The thin line

It may take great effort, patience and creativity, but kindness ­matters.

Bishop Edward B. Scharfenberger

Irish folklore has traditions where the boundaries between natural and supernatural realities are thought to be especially close. Certain locales are referred to as “thin places” where the veil between this world and another is believed to be so narrow that it seems to take more faith not to believe than to affirm that some form of presence or intervention into the ordinary course of events has occurred that transforms the course of a life or even the trajectory of history.

After the near killing of former President Donald J. Trump, we have been hearing much speculation, even hope, that the tone and tenor of our increasingly fractious political climate might stand a chance of moving in healthier, more productive directions. The buildup of tensions to a near breaking point has led to a fear of collapse of our civil and even democratic institutions. That reactions from assorted camps on the political spectrum using words like “sick” and “horrific” to describe not so much the candidates personally but the violent and destructive rhetoric may signal a willingness and readiness to focus more on policy discourse moving forward, we can only hope and pray.

It will certainly take time to sort out what happened on Saturday, July 13, when a barrage of bullets killed an innocent man shielding his family and seriously wounded two others attending the rally. The former president himself escaped death by the thinnest line perhaps in all of history, if some videos tracking the projectiles prove accurate under analysis. Some have even advanced the notion of some paranormal, supernatural  or even divine intervention, so close was the shot. We can expect many more theories to emerge on what we saw that day, or thought we saw.

Last week I had reflected in this column on the “peak events” in salvation history and in our lives personally that enable us to see reality in a different light and sometimes can even change the outlook and direction. Particular, personal and real, they may persuade us that grace is real and that God is very much involved in our lives. Scriptures are full of such examples, from the encounter of Moses with the burning bush on Mount Sinai and the Transfiguration of Jesus Christ witnessed by Peter, James and John. Such “thin” times and places often come to be described as situations in which one hears “a voice” or “sees” a light, like portals in time where eternal realities pour through, if only for a brief moment.

I suspect many of us can tell stories that we have heard, some even heroic, where our lives or the lives of others have been changed by events that clearly involve more than natural forces. I have quipped at times that I do not pray for miracles — I depend on them. So many events in my own life personally continue to move me toward an attitude of profound thanks to God and others for the words I said or did not say, the actions I took or refrained from by the grace of God that could have led to different results. Think of all the “close calls” we often have, for example, in which we felt inclined to overreact to something. How different the consequences might have been if we acted merely on impulse, to “get it out” of our system. Words can make a difference. A moment of reflection might have restrained us to be gentler, perhaps to take the more productive tactic of deflecting or lessening the impact of an insult or a verbal torpedo with the use of humor. It may take great effort, patience and creativity, but kindness ­matters.

Recently I and other passengers in my vicinity on a two-and-a-half-hour flight were serenaded for about 90 percent of our journey by the outcries of a 2-year-old with a voice pitched to the most piercingly annoying decibel levels our ears could (barely) tolerate. Not even my noise-canceling earplugs could buffer the peals. We all know such circumstances. Those who care for children can sympathize with the parent who is doing their best to deal with the whining child as the dopamine level in the brain takes its natural course, which only supernatural intervention could arrest. Yes, the child has no control and neither does the parent. I admired the general reaction of the other passengers who did not send out looks of contempt or outrage at the poor mom who, as it turned out, may well have been a single parent who was traveling with her own father. She had at any rate attempted to refer her toddler to “grandpa,” in a futile attempt to distract.

My own disposition during that flight was not particularly edified by an anxiety over my next connection. Inclement weather had delayed the first flight. The gate assignments, originally steps apart, were now rerouted to opposite ends of the terminal. Once the first flight finally landed, the ensuing events can only be described as divine comedy. Of course, the child blocked the egress of anxious passengers by continuing a tantrum in the aisle. I tried to summon the kindest affect possible, even smiling at the mom for her painfully patient courage, bearing with this most difficult parenting routine. 

Once I left the plane at gate A12 in Detroit my race to the next flight involved running up an escalator with two pieces of luggage to a tram whose doors were closing as they grazed my backside. The escalator on the ramp nearest the gate I was heading to was blocked for construction. I am not sure I actually slid down the rail of the farther one, but I was suddenly hustling to gate A72 over which the sign promised Albany while warning “last call.” I kept smiling as I leapt over the last lap of the gangway and the door was promptly shut behind me. Yes, I stayed kind. Everyone was kind. And never was I more grateful to the kindness of my guardian angel who, I am sure, was never kinder or closer. 

I had made my connection on a thin line, no worse for the wear, feeling so much better off for not having used a profanity. Yes, I had been praying for patience and I know that helped. I had had a small experience of the “thin line” between fallen humanity and superabundant grace — which I can only describe as a continuum of kindness. A glimpse perhaps of what God does all day long, that no doubt benefits us all in ways unfathomable, from princes to paupers and presidents to toddlers. Yes, kindness matters.

 @AlbanyDiocese