This
past weekend, while tinkering in my garage, I was using a pair of
vice-grip pliers. My hand slipped and I snipped off a chunk of skin on
one of my fingers. It didn't bleed much, but it was in a sensitive
spot, so it hurt for a while. It's now five days later, and the pain
is gone. A new layer of skin has formed over the wound.
That's one way to tell the story. Here's another.
Five days ago, I accidentally cut a slice of skin off my finger. Immediately I sent blood and fluids to the area, to clean the wound from within. I sent white blood cells to the area, to protect against infection. Then I began dividing cells in the area of the wound to begin forming new layers of skin. I continued to form cells, creating a pattern that would perfectly match the whorls of my fingerprint that were there before the wound. I worked at this process continually, night and day, through sleep and wakefulness, carefully matching the previous shape and pattern of skin in the area.
Just writing that paragraph felt outrageous!
If it required my conscious thought and effort to heal my injured finger, then I could count it as a remarkable achievement. It would be more impressive than anything else I've ever accomplished. There is something astounding about losing a part of my body, and then regenerating it perfectly, as if it had never been missing. Making this happen purposefully would rival, in skill and perseverance, anything else I've ever done.
But I did it with my eyes closed. I've done it for all ten of my fingers, which at some point I've sliced or diced in the past. I did it while putting my purposeful attention elsewhere. I did it, I suppose, but it seems much more like it just happened on its own. My body regenerated itself. But I don't sense that I had much to do with the process.
So, for what good deeds should I get credit? How can I let my ego get puffed up about anything, when I am so unconscious of the processes of my brain that enable me to think and strive to do the things for which I am praised? Yes, I work hard and try to do my best. But I have only a dim idea why. There are powerful unconscious forces driving my conscious mind. So humility is in order when I consider how little I know about why I and others act as we do... for good and for ill.
Even if I could take full credit for my consciously-achieved accomplishments, few of them would rival this utterly unconscious yet truly miraculous ability to heal my finger when it gets cut. As I ponder this, I am filled with sacred awe that makes sense of St. Paul's statement that "it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me" (Galatians 2:20). The life-inspiring, wholeness-tending force of the universe, called by many names including the Christ, restores me from within, without my conscious effort... and moves my healed fingers to type its praise on the computer keyboard.
That's one way to tell the story. Here's another.
Five days ago, I accidentally cut a slice of skin off my finger. Immediately I sent blood and fluids to the area, to clean the wound from within. I sent white blood cells to the area, to protect against infection. Then I began dividing cells in the area of the wound to begin forming new layers of skin. I continued to form cells, creating a pattern that would perfectly match the whorls of my fingerprint that were there before the wound. I worked at this process continually, night and day, through sleep and wakefulness, carefully matching the previous shape and pattern of skin in the area.
Just writing that paragraph felt outrageous!
If it required my conscious thought and effort to heal my injured finger, then I could count it as a remarkable achievement. It would be more impressive than anything else I've ever accomplished. There is something astounding about losing a part of my body, and then regenerating it perfectly, as if it had never been missing. Making this happen purposefully would rival, in skill and perseverance, anything else I've ever done.
But I did it with my eyes closed. I've done it for all ten of my fingers, which at some point I've sliced or diced in the past. I did it while putting my purposeful attention elsewhere. I did it, I suppose, but it seems much more like it just happened on its own. My body regenerated itself. But I don't sense that I had much to do with the process.
So, for what good deeds should I get credit? How can I let my ego get puffed up about anything, when I am so unconscious of the processes of my brain that enable me to think and strive to do the things for which I am praised? Yes, I work hard and try to do my best. But I have only a dim idea why. There are powerful unconscious forces driving my conscious mind. So humility is in order when I consider how little I know about why I and others act as we do... for good and for ill.
Even if I could take full credit for my consciously-achieved accomplishments, few of them would rival this utterly unconscious yet truly miraculous ability to heal my finger when it gets cut. As I ponder this, I am filled with sacred awe that makes sense of St. Paul's statement that "it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me" (Galatians 2:20). The life-inspiring, wholeness-tending force of the universe, called by many names including the Christ, restores me from within, without my conscious effort... and moves my healed fingers to type its praise on the computer keyboard.