Lifting Up What We See Outside Our Windows

The Holiness of Everyday Life

A few years ago I had a conversation about holiness with our New Jersey rabbi. I have always struggled with the concept of holiness, perhaps because it is so abstract and alien to our quotidian lives. But also, our culture often considers holiness to be synonymous with purity and asceticism—with mortifying the flesh and retreating to contemplative isolation. As a wholehearted member of Team Conviviality and Worldly Pleasure, I hoped that the rabbi would have a more congenial and useful way to think about holiness, and I was not disappointed. He told me, “You see holiness when you lift up what you see outside your window.”

The next morning, when I looked out the window, the universe gave me a sign that it agrees with the rabbi. I saw a giant, vivid, double rainbow above our house, and scattered drops of rain were sparkling in the sun. It was like we were being glitter-bombed by Mother Nature. Message received!

Holiness is on the calendar right now, for religious and secular folks alike. This week is Holy Week for Christians, and Muslims are observing Ramadan. Nowruz, the Persian New Year, happened last week, as well as—for more secular types—the vernal equinox. Holi, the Hindu festival of springtime and color, was celebrated a couple of days ago.

Photo by John Thomas on Unsplash.

And we Jews just celebrated Purim, a fun holiday for dressing up in costumes, eating little cookies, making a lot of noise, and drinking so much that we can’t distinguish the hero Mordechai from the villain Haman.¹

Whether we are religious or not, this time of year gets us thinking about rebirth and renewal, as nature awakens from winter slumber. What a perfect occasion to talk about the holiness of ordinary life! In this post, I’ll share four stories on this topic, about strangers, a friend, and myself. Readers, whether you are religious or secular, I hope you will share your own stories of everyday holiness too.

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Agnes of God

A couple of months ago, I read a beautiful story in a column in the New York Times by David French. When I told my husband the story, I started crying. I sent the article to my mom, and as she read it to my dad, they both started crying. Get out the tissues, readers, because now it’s your turn to hear the story.

A pastor named Tony Campolo was at an all-night diner very late one night when a group of women, who were obviously sex workers, came in. They were noisy, raunchy, and boisterous, and Campolo felt a bit uncomfortable. But instead of condemning them and acting scandalized, irritated, or sanctimonious, he decided to listen. One woman, whom Campolo calls Agnes,² mentioned that the next day was her thirty-ninth birthday. She added that in her entire life she had never had a birthday party. After the women left, Campolo called the counter guy over and asked if the women came in every night at the same time. When the counter guy said they did, Campolo decided to throw Agnes a surprise birthday party.

The next day, Campolo bought a cake and decorations and made a big sign for Agnes. He got to the diner at 2:30am and decorated the whole place. Word about the party had gotten out, because by the time Agnes arrived, nearly every sex worker in the city had come to the diner to celebrate with her. When Agnes arrived, everyone yelled happy birthday and sang and clapped for her. Agnes “cried tears of joy and ended up taking the cake home, untouched. It was the first birthday cake she had ever received.”

After Agnes left, the other people in the diner asked Campolo what kind of church he belonged to. “He said he belonged to the kind of church that gives a party for a prostitute at 3:30 a.m. Not, obviously, because he approved of prostitution. But because he cared for Agnes.”

Let’s Tell on Each Other—and on Ourselves Too

Most religions expect their followers to reflect on their sins and on all the ways they have fallen short. They encourage us to try to do better in the future. In addition, secular practices such as spring cleaning help us clear the cobwebs (literally and figuratively) and make a fresh start. These are important spiritual practices.

However, I believe there should be moderation in all things, including self-recrimination and—especially—pointing out the flaws of others. When I say “tell on,” I mean the opposite of the callings out and cancellations that are all too common these days—and nor should we be wallowing in our own shame and guilt either. Quite the contrary. When we are too hard on ourselves, we are actually less likely to change for the better. Excessive self-criticism can make us defensive, depressed, and stuck. It is only when we feel basically good about ourselves that we have the confidence to make changes and improve. Or, as the cognitive scientist Maya Shankar puts it in this interview (the quote begins at 18:26),

When you are crippled by shame . . . when you feel that the thing you did is not just bad, but that you’re bad, it actually closes you off to the idea of improvement. Because if you’re bad, you’re irredeemable. There’s no chance of making progress or ameliorating the situation. So actually, self-compassion is the instrument by which we can unlock growth and do better.

And really, all that picky, petty sniping is often misplaced. Most of us are pretty terrific! We can help each other nurture this self-compassion by telling on each other about the good, not the bad, that we see—in other words, by lifting up the holiness we see outside our windows.

