This post has been read
and approved by the person of whom I write.
Given
my vocation as a wordsmith, it is an ironic gift that one of my closest and
dearest friends is dyslexic. He has a tough time reading my blog, let alone one
of my books. But he believes in God, so he is not the dyslexic agnostic insomniac
who lies awake at night wondering about the existence of Dog, as the joke goes.
But he finds worship boring, and a wordy liturgy off-putting.
Dyslexia
is a learning disability, not a mental disability. Yet what prompts me to write
about this now is that I’ve been thinking about the prolific and profound spiritual
writer Henri Nouwen’s decision to live the last ten years of his life in
community with people with mental disabilities. He took satisfaction that
members of the L’Arche community welcomed him for who he was, not for what he
had done. What a contrast to Notre Dame, Yale, and Harvard, where he taught
much of his life!
Most
of us want to be welcomed for what we have done, yet all of us also want those
experiences of grace in which we are simply welcomed for who we are. That’s why
a stranger’s friendliness or a baby’s smile means so much, why a therapist’s
empathy proves healing, why sharing with a soul friend touches us deeply, why
family, whether biological or chosen, is often the model for homecoming.
That
is among the reasons I enjoy my friend. Other reasons are that he reminds me
there is more to life than words: leisurely time with friends, a fine dining
experience, a carefully selected and aged wine, contemporary and classical
music, helpful electronic and digital tools, comfortable and aesthetically eclectic
environments, art and plants, dancing and laughter, films and television
programs. To others he might be viewed as a materialist; to me, for him, matter
matters—what creation and incarnation and resurrection imply.
It
took some years before I began to realize he might be dyslexic. And then, as is
typical of me, I began to broach the subject tentatively. Yet he was ready to
talk about it, and subsequently, as we watched a couple of current
documentaries about dyslexia, he was almost overjoyed as he confirmed over and
over again what was being said. Many children with dyslexia are called “slow,”
even “retarded,” yet a disproportionate number of dyslexics become successful entrepreneurs,
even academics.
Since
the condition became known, I have wondered if I am slightly dyslexic. I read
slowly. I remember a teacher pulling my hair as a child because she thought I
was intentionally making mistakes as we went through a phonics chart together. While
I earned high marks in school, the idea of remaining in academia was unappealing.
A neurolinguistic therapist once told me that we often choose our work in the
area of accessing information in which we have “issues”—for me, that was writing.
In more recent years, I have been able to recognize signs of dyslexia in others,
from acquaintances to public figures, finding it more common than I once
thought.
So
it makes sense to me that many people may also live with a kind of spiritual
dyslexia. They might not quite “get” God or spirituality. I’ve met people like
that, who have no disdain for the spiritual life and who have had no bad
religious experiences, but just don’t understand. My late friend Scott Rogo,
who wrote thirty books on paranormal activity, once told me that there is a
part of the brain associated with religiosity, discovered when it is damaged
and produces an individual who say, for example, compulsively reads the Bible
from cover to cover over and over again. I must admit I was a little depressed
to learn that spiritual interests might thus be predetermined.
Yet
Simon LeVay, the neuroscientist who discovered differences in the brains of gay
men, explained to me there’s a kind of “chicken-and-the-egg,” which-came-first
question in neuroscience. Does behavior develop a part of the brain, or does
the brain’s difference cause certain behaviors?
I
believe that’s why the spiritual life needs both intention and attention. We
all have something that gets us out of bed in the morning, some belief system
that gets us through our day. Discerning this is the foundation of the
spiritual life; cultivating this is building our spirituality on that
foundation. Yet we don’t have to do this alone. All religions have our
foundational figures, myths, and stories on which to build. All religions have
traditions and histories and houses of worship on which to draw and in which to
participate.
In
addition, those with spiritual dyslexia may be our spiritual entrepreneurs who
lead us to greener pastures and fresher waters to restore our souls. Maybe
that’s the inspiration of Progressive Christianity, the Emerging Church,
Creation Spirituality, New Age Spirituality, as well as renewed interest in
contemplation, Celtic Christianity, and the interfaith movement, maybe even the
passion behind current expressions of atheism and agnosticism. Perhaps
spiritual dyslexia offers a different or nonlinear way of conceptualizing God,
reality, and the life of the spirit.
Copyright © 2013 by
Chris R. Glaser. All rights reserved. Permission granted for non-profit use
with attribution of author and blogsite. Suggested uses: personal reflection,
contemporary readings in worship, conversation starters in classes.
Please join me at
Trinity Episcopal Cathedral in Cleveland, Ohio March 9-10 for a Saturday retreat on
Henri Nouwen, “From the Heart,” and on Sunday morning, interviewed in the Dean’s Forum about “Progressive
Christianity” and preaching at the 9 am jazz mass and 11:15 am choral Eucharist
on “The Holy Place: Mercy and Reconciliation,” on Jesus’ parable of the
prodigal.
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