Worth a thousand words?

"Pictures Everywhere"
CC BY-2.0 by François Karm. Source: Flickr

A few conversations this week have included the topic of pictures. They’ve been photography as a practice, and as a hobby; from re-touched photos to decorate a living space, to quick cell-phone snapshots to capture a memory.

In this era of digital, when the blurry or insignificant photos can just be deleted, we seem to have put a lower importance to pictures. We can see what they look like immediately (no waiting for the developed prints!), we can adjust the lighting and colouring ourselves, we can add filters and enhancements to the originals, we can even edit people in (or out) with the right software.

Pictures capture our travels, our relationships, our experiences. They honour moments, they remind us of amusements, they catalogue our days. The ones we choose to share tell a story, convey a version of our lives that we wish to project (be that authentic or aspirational – or somewhere in between).

If a picture says a thousand words, then, what do our over-full photo albums have to say about us? What are the emotions that these photos elicit? What characteristics do they portray, what values are they demonstrating?

For we know that the pictures we take show a side of who we are to the world – and sometimes to ourselves. Whether we are in the photo or not, we have participated in the moment: to revisit the picture is to revisit the moment, to both see and be seen. Which gives us the opportunity to consider if we like what we see.

My hope is that we don’t just lose the essence of the captured moment as we are surrounded by the abundance of images. My hope is that we don’t lose ourselves in the plethora of personae we present. And my hope is that we don’t lose sight of what really matters to us, when we are engaged in moments that are worthy of capturing.

"It could be a word!"

Some weeks ago, in a conversation with a friend, we both lost our words. We knew what we wanted to say, but ended up using sounds – that were not quite words. It was a vocal equivalent of an ellipsis, a space-filler in a sentence. The thingy, the whatchamacallit, the blah-dee-blah. There were hand motions at times, as we laughed and said "it could be a word!"

It was amusing, but we were able to continue in our conversation without going back to fill in those replaced non-words – because we didn’t need to. Our ideas had been conveyed, our thoughts communicated. "I know what you mean" was a regular comment.

And, after all, words are meant to communicate something; if the communication has taken place, then that’s fine… isn’t it?

I think in some circumstances: yes. Clearly, in the chat with my friend, we had enough context, history, and understanding to comprehend the gist of the message.

In other times, however, this type of thing could be problematic… when words have different meanings to different cultures (a cloud is a vapour mist in the sky, and online data storage), or are idiomatic (raining cats and dogs is not an atmospheric animal attack), or vary by language (saying one is embarazada in Spanish does not mean embarrassed, but pregnant), or have changed definitions over time (awful used to be positive, mean awe-full or amazing; it now carries a negative assessment of something): the whole meaning can be lost, or become offensive.

It can be helpful, then, for us to clarify that what we are saying or hearing is in fact accurate to the desired communication. If we’re speaking and see an unexpected reaction in our listener, we can clarify that we have been understood. If we are the listener who hears an outrageous or unlikely comment, we can ask for more information. If we’re reading things that have been written decades (or millennia) ago, we can be careful about understanding translation and context.

Words are powerful; and we are responsible for our own understanding. Especially if we have a strong emotional reaction to a collection of words, it can help us all to make sure that it has communicated what it needed to communicate.

Why Be Mean Over Wordle?

I have recently joined the masses who engage in the daily word game called Wordle.

It’s a website, with one game per day, where you get 6 chances to guess a 5-letter word; correct letters in the right place are green, correct letters but in the wrong place are yellow.

Part of this game’s spread to popularity has been the ‘share’ feature, where players can have their results shared on social media. The letters are not shared, just the coloured blocks and the number of attempts. Some people choose to share, but it's not required.

What has surprised me in the last couple of weeks has been the energy around the sharing of the game. When I first saw people sharing their results, the comments were complimentary and kind, a simple ‘way to go!’ type of thing. People connected over their shared efforts, those green and yellow squares giving a neutral opportunity to reach out with a word or two.

Recently, however, there have been comments that are less encouraging – some folks whose comments have become unnecessarily critical and harsh, expressing negativity against the person themselves (I saw a “only stupid people take 5 tries” this week!) Really, why would a elicit harshness like this?

