When I attended a leadership conference with my students a few weeks ago, we heard three motivational speakers, one of whom spoke to us about a young lady killed in the Columbine High School shootings twelve years ago (to the day, as a matter of fact; today is the twelfth anniversary of the killings). Her name was Rachel Scott, a girl with boundless enthusiasm and an unshaken confidence that her life would touch the lives of countless others.
She was right. Her story (look up "Rachel's Story" on a search engine) involved a life devoted to caring about those whom no one else would, without regard for her own well-being. It has been heard by millions, and has galvanized students and adults to be more inclusive in their schools and generally to be more caring of others.
It was powerful for another reason, however. As the speaker relayed Rachel's story, he spoke of several remarkable things that occurred before and after her death. Before the event, for instance, she spoke in her diary and to her friends of the fact that she knew she would die young, and that she expected it. After her death and in a separate state, moreover, a man unknown to Rachel or anyone around her had a dream of a pair of eyes crying. He called the father to ask him if this had any significance. The father said it didn't. Nevertheless, the man left his number and told the father to call if he needed. Later, however, Rachel's father was asked to come to the police station: they had found Rachel's diary among her belongings. In it was the final picture she had drawn: a pair of eyes crying thirteen tears, the number of people killed at Columbine.
Just as salient to me as the story itself were the feelings I had about what was happening. As the speaker told Rachel's story, sad music played in the background, and I noticed that the events he pointed out were intended to draw an emotional response from the students. This bothered me. In my mind, though I never explicitly thought it, it was wrong of him to use emotion to influence these children to be one way or another, even if his purpose was to encourage them to care for others. I felt like he had cheated them out of an honest appraisal of what it means to be a generous, caring person.
On closer inspection, though, something deeper was going on. I had this response for a reason. I felt-- and I feel-- this way because of my personality, but also because some of my past experiences have taught me that attempting to influence others in this way can lead to emotional, and even psychological damage. Regarding the latter, I have seen Christian speakers do just the same thing in churches that this man did at the leadership conference, only with different messages. They used slow music and emotion to influence the audience to adopt a particular viewpoint.
Whether these messages caused me to act in a self-destructive way, or whether I would have acted in this way even had I not heard them, I can't say; but I do know that it was around the time I heard them that I was plunged (or that I plunged myself) into what was the most difficult time in my life. It is easy to blame others for your own pain, but it can also be unfair if the blame is misplaced. In this case, it might have been unfair. I've noticed about myself, for example, that I need peace. I hate conflict, and I don't trust strong emotion, whether it is anger, intense sadness, elation, deep pity, or something else. This was true of me even as a teenager, and so it can be said of me that I would have responded to this speaker in the same way regardless of my experiences.
Nevertheless, and whether fair or unfair, the stigma has remained: each time I hear a message like the one spoken by the well-intentioned speaker at the leadership conference, I become skeptical and untrusting. It's something I must work through, one of those flaws in the woodwork of an otherwise sturdy table. It is a simple reminder of a verse I've thought about from time to time when things like this come up:
There will be a day when that freedom and glory are salient, unmistakable, tangible. Until then, we can only see a part of who we are meant to be, and who we will become. Indeed, "...now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." (1 Corinthians 13:12)
Thanks for reading.
She was right. Her story (look up "Rachel's Story" on a search engine) involved a life devoted to caring about those whom no one else would, without regard for her own well-being. It has been heard by millions, and has galvanized students and adults to be more inclusive in their schools and generally to be more caring of others.
It was powerful for another reason, however. As the speaker relayed Rachel's story, he spoke of several remarkable things that occurred before and after her death. Before the event, for instance, she spoke in her diary and to her friends of the fact that she knew she would die young, and that she expected it. After her death and in a separate state, moreover, a man unknown to Rachel or anyone around her had a dream of a pair of eyes crying. He called the father to ask him if this had any significance. The father said it didn't. Nevertheless, the man left his number and told the father to call if he needed. Later, however, Rachel's father was asked to come to the police station: they had found Rachel's diary among her belongings. In it was the final picture she had drawn: a pair of eyes crying thirteen tears, the number of people killed at Columbine.
Just as salient to me as the story itself were the feelings I had about what was happening. As the speaker told Rachel's story, sad music played in the background, and I noticed that the events he pointed out were intended to draw an emotional response from the students. This bothered me. In my mind, though I never explicitly thought it, it was wrong of him to use emotion to influence these children to be one way or another, even if his purpose was to encourage them to care for others. I felt like he had cheated them out of an honest appraisal of what it means to be a generous, caring person.
On closer inspection, though, something deeper was going on. I had this response for a reason. I felt-- and I feel-- this way because of my personality, but also because some of my past experiences have taught me that attempting to influence others in this way can lead to emotional, and even psychological damage. Regarding the latter, I have seen Christian speakers do just the same thing in churches that this man did at the leadership conference, only with different messages. They used slow music and emotion to influence the audience to adopt a particular viewpoint.
Whether these messages caused me to act in a self-destructive way, or whether I would have acted in this way even had I not heard them, I can't say; but I do know that it was around the time I heard them that I was plunged (or that I plunged myself) into what was the most difficult time in my life. It is easy to blame others for your own pain, but it can also be unfair if the blame is misplaced. In this case, it might have been unfair. I've noticed about myself, for example, that I need peace. I hate conflict, and I don't trust strong emotion, whether it is anger, intense sadness, elation, deep pity, or something else. This was true of me even as a teenager, and so it can be said of me that I would have responded to this speaker in the same way regardless of my experiences.
Nevertheless, and whether fair or unfair, the stigma has remained: each time I hear a message like the one spoken by the well-intentioned speaker at the leadership conference, I become skeptical and untrusting. It's something I must work through, one of those flaws in the woodwork of an otherwise sturdy table. It is a simple reminder of a verse I've thought about from time to time when things like this come up:
For the creation itself was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God.
There will be a day when that freedom and glory are salient, unmistakable, tangible. Until then, we can only see a part of who we are meant to be, and who we will become. Indeed, "...now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." (1 Corinthians 13:12)
Thanks for reading.
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