Moments That Words Don’t Reach
There hasn’t been much to look forward to in the last 4 months. Trips have been cancelled, soccer games postponed, and who knows if kids will ever get back to school.
In our house, one of the few things we have still been able to look forward to during this haze of uncertainty has been movie nights. Flipping our Friday Night tradition from “Date Night” to “Family Movie Night,” has given our 3 children something to anticipate. My oldest daughter writes out menus of movie-house food, my son takes our “tickets,” as we file into the TV room, and my youngest makes sure everyone has a blanket. Sometimes we’ll watch an old stand-by like The Sandlot or The Lion King, but occasionally throughout the quarantine, the streaming God’s have graced us with new movies: Onward, Scoob! and Trolls World Tour. Desperate for anything new — we’ve scooped those movies up on our family Apple Account as soon as we could. Last Friday night was no exception. Anticipating the Disney + release of the musical, Hamilton, — we snuggled into our couch to watch the founding fathers sing, dance, and tell their stories.
Initially, I was skeptical on how the musical would be received by my three young kids. My oldest daughter had seen Hamilton before, so I knew that she would enjoy it — but my 2 youngest children (7 and 3) had no pre-conceived notions of what it was they were about to watch. They had not seen any trailers nor eaten any Happy Meals with the cast of characters as toys. While my 3-year-old promptly fell asleep (partly because of the late hour and partly because she was so comfortable next to her Mom) — my 7-year-old stayed glued to the television the entire time. He understood the story, loved the songs, and adeptly followed along with the character arcs. In many ways — watching the movie/musical gave him an understanding of what the following day’s 4th of July festivities were all about. For me, it would be the 3rd time I sat through Hamilton — but the first with the original cast. I found new ways to enjoy the music, new appreciation for Lin Manuel-Miranda’s lyrical genius, and new depths of feeling surrounding the show’s themes. Usually movies come and go — they give us a feeling, some thoughts, perhaps fodder for a casual conversation — and we move on.
Fortunately, that hasn’t happened with my latest watching of Hamilton. Indeed — one of the songs from the musical has been ringing inside my head constantly since I heard it again. In “It’s Quiet Uptown,” Alexander Hamilton and his wife Eliza deal with the unspeakable burden of having recently lost a son. Initially sung by Eliza’s sister Angelica — the song starts:
There are moments that the words don’t reach
There is suffering too terrible to name
Speaking candidly, over the last week I’ve gone back and listened to that song at least a dozen times. I don’t think that I’ve been able to get through those first two lines without tearing up.
One the realities of our COVID world is the intensity, and often privacy, of people’s suffering. As CEO of an organization with just over a thousand employees, as a citizen of a community, and as a father of 3, not a day goes by where I don’t have conversations with people who are painfully suffering. In these conversations I hear desperation and determination in the voices of friends who have lost their jobs and are deeply anxious about what is next for them and their families. I hear of those who are suffering from not being able to attend the funeral of a loved one who died in relative solitude, after a life of fullness and warmth. I hear of relationships that are strained or even broken beyond repair. I hear the suffering of marginalized communities — many deemed essential in this COVID environment — who courageously go into work every day without sure knowledge that they’ll be protected, remembered or even cared for if they get sick. I hear stories of mental anguish — and at times myself deal with my own internal thought patterns of hopelessness, anguish and loss. In the darker, but unfortunately very real recesses of our society, I hear stories of racism, stories of child abuse, stories of rape, stories of obscene violence.
I want to emphasize the point that when I say I “hear,” these stories — I’m not saying that as someone who hears them on the news or reads about them on his Twitter account — I’m saying that as someone who is actually hearing these stories from real people. They’re coming from people that I live and work with. People, who like ducks floating on the water, are trying to project a sense of calm on the surface while also furiously treading their feet underwater, desperate not to drown. My sense is that it is the same for anyone who is reading this essay — each of us is living through this moment with friends, family members and others who are used to grief, hurt and pain. In a very real way, the world is groaning under the weight of these individual burdens; numberless people are dealing with “suffering too terrible to name.”
Is it any wonder then, that when you turn on the television, open up your Facebook account, or go to the comments section of an online article, you see and hear people reacting? Individuals, many bearing burdens that seem impossible to bear, lash out at the news, at politicians, at regulations, at each other. Their suffering simmers and blows up in vitriol, anger, and sometimes, even rage. Dealing with suffering and stress over prolonged periods of time creates intolerable situations. Whereas short bursts of stress can focus the mind, motivate, and assist in achieving meaningful goals (Remember #StayHome?), long term stress weakens the immune system, can cause high blood pressure, fatigue, depression, and even heart disease. Studies have shown that the cycle of long-term suffering and stress can even change our arteries and even how cells are able to regenerate. This suffering and stress can both literally and figuratively, break our hearts.
So, what’s the solution? Is a solution even available?
Back to Hamilton. Eliza Schuyler gives the world it’s answer. As Alexander Hamilton’s spouse, Eliza had to deal with Alexander’s obsession with work, his priorities to cause and country that took him away from his family for long periods of time, and ultimately his very public affair. In her life full of sacrifice and suffering, the coup de gras for their relationship came as Alexander instructed their eldest son Phillip how to properly duel, rather than insisting he not raise pistols to solve a feud. In the duel, their son was mortally wounded, leaving behind a grief for two parents that words didn’t reach.
