The big fisherman

The flood was several weeks ago and I stopped by to see how things were going and went into Sykes’ grocery store (Ellen Gilchrist writes, just after Katrina).  The proprietor told me about filling the sandbags, who all was there and who came to help and we discussed how resilient men and women are.  Then she turned around.  “Oh, look at this,” she said.  A great mountain of a man was coming in the door.  A beautiful tanned man with white hair leading or being led by two small children. The proprietor told me that the smallest one had been abused so badly he had to be in a full body cast for six months.

“That’s their foster father,” she said.  “He’s got them now and they’re okay.”

They were beautiful children.  They came in to the store and got some candy and went to the back to find life preservers as they were going out on a boat for a Sunday outing.

“Hold me,” the small child said, as soon as he saw me looking at him.  I picked him up in my arms and held him there.

“We’re getting to adopt them in February,” the big fisherman said. “It’s all set.”

“Oh, that’s great,” the proprietor said, and for a moment I had a sense of sharing the community of Pass Manchac, a fishing village where people know each other and are involved in each other’s lives and stories.

I am haunted by these events.  For many miles down the road, I was filled with a sense of elation.  The story of mankind is not written in the occasional crazy parent who will harm his own child.  The story of mankind is the big fisherman who comes along and sets things right… the physicians and surgeons and nurses in some emergency room who are working the night shift and are there when the broken child arrives and put him back together and the fisherman who gathers the child into his life and goes to work to love him and the proprietor who cleans up the store after the flood and sells a slightly mildewed tablet at half price to write this on. (From Flying Through Space)

“He’s got them now, and they’re okay.”  I wish that were always so.  But we know that it is not the case.  Life can be difficult and unkind and cruel.  And it is easy to only see, and pay attention, to the stories that don’t “work out.”

I like the story of the big fisherman because it is an invitation to a paradigm shift.  It is an invitation to heal my scotoma.  Scotoma means that we see want we want to see. It is a form of selective blindness. And it is no respecter of persons.  It means that I am stuck in my categories.

When I read the news (or hear a story), I have a choice.  No, I do not close my eyes to the pain or the suffering.  But I do have a choice about seeing a deeper or more profound reality underneath the pain and the suffering.  A story about brokenness, yes.  But more importantly, a story about compassion and hope and redemption.

Asked about what sometimes looks like a distinct lack of compassion in human society, the Dalai Lama has said: “Perhaps we just pay less attention to compassion and caring; we reinforce it less.  Whereas in some sense, we fully embrace hostility and anger as an emotional state, fueling and reinforcing it.  If we were to give the same amount of energy, attention, and reinforcement to compassion and caring, they would definitely be stronger.” In other words, my blinders preclude me from seeing everything that is there.

Ready for a simple test? Check out any FedEx truck (or company logo). Got it? What do you see? I see FedEx in purple and orange. Okay. Look again. This time, pretend you cannot read. This time, you will see an arrow. Clearly, between the E and X. This is interesting, because studies done with illiterate persons show that they see the arrow first, every time.

So. How do my blinders come off?

NOTE: This story is an excerpt from my Monday Sabbath Moment.  If you would enjoy receiving Sabbath Moment, please sign up in the box in the left column, or go to THIS LINK.  The Katrina story is from Ellen Gilchrist’s book Falling Through Space.

When you find no love, put love, and you will find love.  St. John of the Cross