Here’s an example: At the start of my freshman year in college, our terrible RA³ decided that we should do trust falls as a bonding exercise. I fear and loathe trust falls. Why does no one ever do bonding exercises that I enjoy and everyone else hates, like, say, visiting the reptile house?

Yes, I really am illustrating an article on holiness with a photo of a snake. Pace Genesis 3, snakes are holy too. Besides, isn’t this little fellow cute? Photo by Chris Curry on Unsplash.

But I digress. Anyway, my trust-fall partner was a guy I’ll call Steve. Steve saw how afraid I was, and he took my hands, looked me straight in the eye, and said in a firm voice, “I will catch you. You don’t need to worry.” He gave me the confidence to go through with the fall, and after he caught me, he looked me in the eyes again and said, “See? Now you know that you can always rely on me.” Many years later, Steve and I reconnected on Facebook. I messaged him to tell him how much it had meant to me that he had given me the confidence to go through the trust fall all those years ago. He wrote back to thank me and ended by saying, “That story made me feel really good about myself. Thank you for reminding me of it.” Everyone likes to have their good deeds noticed! If we cultivate the simple habit of telling on each other about the good we see, we reinforce others’ self-confidence and encourage them to continue being kind and generous.

I think we should be telling on ourselves too. The economist Steve Levitt tells a fascinating story on this point during an interview with the journalist Charles Duhigg. Levitt was asked to facilitate a dinner conversation, and so he decided to try something new. He asked people to share their secrets, but not guilty ones: “We told our secrets—not our embarrassing secrets, but the things we’re secretly proud of, but we don’t want to admit we’re proud of.”⁴ After some hesitation, everyone shared their proud secrets. And then something interesting happened. A man at the table asked,

“Well, I’ve told you my whitewash story where everything’s perfect. Would it be okay if I also tell you about my deepest regret?” And then we ended up, eight strangers at a business dinner, having one of the most wonderful and intimate group conversations I’ve ever had in my entire life.

We have such a strong taboo against saying we like ourselves or are proud of our achievements. To me this is a shame. I mean, no one likes a braggart, but I think we have overcorrected. When we talk about times we did what was right, even if it was difficult, or when we worked hard and accomplished something, we feed the good wolf, we fortify ourselves for the next challenge, and, best of all, we encourage other people to do the difficult but right thing too.

So here’s a final story, of something I am secretly proud of. As I have mentioned before, we live about a hundred meters from temporary refugee housing. People from Syria, Ethiopia, Ukraine, and Myanmar have been our neighbors while they wait for their asylum cases to be adjudicated. In part because of my natural personality, and in part because of my American upbringing, I always greet all my neighbors with a big wave, a warm smile, and a hearty “Grüsssach!” (Bern Deutsch for “hello”). Anyway, one day I was on the bus, and one of my refugee neighbors got on. She was an older woman from Syria, and she was wearing a headscarf. I could see her looking around the half-full bus for where to sit. There were plenty of empty seats, but she chose to sit next to me. I couldn’t help feeling proud that she felt comfortable and safe sitting with me. Her choice felt like an endorsement of my friendliness. It was a small thing that meant a lot to me and my opinion of myself.

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How about you, readers? Do have a story of something really lovely someone did for you or for someone else? Why not tell on them here? And what is something you are secretly proud of? Please share your thoughts in the comments!

The Tidbit

I have sung this tiny, ravishing jewel of a motet many times, and it is always a wonderful experience. Just look at the joy on the faces of the conductor and the choir! The translation of the first line of the motet is perfect for today’s post: “Where charity and love are, God is there.”

1. I wrote about the meaning of Purim, and the importance of suspending judgment about who is a hero and who is a villain, here.

2. I’m guessing that this is a pseudonym and that Campolo chose it to invoke Agnus Dei, or Lamb of God, another name for Jesus. He may also be alluding to this verse: “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (Matthew 25:40). Some of the details about the party in the main text are taken from a longer version of this story, in Campolo’s own words, here.

3. Prior to coming to our university, she had been the headmistress of a Catholic girls’ middle-school. In case you are wondering, this work experience was poor preparation for supervising a group of mostly non-religious young adults.

4. Levitt’s example of something he is secretly proud of is that he got a really good SAT score. We like to make fun of people who care about their SATs, but you know what? Let’s not. Levitt is right to be proud of his intelligence, which he uses to make the world a better place. Way to go, king!