Many contemporary Christians say that adequate, informative, clear language is a “surface issue only”, or they say, “It’s just window dressing.” I mean does Jesus really mean it when he is remembered as telling his followers to eat with “tax collectors and sinners”—the notably unworthy/socially unacceptable dinner companions— of his day? It would be like inviting all the street people to your house for dinner. Heaven forfend!
Such biblical wisdom is not meant to be taken literally of course. Or is it? And what parts? It’s only a story, we say. Stories depend on language that says what it means.
Elie Weisel (1928-2016). Romanian-born American, Nobel prize winner, Holocaust survivor, activist, and Professor, told students in Boston that what kept him going after the Holocaust was “learning” and his lifelong calling as a “teacher.” Stories, he said, are essential vehicles, and stories of course require language. “Our task now,” Weisel told students is “to liberate language, to name things as they really are. Don’t say income equality when you can say hungry child. Don’t say racial tension when you can describe rocks thrown at a family. We cannot liberate reality if we distort language” (Weisel quotes taken from Witness. Lessons from Elie Weisel’s Classroom by Ariel Burger.)
* * * *
A medical visit—literally
-I spot a small bump on my forehead.
-I wait to see if it disappears on its own.
-It doesn’t.
-I phone for an appointment with dermatology, the gospel of skin.
-The assigned time is two weeks hence.
-Two day before the appointment I get a text reminding me to confirm.
-I click C for “confirm”.
-I receive a snapback text re-reminding me of my appointment .
-I call to confirm.
-I receive the same snap-back text.
-I REcall.
-I press each of the various options offered.
-I receive the same snap-back text.
-I long for a flesh and blood person with a literal voice.
-I decide to go anyway.
-I tell the receptionists that they need to hire a business manager.
-Receptionist #1 cocks her head, puzzled.
-I repeat, feeling like a robot. Receptionist #2 nods in agreement.
-I pay my co-pay.
-I wait 15 minutes.
-I’m ushered into the inner sanctum by a medical technician. “How are you?”
-I say “Fine.” I remember the spot on my forehead. She writes that down.
-I tell her about my complaint. She looks incredulous and leaves.
-I wait. 20 minutes, listening to sounds of whooshing ocean waters.
-I am not soothed, imagining possible drowning—mine.
-The “real”clinician enters, with a cheshire grin.
-I tell her about my bump. She mentions the sun, smiles again, and exits.
-I wait.
-She returns with a tool resembling a pneumatic drill.
-This may sting she tells me. I nod. It does sting. Use vaseline.
-An hour has passed.
-The doctor closes with blessed assurance: “Don’t worry we NEVER cancel appointments.”
I laughed all the way home: They NEVER cancel appointments? If so, then why all these reminder texts, and phone messages advertising that there will be an additional charge of $50 for a missed appointment. Which part do I take literally? Or is it only the gist that matters?
It’s both.
Accurate language tells the whole truth. Someone recently said to me “I’m not hearing impaired, I’m deaf!” I’ve learned from urban ministries to the homeless, not to use the word “homeless” but “unhoused.” You can hear—and FEEL— the difference.
Both.
Take it all literally. Give to all the street beggars without judgment. You don’t know why they are out there. And if you ask they would decline a dinner invitation, unless it was on their terms, money enough for them to buy their meal. Once I did give $20 to a city beggar when I could have dropped loose change into his cup or walked on by without looking—an action I seriously debated. I could have. I took him literally that he needed some money—for his good reasons. His tearful gratitude and my relief told me so.
Both.
