The Summons

What a week to be an American. How many of us have crumbled under fear of the unknown and gut-wrenching grief at the loss of lives in the Potomac and Philadelphia.

And what a week to work in an academic medical center, as funding freezes and impending cut-backs bring the wheels of research to a grinding halt. While it’s easy to paint universities as elite institutions, for the researchers closeted in laboratories whose livelihood depends on grants, is it elitism or innovation? I for one want Alzheimer’s research to move faster, not slower.

In addition, the winter grayness drags on, and it’s hard to imagine that brittle limbs will ever produce lush foliage. But I found four glimmers of hope in the week that I want to share.

And a child shall lead us.
I spent last weekend in Kansas with my daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter. In a living room strewn with toys, busy toddler Eleanor was brought to total stillness when we turned on “Little Bear,” the television show based on the Else Holmelund Minarik’s series of books from the 1950s. The musical score, the pastel illustrations and the stories’ sweet simplicity had her spellbound. Ellie’s captivated “ahs” were balm to my soul. In a world of noisy distractions vying for our attention, we are still able to lean our heads to the serene, the beautiful.

A reminder to be kind.
This week at work, I entered a conference room and found a student there, huddled over her books, her service dog Ruthie at her feet. The girl startled, assuming I needed the room for a meeting. (Students are always squatting in quiet conference rooms, and frequently we staff have to bump them out). I assured her I was just retrieving something I had left, and asked if I could pet Ruthie. The labradoodle’s nuzzles were just what I needed in the midst of running from project to project. As the student and I chatted, her downtrodden demeanor lifted. “Rough week?” I asked and she nodded. As I was leaving, she thanked me for stopping to chat and play with Ruthie. I wonder how many people I rush by every day, assuming they’re in their own little worlds and do not want to talk. Sometimes we all need a few kind words from a stranger.

Celebrating in the face of everything.
In our medical school this week, there was a wedding. A couple who are engaged to marry in the spring decided to go ahead and make it official. You see, the woman is DACA and in fear of deportation. A staff member officiated; the deans showed up; someone brought a cake, and other people decorated with balloons and flowers. Although the venue—in front of the elevators—could not have been more unromantic, the celebration could not have been more endearing. Love is contagious and we all need to be exposed.

Listening to the music.
Last Sunday in Kansas, I attended church with my children. The worship focus was on service, on being the hands and feet of God and doing what’s needed—even in the face of difficulty. I always enjoy attending the service at this church, housed in a fascinating Frank Lloyd Wright building. Although I know few of them, the congregation strike me as people who walk the walk. I also find the music inspiring (admittedly partially because my talented son-in-law is music director and my daughter sings in the choir). On Sunday, the anthem was one of my favorites: “The Summons,” based on Mark 1: 16-20. (The Notre Dame choir has a nice rendition you can listen to here.) It was what I needed to hear, perhaps what we all need to hear, as we walk through days of grief and uncertainty and fear. Two verses particularly spoke to me:

Will you leave yourself behind if I but call your name?
Will you care for cruel and kind and never be the same?
Will you risk the hostile stare should your life attract or scare?
Will you let me answer prayer in you and you in me?

Will you love the “you” you hide if I but call your name?
Will you quell the fear inside and never be the same?
Will you use the faith you’ve found to reshape the world around
Through my sight and touch and sound in you and you in me?

Can we leave ourselves behind and think of others? What part of ourselves do we hide? Do our lives attract or scare? How do we quell the fear inside, and what tools do we have to reshape the world around us? I don’t have the answers, but in my experiences this week, I found hope… in celebratory sights and the touch of toddler hugs and the melodic sounds of an inspired choir. And I’ll never be the same.

The peaceful world of Little Bear summons us all. Every day. Keep the faith.