The phrase coup de gras is a French phrase meaning a “blow of mercy.” It originally came from the act of landing a final killing blow that would put a suffering wounded person out of their misery. In today’s vernacular the meaning has evolved to mean an event or action that finally destroys or ends something. The death of a child, especially one where blame could have been placed at the feet of their father, would seemingly justify a final blow to a suffering relationship.
And yet, towards the end of the song, “It’s Quiet Uptown,” the sister of Eliza, Angelica Schuyler narrates the scene and reframes the song’s initial theme.
There are moments that the words don’t reach
There is a grace too powerful to name
We push away what we can never understand
We push away the unimaginable
They are standing in the garden
Alexander by Eliza’s side
She takes his hand
“It’s quiet uptown”
In the moment Eliza takes her husband’s hand, instead of delivering the final blow, the coup de gras to their relationship, she actually does just the opposite — she offers Alexander grace, she offers him mercy, she offers him forgiveness.
For me, this is the most powerful moment of the entire story. If she were seeking only justice — Eliza would have been justified in leaving Alexander to wallow in his misery. She could have justifiably placed the blame for their relationship’s demise and for their son’s death squarely at Alexander’s feet. She would have been right. She would have been supported by those who knew and loved her. She would have been vindicated in her efforts. Instead, she chose an alternative path. She chose forgiveness.
I distinctly remember in 7th grade an argument I had with a friend who sat in front of me in history. It seating arrangement was important because the argument had to do with a phrase on the back of his shirt that read “To err is human; to forgive, divine.”
I have no idea why this phrase was on the back of his shirt. I honestly think it had something to do with a sports team. However, as a smart-alec 7th grader, I wanted to make sure my friend knew that his shirt had misspelled “err.” “It’s spelled E-R-R-O-R, man! I can’t believe they misspelled the word “error” on a t-shirt. Maybe they’re trying to be ironic or something.”
Of course, I was the idiot in this story. The spelling was correct (verb: to err; noun: error).
Notwithstanding my ignorance, the experience and the phrase stayed with me. As a Junior in High School, I got excited when I read Alexander Pope’s “Essay on Criticism.” Tucked in-between common phrases like “A little learning is a dang’rous thing,” and “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread,” there was that phrase again “To err is human; to forgive, divine.”
Whatever your theology (Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Atheist, Agnostic, etc.) the word “divine,” invokes meanings of the sacred, the celestial, something set apart from the world we currently inhabit. It’s an adjective that calls to our better natures, that requires a power that does not come naturally to the human soul, that lifts us beyond our own limited capacity.
Greater Good Magazine, produced by The Greater Good Science Center at UC Berkeley defines forgiveness as “A conscious, deliberate decision to release feelings of resentment or vengeance toward a person or group who has harmed you, regardless of whether they actually deserve your forgiveness.” They elaborate, “Just as important as defining what forgiveness is, though, is understanding what forgiveness is not. Experts who study or teach forgiveness make clear that when you forgive, you do not gloss over or deny the seriousness of an offense against you. Forgiveness does not mean forgetting, nor does it mean condoning or excusing offenses. Though forgiveness can help repair a damaged relationship, it doesn’t obligate you to reconcile with the person who harmed you or release them from legal accountability. Instead, forgiveness brings the forgiver peace of mind and frees him or her from corrosive anger. While there is some debate over whether true forgiveness requires positive feelings toward the offender, experts agree that it at least involves letting go of deeply held negative feelings. In that way, it empowers you to recognize the pain you suffered without letting that pain define you, enabling you to heal and move on with your life.”
The Greater Good Science Center at UC Berkeley and Alexander Pope were separated by not only 300 years of history but likely distinct philosophies about the world. And yet, both seemed to agree on the power of forgiveness. For with forgiveness, both the forgiver and the one being forgiven are immediately able to access grace.
We can use the example of Alexander Hamilton and Eliza Schuyler as a reference. Because of Eliza’s forgiveness, Alexander receives a kindness that he could not earn and did not merit. This grace concurrently soothes his soul while buffeting him up to bear his own burdens and the suffering he has caused others. Meanwhile, in forgiving, Eliza demonstrates a strength that would be difficult for even the strongest to pull off. With elegance and poise — she is endowed with the ability to let go of feelings that might destroy her own heart — while also lifting up another. It is the pinnacle of virtuous cycles — and in my own view, the very definition of divine. As individuals, as families, as companies, as communities, as a society — we need more of it.
Forgiving and being forgiven can heal broken hearts. It can mend fences. It can be a path towards alleviating the suffering that so many around us are mired in. Of course, we will continue to seek justice, to seek truth, to seek our betterment — but we ought to remind ourselves that each of us, in our seeking, is human. As humans, the only guarantee, is that inevitably, we will mess up, at times we will do harm, and inevitably — we will err.
May we be forgiving. May we be forgiven. May we stand in awe, like the chorus in Hamilton, who after they witness the grace of Eliza Schuyler, proclaim:
Forgiveness
Can you imagine?
Forgiveness
Can you imagine?
As with Eliza, as with Alexander Pope, as with The Greater Good Science Center, so to it is with us. Forgiveness won’t solve all of our problems. It won’t create a vaccine for COVID-19 nor can it ensure full liberty for all. It can’t stand up the means of production necessary to feed the world’s hungry. However, I am convinced that through forgiveness we can relieve ourselves from our individual and collective suffering. We must forgive ourselves, forgive our loved ones, forgive our enemies — and occasionally, ask for forgiveness from others. It is the surest way to pacify the moments that words don’t reach; the path to heal the suffering that’s too terrible to name.