There are other folks who are intentionally posting the answers (thereby ruining the game for that day for others who may see it.) It’s a juvenile thing to do, demonstrating selfishness and meanness (why be mean over a word game?)

It’s disappointing and disheartening that some folks feel the need to extend their displeasure - especially as there's no benefit to doing so, and it's a simple thing that doesn't change their lives. Meanness has no place in building community. And there are other ways to respond: people could choose to just not say anything cruel, or to ignore the Wordle posts and scroll past, or (worst case!) ‘mute’ the person posting them (a ‘snooze for 30 days’ feature is available on Facebook, after all).

What struck me most this week was the hostility of comments when it was revealed that the creator of Wordle was selling it to the New York Times – which leads to no changes for the players – yet so many chose to create horrible nastiness that was shared online.

In reality, I can’t imagine that this negativity actually stems from Wordle; I’ve not seen it be offensive in any way. Yet how people react and respond to Wordle is showing us a part of ourselves that might benefit from closer examination.

So we have the choice – in Wordle and in life – to be kind and compassionate to others, in how we interact. As Christians, we are regularly invited to love one another (Jesus) and to encourage one another (in Ephesians) and to stir one another up to good works (in Hebrews) (and many, many other places!). Let’s engage with one another with 5-letter words that show the world who we are: Faith, Heart, Grace.

Reading Challenges and the Lens of Faith

"Books" by Vicente CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 on Flickr

    This week, the Canada Reads 2022 booklist was released. I enjoy these discussions; where the works of Canadian authors are championed by Canadian readers.

    I am the type of person who will go out and read such books, taking their position on the list as an invitation and recommendation. Most booklists or reading challenges pique my curiosity and fire up my literary engine. Whether it’s a library challenge or a book club selection, I enjoy being challenged with the opportunity to explore new ideas, new genres, new voices, new perspectives. And, as a bookworm, I always enjoy a new recommendation!

    Reading something new broadens our horizons.

    We may like, we may dislike, we may be indifferent – but in trying, we have exposed ourselves to a different artistic expression.

    Opening ourselves to open the covers of a new-to-us genre brings us gently outside our comfort zones and expands our horizons.

    Reading a ‘banned book’ invites critical thinking (who is trying to ban this book, and why?)

    Engaging someone whose views differ from our own can increase our knowledge and our empathy – and thus connection to others.

    Intentionally learning from an author in a different context (geography, language, political leanings, etc.) invites us to deepen our reflective self-awareness.

    So the more we encounter through literature, the more we are being given tools to use to engage with the world around us, in meaningful and helpful ways.

    Our reading can be for a number of reasons: escape from reality, emotional boosting, distraction from daily stressors, just passing time – whatever our reason, the benefits are great.

    And: as people of faith, we can apply these lessons to our religious experience. We can practice critical thinking with theological texts; we can increase our scope with authors of colour or gender or location (not all Christian theology was written by dead white guys in the northern hemisphere).         And when we increase our exposure, we increase our awareness of the family of God.

    So let’s read: some favourites, something new, something unexpected, whatever.

    For we never know when and where we’ll be surprised by the presence of God’s Good News.

The Name within a name

While Shakespeare’s Romeo claimed that “that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet”, we know that names are, in fact, important.

Names matter. How we use them matters.

For names convey more than a simple collection of letters; just as we as individuals are more than a collection of parts.

The names we use convey our personhood.

The pronouns we use express our identity.

The nicknames we use speak of connection.

The greetings we use, the manner of speech, the vocabulary and syntax and grammar – it all presents a format of relationship.

We show respect and dignity by getting names and pronouns correct and accurate, by communicating in with appropriate manners. We may need a few tries to learn or re-learn proper pronunciation or preference, but it is time well spent; and we appreciate the patience others extend when we fumble.

When we apply this to our faith, we recognise that names also speak of relationship with God. Our scriptures are full of people and places where the name tells us about character or activity; our prayers communicate language rich in tradition and rhythm that can soothe (or disquiet) our souls.

