held an apple beside the orange and students instantly compared and shared why one was better than another, instead of celebrating the wonder of fruit.

Recently, I read an account of a panel presentation where the two speakers, Fred Buechner and Maya Angelou, were introduced with an emphasis on the different stories that brought them to where they were that day. Angelou began her remarks by pointing out that the two may have grown up differently, but they shared the same story. Those in the audience remember little else of what was said that day. They’d heard the most important thing.

We can say all of this is true of others, and not us, but watch how many times we compare or identify in a typical day. The tilted scale may surprise and disappoint us, but it also may inspire us to shift the weight and find what we have in common with others. My hunch is such a shift will lighten our souls and transform our world. 

Lenten Opportunity: Writing our way to Easter

This Lent, there will be a group who are going to use the season to reflect on their lives through 15 minutes of daily writing, based on provocative writing prompts. Each day, an email will be sent asking the recipient to reflect on a specific aspect of his/her life. (Example: Who made the greatest impression on your spiritual life as a child and how?) Through these brief reflections, we will look inside our lives in a unique way and uncover much that lies within.

Recipients are asked to respond to the prompts through 15 minutes of writing/reflection. (The writing is not shared. It’s just a way to increase the level of one’s reflection. Handwriting is preferred; typing better than nothing.)

If you would like to be a part of this creative Lenten exercise*, please send an email to me at chipbristol@gmail.com , and I will put you on the list. (Lent begins on Feb 10)

*This counts as taking something on for Lent (vs. giving something up). It will do more for you than giving up chocolate!

It was just a brushstroke

It was just a brushstroke. 

One among countless others, this one was different. Its presence stood out. It didn’t belong. It was all wrong. The color, value, angle or placement was such that it changed the nature of the entire painting. She was a better painter than this, she told herself. How could you have thought such a stroke was a good idea?

Rather than quickly wipe it away, or cover it up, the artist stepped back and looked at the arrant stoke. “What gave it such power?” she wondered. “Why does such a relatively small stroke dominate the piece?”

Staring at the painting, she seemed to look beyond the canvas at a piece of art beyond. She remembered when she thought her life would be a work of art, one that inspired and comforted all who came across it. She wanted her life to be a masterpiece, and remembered fondly those times that really “worked,” as she so often says of particular places in a painting.

Like the painting on the easel, however, there were also brushstrokes that didn’t fit, others that were all wrong, and some that changed the nature of the entire painting. With brush and rag in hand, she wished she could wipe away or cover such brushstrokes, but she was wise enough to know such corrections weren’t possible.  In graduate school, she was told, “There are no mistakes in art or life,” but such a notion inspired her as much as made her want to throw up. “Some things just suck,” she sighed.

After a few more moments of staring, she rose from the stool, lifting the brush and not the rag, she incorporated the brushstroke into the piece.

It was just a brushstroke.