c. 2000 Religion News Service
(Tom Ehrich is a writer and computer consultant, managing large-scale database implementations. An Episcopal priest, he lives in Durham, N.C.)
(UNDATED) On the drive to work, I push the radio button for classical music and come across Beethoven’s “Fur Elise,” whose every note I recognize from listening to others take piano lessons.
I always imagined it would be a delight to make such music with my own hands. Instead I played sports.
Listening to this airy piece gets me to thinking about things I wish I had done. I don’t feel morbid about these “I wishes.” I’m just musing about choices.
I do wish that I had learned to play the piano. If any child’s ear were raised for advice, I would say, “Turn off your computer and take piano.” Computer skills can come later. Computer games are a waste. Don’t be content just to listen. Train your fingers to make music.
I wish I had learned to touch-type. I studied so-called academic subjects instead. Now I need both skills.
I wish I had learned Spanish. In my school days, foreign language was a transcript-builder, not a life-skill. To appear intellectual, I studied Latin and classical Greek _ both worthy endeavors _ and scorned Spanish. Now, when I travel in Europe or in the expanding bilingual regions of the United States, I can’t communicate.
I don’t wish anything about career choices, romance choices or home choices. I like who I am, and the choices I made about work and love played a big part in forming me.
Mostly, I am aware that, as life proceeds, we reach intersections, we turn this way or that, and we deal with the consequences. Some choices are good, some are bad, and most seem neutral. Taken as a whole, our choices reveal truth, even if each choice isn’t itself an expression of all truth. If we dare learn from experience, we can make better choices at the next intersection.
In Christian faith, we make much of the choices Jesus made along the way, as if each choice revealed a polished gem. We tend not to see that Jesus responded differently at the next intersection. We tend not to see it was his ministry as a whole, not each isolated incident, that revealed ultimate truth. He lived a life, not a textbook. He learned as he went, as we do.
Take, for example, the choice Jesus made when a synagogue leader named Jairus begged Jesus to heal his daughter. When Jesus came to Jairus’ house, he found a crowd of scoffers.
He chose at that instant to leave the scoffers outside and to take the girl’s parents and his loyal friends inside. On the one hand, we say, “Of course.” Of course, you take the parents, because they have the most at stake. Of course, you take Peter, James and John, because Jesus is training them to carry on his ministry.
On the other hand, I wish he had taken the scoffers, too, because it was they who needed to see the miracle unfold. Not just see its consequence and be amazed, but see the Master at work. Feel Beethoven’s genius in their very hands, as it were, not treat genius as something to push a button and claim.
I wish he had asked his disciples to observe the scoffers. They might not have been so quick to perceive themselves as uniquely chosen custodians of truth. They might not have been so determined to establish an institution grounded in elitism. They might have seen the power of open partnership, as opposed to closed doors. They might have held on to Jesus as he was, instead of casting him as an icon whose perfection bolstered their own claims of superiority.
We need to see that Jesus himself rethought the choice made at Jairus’ door. He abandoned this secretive approach and healed in the open. He recognized the destructive gleam in his disciples’ eyes as they imagined themselves an in-crowd and tried to recast them as servants, not as custodians of the secret. He broke through cultural and religious barriers.
We have built structures and doctrines _ our barriers _ on Jesus’ momentary choices, on single-shot glimpses of truth that we happen to find pleasing. We need to rethink our choices, as Jesus did his.
DEA END EHRICH
