Eclectic Christian

by Joshua Hearne

There is a certain length that I like to keep my hair. The problem is that, even after all these years, I don’t know what that length is. Sure, I believe that there is a good chance that there is some unknown magical hair-length but I also believe that I will die without knowing what that special length is. I do know, however, that when my hair starts to curl up at the bottom that it’s time for a haircut.

So, a few days ago, my hair was getting curly at the bottom. I deduced, then, that it was time for a haircut. I had felt the curl coming on but I kept putting the haircut off because I had been very busy. I woke up one Wednesday morning and could stand it no longer. I had things to do but I penciled in a little time for a haircut. That day I had been working on a project for the church that I worked at so I was running around town picking up supplies for it. I knew that I needed to go to Kroger and I knew that there was a “Great Clips” by the Kroger. Suddenly, my haircut fit into the schedule.

I like Great Clips. It’s quick. They almost always know what they’re doing. Plus, they don’t make me feel bad when I don’t know what clipper-guard I usually use or how to describe how I like my hair to be cut. Doesn’t that seem unfair, though? A professional asking an amateur to tell them how to do their job? Isn’t this like a cardiologist asking you how you would use a balloon to clean out your arteries? I come to the haircut-place because I have no idea how to cut my hair or, as is often the case, what looks good. But this isn’t the point of my story.

So, I stumble through a poor explanation of how I want my hair cut — “Like this, only shorter…” — and settle in for a quick, fairly-priced, and much-needed haircut. We begin the classic dance of haircutter and haircuttee wherein we make small talk about random things. I like to play with this old routine by asking them questions. So often, the person in the chair answers all the questions but I find that sitting in a chair that can be raised, lowered, and spun around makes me reflective and inquisitive. I could use one for my office.

This time I find out that she has a son named Nathan. Having studied Religion and Philosophy in Undergrad and at Divinity school, I immediately run it through my religion/philosophy filter and determine that I cannot think of any famous philosophers with that name but it is a biblical name and a Hebrew name. I consider that it comes from “Nathaniel” which comes from the hebrew word נתנ (natan) and the hebrew word אל (el). That makes it mean, roughly, “given of God” or “gift of God.” As soon as I’ve deduced this, I ask her why she chose that name.

She replies, “I like the sound of it. It’s pretty…” I’m about to conclude that she hadn’t thought about the meaning of the name and reflect on how nobody considers the meaning of names anymore. But before I could descend into my own little world of spinny-chair-reflection, she continued, “… and it’s biblical. We like the meaning, too. It means ‘Gift of God.’ I think it’s appropriate because all children are gifts from God.” I didn’t know what to say.

“It’s a great name” I responded, wondering why I naturally assumed that because her first comment wasn’t an academic one that she didn’t know what it meant. I guess I assumed that because she worked at Great Clips and because she had told me about her life that I concluded that she didn’t know anything about the meaning of names. It was astonishingly easy to immediately jump the divide of education and secure myself in an ivory tower.

I was more ashamed of my second thought, though. “Of course she knows it, she probably just got it out of a book of names” I thought. This one stung when I realized that I had tried to rationalize away my own insensitivity. Even if she did get the knowledge from a book, that doesn’t make a difference. She picked a beautiful name with a beautiful meaning. Even if she didn’t arrive at it through “proper linguistic analysis” or “thorough Hebrew exegesis,” she did well.

I further realized that I didn’t even know her name. I checked the mirror to read her nametag. It said “Anastasia.” I don’t know if it comes from the greek word αναστασις but that’s the word it makes me think of. What does that word mean? Resurrection. Raised to life. Recovery.

It turns out that there is yet room to change and be raised out of the death of this world and into the life of the Kingdom of God. There is even more room for me to leave the death of insincere words and thoughts in this world for the life of intentional and personal life with others. Even though I might fail to care at times, there is resurrection. I am being raised to life out of a pit of death and corruption.

I told you that the spinny chair makes me reflective.

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 5th, 2009 at 11:23 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.