During the early ‘80s a widely used medical text book in the US described babies afflicted with anencephaly as “looking like a monster”. The condition, in which the top of the baby’s skull and brain do not form correctly within the womb, is fatal and those afflicted do not live beyond a few days.
In 1986, a midwife supporting a pregnant woman, whose child had been diagnosed with this condition, was horrified to discover this accepted medical description and contacted Dr Harry Oxhorn, the book’s author. She challenged him, outlining how such an inhumane description added to the distress of parents already experiencing such a high level of trauma.
To his credit, Dr Oxhorn responded with an apology and removed the term “monster” from the next edition, referring instead to a “baby with anencephaly”.
When reading this story I was reminded of the power words can have in shaping our thoughts and lives.
It is a deliberate practice, for example, for proponents of abortion to use words such as “foetus”, “embryo” and “zygote” to describe the life growing within a womb.
It is an understandable practice from their perspective – using the word “child” or “person” would create an image in the mind that could redefine one’s viewpoint on such an emotional issue.
Perhaps it is why Dr Oxhorn came up with his “monster” definition. It could have been his attempt, albeit futile, to assist parents in distancing themselves from the pain and grief associated with the death of a child.
My point here is to emphasise how we can allow words to not only define our perceptions but, accordingly, how they can shape our behaviour.
In recent years, a particular word has increasingly dragged its nails across the blackboard of my mind. Perhaps because of this grating I have an exaggerated perception of its frequency, but it seems the word “poor”, or more accurately “the poor” is being increasingly used within our society, particularly in Church circles.
We pray for “the poor”, we give to “the poor”; we feed “the poor”. These are all wonderful sentiments and, no doubt, are motivated by Christian values, but my concern is that it is a word that can insidiously create a buffer of self-protection between ourselves and anyone we choose to place in this category.
Under the banner of “the poor” we can include those who are hungry, lacking material wealth, homeless, addicted, afflicted with mental illness or any number of others.
Whatever our personal focus may be, I believe incorporating anyone under this label allows us to create a subconscious, or sometimes conscious distinction.
In our mind, we subtly begin to associate “poor” with who someone is rather than the condition they are living with or in.
We give birth to, or perhaps even justify, a sense of “them” and “us” and form an emotional chasm that distances us from their reality.
For most of us, it is not an attitude of callousness, but rather a sense of helplessness and fear.
We can visualise those we perceive to be “poor” but we cannot or do not want to connect with their suffering.
As a consequence, we erect fences, beginning with our language, to emotionally protect ourselves.
Not dissimilar to Dr Oxhorn’s “monster” label, we can effectively use “the poor” to dehumanise others and subsequently provide ourselves with a comfortable sense of helplessness.
It could be why we do not see those we have deemed “poor” among our Catholic Church congregations.
Pope Francis has recognised the anomaly and has called us to leave the safety of our pews and reach across the chasm, no matter how challenging or uncomfortable that may be.
We cannot justify our Christianity by simply providing handouts and then forgetting – we must consciously embrace the suffering of others in the depths of our hearts and minds.
When Jesus walked the earth, he did not distinguish between those who functioned effectively in society and those who were forced to the fringes.
He knew all were equally loved and recognised by his Father and the invitation to accept his call for salvation was not exclusive. Jesus gave no preference to worldly perceptions.
Wealth, health or social standing was irrelevant, which is why he spent more time with those who struggled and chastised those who lived in comfort.
He looked beyond appearances, behaviours and status and recognised those who yearned for truth and love.
More often than not he found that those who had the least yearned the most.
It is now time to dismantle the hierarchical system of “the helpers” and “the helped” we have created, because it is a distinction that builds barriers, not bridges.
The invitation to be embraced by the fullness of God’s love must be open to all in equal measure.
We must, in the words of Mother Theresa, understand that we are simply one beggar telling another beggar, where they can find the bread of eternal life.