Our relationship with God is rich in relationship; we share a history, we enjoy a current connection, we anticipate future engagements. And we recognise that this relationship is different than any other we have; for it is with the divine.

And so we name God differently. Whatever word we use, our spirits connect in a different manner than how we relate even to our most beloved here on earth.

Leonard Cohen writes: “This is the way we summon each other, but it is not the way we call upon the Name. … How beautiful our heritage, to have this way of speaking to eternity, how bountiful this solitude, surrounded, filled, and mastered by the Name, from which all things arise in splendour, depending one upon the other.”

Perhaps a sign of our spiritual maturity will be when we use names with one another in this earthly realm, with the same gentleness, beauty, and reverence that we save for The Name; for within each person before us is a spark of the divine, waiting keenly, patiently, to be called instead of summoned.

"A Spatula?"

A spatula lifting a puzzle segment

A while back, while working on a jigsaw puzzle with a friend, she asked for a spatula. I’m sure my confusion was evident on my face – we were working on a puzzle, not on dinner. However, it was easy enough to head to the kitchen for the tool (after confirming that I had correctly heard her request - a spatula?)

Now, my friend and I have different approaches to jigsaw puzzles anyway – I start with the border, having already put the interior pieces right-side up in trays. My friend opens a box, grabs some pieces, and starts finding connections. Both methods work; they’re just different.

So knowing our different ways of seeing the puzzle, I was curious to see how a spatula was going to play in. She had been working on some small segments of the puzzle while I was working on the border. Knowing the approximate location where her pieces would land, she used the spatula to lift the portion into the whole. Such an obvious and simple way to integrate our efforts!

Life can be like this: we can all be working in our own ways to shine light, to share faith, to do good in the world. We see things differently, and we work on different things and in different ways. But with healthy and effective communication and intentionality, we can find ways to come together to make a difference, to contribute to the whole, to share of our efforts.

It likely will not use a spatula for each task, but the tool for cohesion may be equally simple and unexpected. We may not feel that we are doing a huge amount at any given time, but every contribution augments the whole. We may not see what everyone else is doing, or when, but we trust that good is happening; and we know that our contributions may not always be seen.

But when we do what we do for the sake of goodness, we are committing to the big picture. When we are willing to think outside the box for ways to bring our contributions together, we are committing to the community. When we live out our faith to the best of our ability, we are committing to shining the light of Christ in the world.

It may not be a lot, but it matters. As Desmond Tutu said: “Do your little bit of good where you are; it's those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world.”

Resolving Resolutions

As we ponder (or have pondered) what our New Year’s Resolutions may be, the topic invites us to reflect on the “me” of the past, and anticipate the potential of “me” in the future.

This year, I‘ve seen some folks reflecting on how they wanted to set their expectations quite high for themselves for 2022, to get out of the 2021 rut. Others have commented on the need to set the bar really low so it’s attainable… even if we learn more COVID-inspired Greek this year. (ugh!)

My hope is that in the time of reflection, we will set any resolutions to be meaningful, contextual, and appropriate. For some folks, an ambitious set of resolutions may be inspiring and encouraging; whereas for another person too-lofty goals may be paralysing and depressing. We have to know ourselves, and be honest with ourselves, before we can settle into a resolution that will stick.

My next hope is that in our resolutions, they answer the “why” of it – what is it that is unresolved in us from the past that we wish to be resolved in the coming year? Will our lives be better for it, and is that part of our intention? If not, we can still articulate an intention (like steps walked in a day or books read each month) but recognise it as a habit or a goal – these are different from each other, and from resolutions.

And finally, in my own goals and resolutions for the year, I aspire to be gentle with myself, and to know what is practical and what is enough. My book-reading goal, for example, has been at the same number for several years – and I do not feel the need to change that: for in considering my time and love of reading, it is a number and format that fits with my lifestyle and my preferences. It is enough; I have nothing to prove to anyone else, it brings enjoyment, it helps enrich my life. It does not define me, or my worth; I am enough (but I'm still going to read!)

Whatever your resolutions, I pray they will be helpful and fun, that they will be a happy part of your 2022, that your genuine self will experience a fulfilling of desire.

Happy New Year!