Melody—one of the sweetest, kindest, gentlest women I’ve known—suffered terribly. Because of me. Her profound distress was difficult to watch, both because she was such a decent person and because I was the source of her pain. Melody was a student assigned to help me in my graduate school research. While engaged in the repetitive, mundane tasks that so often go into science, we’d shared our views of the world. And in this way she came to discover that I had not been saved.
As a devout Christian, she felt obligated to do everything in her power to bring others into the fold. But I was not just another heathen; I’d become a friend, so her sense of duty was even more compelling. She was nearly desperate to keep me from walking into the fires of hell. And the impending spiritual disaster was made all the more tragic because I had consciously chosen the path to perdition.
Melody invited me to lunchtime Bible studies, which I gently declined. Finally, I felt so bad about her anxiety for my fate that I went along. But it was like throwing a life preserver to a drowning man who refuses to grab the ring because he thinks he’s out for a pleasant swim. I know she prayed fervently for me, and I wished sincerely for her happiness. In the end, she graduated and married a fine young man. So it seems that at least my wish was granted, although I suspect she did not soon forget her drowning friend.
I’ve often been in Melody’s position. As a professor, I have spent a great deal of energy trying to convert other people. There was the lazy but gifted student whom I wanted to turn into a scholar, the arrogant colleague I wanted to turn into a doubter, and the cynical administrator I wanted to turn into an idealist. Outside work, there was the miserly member of my church I wanted to turn into a generous giver, the despairing friend I wanted to turn into an optimist, and the happy-go-lucky fellow I wanted to turn into a realist. But they all, to a person, refused to reach out for my life preserver. Some even seemed happy while the pounding surf of mistaken perceptions and the crashing waves of unrealized potential washed over them. I agonized over their fate and lamented their failings. I suffered for them.
At least I suffered until I finally realized that I was trying to convert the wrong person. The essence of happiness lies not in changing colleagues into people I can respect, students into people I can value, or friends into people I can love. The task is instead to turn myself into a person who can respect, value and love others. I’m still working on it, so I still feel compelled to save others on occasion.
But at least now when I attempt a rescue, I don’t stand on the deck of my ship and throw a flotation device. I jump in after them. That way I begin to understand that treading water on your own can be more meaningful than wearing someone else’s life jacket. What appears to be drowning may just be a pleasant swim. And sometimes I find that being tossed by their waves is preferable to the navigational certainty aboard my ship.
by Jeffrey Lockwood, from his meditation manual A Guest of the World, published by Skinner House in 2006 and available from the CLF Library or 617-948-6150 and the UUA bookstore.
For the month of February, Quest readers receive a 20% discount on this featured book. Visit the UUA bookstore and enter discount code CLF0209 on checkout or call 800-215-9076 and give the code to your customer service representative.
Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF), 25 Beacon Street, Boston, MA 02108-2823, U.S.
or
Phone: 617-948-6166; or for international callers, use 00-1-617-948-6166
Fax: 617-523-4123, or for international faxes, use 00-1-617-523-4123
