Invisibility cloak
Travel, thinking, politics in church
Being invited into a subculture, even for a moment, feels like wearing an invisibility cloak.
Existing among people who are profoundly different from you invokes the feeling of traveling abroad, where everything is familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, and you’re on the outside, watching the insiders perform their daily communications and rituals. You’re an interloper, but a tolerated one.
This past weekend, I went to Hatteras, a tiny sliver of an island in the Atlantic Ocean, my beloved brother-in-law’s hometown. All of his people on his dad’s side are from this island. They’ve been there for hundreds of years. Their names are on all of the streets and buildings; their ancestors were lighthouse keepers and fishermen and homesteaders.
We went to remember the life of Alex’s dad, who recently passed away. During the “paddle out,” the surfer’s memorial, I watched the islanders stand in a circle on the beach, in their wetsuits or with their children and dogs, and tell stories about Alex’s dad. Their memories were laced with unfamiliar jargon (the language of surfers), but even if I didn’t understand the vocabulary, their warmth and affection was felt. Standing on the outside of that circle in the sand felt like a privilege: to watch a different community mourn and to be a silent witness. I am proud of Alex and proud to call him my brother. It was a gift to see him among his people, as a leader and as a cherished native son.
We’re about to take a trip, our first one without the kids, to commemorate our thirteenth anniversary. My brain is preconditioning itself to Have Thoughts. I am planning all of the books I will cram into my suitcase and how I am going to think about them and write about them, with a pen, in an actual notebook. I shall have the luxury of six unstructured days! I have not had such a thing in four years. I’m not sure I’ll know what to do with myself. It seems most likely that, instead of being profound, I will just look vacant in a chair with an open book in my lap.
A friend I respect asked me how I can be OK going to a church that doesn’t share my politics.
I am very OK with it, for a handful of reasons.
It is a gift to worship at a church that does not have a political platform.
It is a benefit to not know the political beliefs of our clergy. I like that they do not talk about them from the pulpit.
It is a privilege to worship in an ideologically diverse congregation.
The older I get, the more grateful I am to exist in spaces with people who think and vote very differently from myself. I am thankful to pass the peace and share the cup with my neighbor, who shares none of my political beliefs and predispositions. What is church for, after all, if we can no longer sit in a pew with someone with whom we strongly disagree?
I’m happy to share that my third stapedectomy worked this time.
Thank you for your patience, prayers, and forbearance over the past few years. You’ve all been very kind as you repeated every other sentence you said to me. For quite a while now, I’ve been a little bit sad, a little bit anxious, and a lot socially unpleasant. After two heartbreaking surgeries, I’m overjoyed that it finally took and that my surgeon was willing to give it another go.
I still count as a hearing-impaired person, because my left ear can only hear about 50% of what a normal person hears, but the improvement in my right ear is so dramatic that I no longer need hearing aids to function. I will need the same surgery on my left ear at some point, but for now, I am joyful. My daily anxiety has lessened considerably.
It is strange to have experienced such a profound disability and then to have it reversed. I feel unexpectedly blessed.
Currently Reading
The Scent of Time, Byung-Chul Han
The Word Pretty, Elisa Gabbert
Transit, Rachel Cusk