Why can I remember the hospital transport person who graciously pushed my wife’s wheelchair as we left the hospital when my daughter was born, but for the life of me, I cannot remember his name? While his name might escape me, his gentleness and candor do not.
I do remember he had a stoop in his stature and a quiet smile on his face as he handed us a homemade CD (yes, back in the day) of songs that he thought best celebrated a new life coming Introduction into the world. Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” was the opening track.
That I remember. Sitting at the keyboard right now, however, I couldn’t tell you my schedule for tomorrow unless at least one piece of technology in my life decides to ding.
Why is that?
Neuroscientist V. S. Ramachandran says, “How can a three pound mass of jelly that you can hold in your palm imagine angels, contemplate the meaning of infinity, and even question its own place in the cosmos?”
I would be content most days with remembering my schedule and my Google password.
The real question here is simply, Why do we remember some things and not others? Why do we hold memories from nearly thirty-five years ago in the vault, while a conversation from thirty-five minutes ago might slip into oblivion?
Is it more than just brain function? Is there something deeper fastening those moments into my mind? What is the purpose of what we do remember?
A step further and we ask this question: Does God find anything of value, anything helpful and constructive, in our lives of archived memories? Does he work with both what we retain and what we fail to remember? Memories come to us all the time: sitting in traffic, when we take in a certain smell, or when we watch something happen that we are certain has happened before. Déjà vu, they call it, or the “black cat” in The Matrix.
What role do these slippery scenes have in the very real and deep work of living eternally with Jesus starting here and now? Do they contribute anything to the way of savoring life that Jesus gives “abundantly”? ( Jn 10:10)
The Topic at Hand
The question of memory—specifically what memories mean in light of our life of faith—has always been with me. I suppose memory and memories have been the subtext for all pastoral work I have done in the last twenty-two years.
Helping people remember the story of the gospel, to remember times when they were close to God, and to bring to mind memories of life and hope that keep them going— these are all part and parcel of walking with others, walking with Jesus.
It hasn’t escaped me, however, that even with this powerful subtext we are tempted to say, “The past is behind us. It doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant.” Perhaps I would have agreed with these statements before, but today I believe that memories (and memory) matter. Even though transformation is seen as a future oriented work, memory matters in the sacred work of spiritual transformation.
Adapted from The Practice of Remembering by Casey Tygrett. ©2019 by Casey K. Tygrett. Used by permission of InterVarsity Press. www.ivpress.com.
Casey Tygrett (DMin, Lincoln Christian Seminary) is a theologian in residence at Parkview Christian Church in Orland Park, Illinois. He previously served as teaching pastor at Heartland Community Church and has taught at Lincoln Christian University and Seminary and Emmanuel Christian Seminary. Casey now oversees the spiritual direction practice for Soul Care, hosts the Restlessness Is a Gift Podcast, and is the author of Becoming Curious and The Gift of Restlessness.
