Attention

The noted French mystic Simone Weil wrote, “Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.” Recently that struck me dramatically. In the first instance it was actually I who acted generously even though it didn’t seem like much at the time. It was casual enough. I spoke with a person who had been sitting alone at the complimentary breakfast counter of the chain motel at which we both stayed while we attended a conference. All I really did was listen as she responded to my “How are things going?”. It turned out that she was anxiously awaiting word as to whether or not her application for a PhD scholarship at Harvard had been accepted. It was easy to empathize with her. She was honest about her emotions. I too have spent time waiting for responses to proposals. Basically I just attended because I did care.

A couple weeks later she sent me an email. She didn’t get the scholarship. Yet she focused on how important it was to her to have had those minutes together with me. She felt someone had paid attention, had listened, and it was appreciated.

What happened in that little exchange and what doesn’t happen in a million situations similar to that every day is simply the matter of attention. It is difficult to be in a room or situation where absolutely no one pays attention to you. It is disconcerting (to say the least) to be at a dinner with a couple, to ask them about their lives etc., to listen empathically to that and to then never hear in response anything close to “And how about you?”

I admire Bill Gates and Warren Buffet and their incredibly wonderful generosity. It touches millions. And I contemplate on how millions of others could be blessed if every day every person just decided to perform their own single act of that rarest and purest form of charity, to just pay attention to another person.

Foot Washing & Stacking Chairs

Christians around the world are preparing to observe what is known as Holy Week, the week of recalling Jesus ‘ crucifixion. Together with many other Christians I have this week been reflecting upon another ritual of this week:  Jesus washing his disciples’ feet. In remembering that event I recall an experience of some 50 years ago that still sticks in my mind. It involves the simple act of stacking chairs.

I was principal of Concordia Lutheran School in Hong Kong. At the end of the high school assembly we were getting ready to repeat that assembly for the primary grades. This required a bit of chair rearrangement. So I began doing that. Immediately my two assistant principals (both respected Chinese scholars) ran up to me. “Principal Kieschnick, don’t you move those chairs! That is not a job for a principa,. We will call the janitor who’ll immediately take care of it.!”

Now this was a new experience for me. One of the jobs I always felt went with being principal was  doing the little stuff like moving chairs. Now I was told to not do that. I had been in that Chinese society long enough to stop and reflect. My two colleagues were speaking out of a long tradition. They felt that moving chairs was below the dignity of a school principal. If he did that the entire office of the principal would lose some respect. I had to take that point of view seriously. After all, if the office of principal was lowered in the eyes of the students that would also affect their view of his assistants.

Yet my mind had other thoughts. “I do not find this demeaning. The elementary school kids are about to arrive, I have a few minutes, I can get the chairs set up and be ready to go almost by the time the custodian would get here.” And I must admit I also had a slight feeling of  being called to “wash feet”-that is to humble one’s self.

About that time the janitor arrived and set up the chairs. But those conflicting impulses still prevail. Respect the traditions of those among whom you serve. On the other hand don’t let tradition n keep you from doing what your more sanctified impulse is urging you to do.

What would you have done?

Barefoot

It may have been a case of  neglect, laziness or maybe even memory loss. But a while ago I found myself busy at my computer, sitting here in my bare feet. It felt so very good. My mind pondered, “Why is it feeling so good to sit here in my bare feet?” I got theoretical. Maybe it’s because that’s how we first entered this world and we humans have an innate urge to get back to nature. Maybe it was just because it felt good to have one’s feet not restricted in any way. And any kind of freedom feels good. Maybe it was an act of asserting myself and I was saying to myself “ If I feel like going barefoot today, I will just do that, regardless of what anyone else may think or say.’

Upon deeper reflection on this earth-shaking question I came to another conclusion. And it’s one I will stick with. It felt good to be barefooted because it brought back all kinds of memories of my youth. I grew up in Texas. Part of that Texas rural and family freedom meant we did not have to wear shoes. We went barefooted at home, when we played, when we went to school, when we “went to town”. Only going to church on Sunday demanded shoes. Even then I didn’t like it and always had my shoes off even before we sat down for Sunday dinner.

Going barefooted did have its down-sides. One is that we were constantly stepping on stickers, burrs, glass, screws, nails and even needles. When I broke my ankle playing college football the x-ray technicians were more concerned about that needle embedded in my heel than with my ankle. I remember how that diagnosis frightened my mom who feared it would migrate to my heart and prove fatal. The Drs. assured us it was firmly embedded in tissue. A few years later after playing basketball with my pupils at St. Paul’s school in Tracy, CA I was again at the x--ray lab. So again the question: “What is the world is that needle doing in your heel?” I explained it was just another reminder of those wonderful days of going barefoot in my youth.

Going barefoot in the cotton fields of a Texas summer also proved a bit of a challenge. When the temperature hit the near hundreds the unshod soles of one’s feet got really challenged. I remember how I tried to find the shade of the cotton plants to protect them but it never got so bad that I wanted to wear shoes. One result is that tremendous calluses were formed on the bottom of my feet, a remnant of which stays with me to this day.

Of course, I could get even more philosophical and reflect upon poor kids whose feet are cold in winter because they have no shoes, or poor children who face bites and diseases because of their bare feet. But sitting here at my computer in my bare feet I will just revel in the moment and let my mind have the joy of remembering the marvelous carefree, barefooted days of my youth!