On choosing communion in our communication
On choosing communion in our communication
How can our words help us encounter one another?
On a recent flight, I found myself yearning for an experience I haven’t had in quite some time: a meaningful conversation with a seat mate.
I have long welcomed the unexpected, wholehearted encounters that can take place with strangers while traveling. It never ceases to delight and amaze me what shared humanity can be found in these in-between spaces. While passing through, it is possible to suddenly sense that the ground has become holy (or perhaps more accurately, the air a little more electric!), as a moment of mutual vulnerability transpires — an exquisite connection to the soul of the other.
Half a decade ago, in flight to the service at which I would be ordained a deacon, I shared about my spiritual journey with the middle-aged woman sitting beside me. She was kind and deeply interested in my story, and she wore beautiful shell earrings which I complimented. She explained that she had made them, and that they had cultural significance to her as an Indigenous woman. Our conversation was full of delight, humor, curiosity and kindness. As we prepared to de-board the plane, she pressed the earrings into my hand while blessing my ministry. I think of her every time I wear them — an embodied reminder of words of connection and communion.
I miss these moments, which seem to happen far more sparingly than they used to. The ubiquity of screens has almost entirely ruled out the possibility of such spontaneous human connections, and my own fixation on screens is certainly a factor. Not to mention, the youthful enthusiasm of my younger self, so excited to share of herself and soak up every drop of newness from every experience, is often exchanged for a focus on using time efficiently (how much work can I get done in this two hour flight?) and a blasé sense of normalcy (I ask you: what’s normal about flying at 600 mph at 10,000’ in a steel tube?!) In this space, it is easy for words to become purely pragmatic — logistically rather than relationally focused.
I want to return to the wonder I brought to every flight, every walk around town, as I anticipated those whom I might encounter. And I long to abide in the place of seeing the exchange of words as more than merely functional, but potentially and powerfully life-giving. This is a matter of survival, as words are so easily weaponized, and wounding words translate so quickly to physical wounding at incredible scale.
In the Christian tradition, “in the beginning was the Word…and the Word became flesh.” God speaks the world into existence and is, Godself, the Word — the imagination and reasoning behind everything. The Word binds and connects life, creates and cultivates belonging.
There is power to connect and create in our words too. As we bear witness to one another, we have opportunity to communicate as Word enfleshed. Each of us a wondrous revelation. Each a whole language to be discovered.
In Under the Unpredictable Plant, Eugene Peterson draws a distinction between “words for communion and words for communication,” insisting that,
The gift of words is for communion: a part of my self enters a part of your self. This requires the risk of revelation, the courage of involvement. At the center of communion there is sacrifice. Working at the center, we don’t use words to give something but to give up a piece of ourselves.
Vulnerability is intrinsic to communion. Sharing our fears, our doubts, our delights, our hopes, our questions humanizes us, and can connect us. There is incredible risk in this sort of communication, because it involves exposure. We may be bruised by misunderstanding or feel the force of reactivity. And, it bears the possibility of of learning, growth, and transformation.
So I’m curious…What does the risk of revelation mean for you? How have you experienced words as catalyzing communion? After bruising experiences with words, what helps you reengage future exchanges with others as opportunities for communion?