Osler's Razor

 

The picture above is me, by brother and sister, and four Frakes kids up in the Boundary Waters when I was probably ten or eleven (that's me at the top). It was fascinating to grow up with wilderness in our lives. What a gift from our parents!

One thing we learned was to be still sometimes. That's not normal for city kids, of course; I suspect it had to be learned. But stillness lets you listen and see. When we are moving, we have to look where we are going, after all, but we miss everything else.

Sometimes what we would see or hear was shrouded in mystery, and we would fill in the gaps. Sitting on a rock, there is a noise behind 10-year-old me. It's not just a noise, but kind of a scuffling noise, maybe some breathing. Was it a bear? It might have been a bear. There were bears around. It was a bear. Maybe not an actual bear, but the idea of a bear. And when you are ten, there is a lot you can do with that.

As we get older, we have to try harder to see and hear; there is more noise in our lives and our field of vision becomes constricted. And, I am finding, sometimes we just don't want to see what is there.

For example, I'm still taken aback by how many people-- people I know, even-- are convinced that there is no real racism in our society. Or that the criminal justice system is perfect, and that all sentences are just. In both cases, there is an emotional investment in not seeing what is obvious. Because, after all, if there is racism (and there is) or there is injustice in criminal justice (and there is) it becomes imperative that we do something about it.

In the gospels, one of Jesus's great talents is to see and hear. He knows what is troubling people. He sees beyond what others do. It is the first step of every miracle, each encounter. And maybe that is the lesson to us, as to what our first step should be.