by Rachel PughSometimes we simply can’t find it, no matter how long we search or how intently we concentrate on the quest. Other times, we think we know all the answers and our arrogant maneuvers slip in between and around and directly past the true task at hand. And most times we ignore it all together, believing that only our own temples, our own private worlds we bury ourselves within matter in the long scheme of things. It’s not philosophy. It’s compassion. And although we speed through our often mindless journeys laughing about the phrase “the meaning of life,” isn’t this the phrase that puts our feet on the floor each morning, gets us out of bed and forces us to stare at our own realities day in and day out? If it isn’t, perhaps we need to take a closer look. For the meaning of your life may very well not directly impact you at all, at least not by superficial means.
Last Sunday, I sat in church as I do many Sundays listening to the weekly message. I cannot deny that sometimes I daydream, thinking about what my work week may bring, what I might be doing directly after church and life’s little chore list in general. This Sunday, however, I felt moved by a sentence that my minister stated early in his sermon: “We treat church like a mausoleum for saints when we should be treating church like a hospital for the broken.” And that sentence, that simple statement voiced to a small congregation at a modest rural church on Hunlock–Harveyville Road echoed in my mind as loudly as it does at this very moment. How true that statement, how painfully true that is.
Put religion aside. Regardless of your faith or even if you have no organized faith at all, this statement translates to life in the most general and simplest form. Church, which could symbolize us, our being, our temple we call self, we hold on silver platters, allowing only room for others with similar traits during that chapter in our lives. We hold it above our heads, being cautious of who can touch it or even see it from our view. Yes, we must protect ourselves and surround ourselves with positive experiences, success, and all things important for a sound life full of quality moments but why do we fear that platter’s balance so intensely? Why do we feel that if it tilts by others, even the slightest, our lives will completely dismantle? Are we not confident enough in ourselves to let others who suffer, others who hurt or have pain lean on us, knowing perfectly well that it can be lessened by our strength? Or are our own fears of disappointment allowing us to judge other’s weaknesses, allowing no room on our silver platters of perfection? What a lonely place it can be from the top.
I do not believe we can live our lives losing ourselves and putting everyone’s needs above our own. What I do believe is that we have room. We have room to listen, to notice, to simply be a presence for someone suffering alone. We have room to accept someone’s faults, no matter how surprising, how disappointing, how terrifying the situation at hand may be.
We have the room. We just need to move over.
It’s a meaning of life, one single significant speck of our existence that allows us to love unconditionally, examine without judgment, and embrace those who may be nothing like us. I choose to be a hospital for the broken even with the risk of extra weight on my platter. I choose to give room for the ones who need the space, the area to roam freely without contempt. And I choose to provide strength for those I love and those whom I have not yet met if I know it can dissipate the pain. Perhaps it will help me find it, but the quest is no longer a selfish search. And that just may be the meaning of life after all, I’m not sure. I can only determine my strength to adapt my own mausoleum.
How strong are you?
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