The Grace of Whatever Is
By Sara Flores
Maybe it was growing up in the shadow of family members who accomplished impressive things. Maybe it was receiving praise at an early age for overachieving in school. Maybe I’m just a competitive person. Regardless of the reason, I have spent a lot of my life, especially my academic life, trying to outdo myself. And everything seems like it falls a little short. My attempts to do most things—from writing papers and teaching to simply arranging groceries in my shopping cart so that they will be easier for a cashier to bag—are often plagued by thoughts like “I could have done that better.” I find it’s much easier to think about what I didn’t do well or what someone else did better than to give myself grace for doing whatever it is I have done.
So when I recently read the Apostle Paul’s call to think about all that is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy, this thought crossed my mind: “Certainly some things are more praiseworthy than others, right?”
As a pastor’s kid and pastor’s grandkid (and pastor’s niece, for the record), I grew up memorizing Bible verses at church, including Philippians 4:8. Like most things with me, memorizing verses served mostly as a challenge to master, something to perfect and be rewarded for by Sunday School teachers. I don’t remember reflecting too much on the actual words I was memorizing, but I do remember finding Philippians 4:8 fairly easy to memorize because of its repetitions.
Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. (NIV)
The main repetition here is that little phrase: “whatever is.” It’s harder to remember the words that follow the phrase than the phrase itself. So to memorize the verse, I focused on those words, visualizing which one was next on the list until I concluded triumphantly with “think about such things.” What I perceived as the verse’s major words—the non-repeated ones—were the words that mattered most to me. “Whatever” was merely the bridge that got me from one memorized word to the next.
But now, at this moment in my life, I think “whatever” is not just a bridge word to something more important. It is significant in its own right.
“Whatever,” for example, is not a hierarchical word. It doesn’t rank the forms of true, noble, right, pure, lovely, and admirable. It is not a competition. Indeed, the Apostle Paul doesn’t even include specific examples in this verse. It leaves the object of attention open to each of us. We fill in the concrete details ourselves, with our own memories or thoughts. In that way, “whatever” makes me pause and question my tendency to categorize and judge. It frees me from the pressure of always trying to find a better answer. And I don’t think that “whatever” diminishes the value of any one thing. After all, the things we’re supposed to think about should still be true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, or praiseworthy. Rather, I think “whatever” allows for appreciation and recognition of all such things without the expectation of ranking them on some flawed, human scale.
In my life more generally, these thoughts allow for flexibility and a certain freedom that follows from Paul’s injunction. But recognition without ranking also relates to my work as a literature PhD student. Scholars who study writings by authors of Latin American descent living in the United States have long sought recognition for these works and struggled with systems of ranking that relate to categories of American literature. Some scholars argue this literature should be considered part of the American literary canon, no questions asked. Others say these writings are a part of a separate, unique tradition that exists in opposition to American literature. Still others argue that these works resist categorization altogether and that attempts to label them Latina/Latino/Latinx suggest a fabricated sense of unity which glosses over cultural differences as well as individual experiences.
Why does all this matter? In order to even have these debates about categorization, a person has to first agree that these works are worth celebrating and studying, and that’s where recognition becomes essential—and also how the struggle for recognition runs into systems of ranking. Unfortunately, stereotypical expectations for a Mexican-American novel or Nuyorican poem or Cuban-American play can limit popular and critical interpretations of these works. In other words, if a novel by a Mexican-American isn’t considered Mexican enough by publishers or critics, it might not be considered as important as another novel.
So this brings me back to “whatever.” It brings me back, strangely enough, to Paul and this verse I memorized long ago as a kid. I don’t want to miss what is lovely and true and praiseworthy about what I read because I’m judging how closely its subject matter or the way it is written aligns with a restricting set of expectations. Philippians 4:8 encourages me to approach what I read from a standpoint of appreciation. It allows me the freedom to see all that a text contains and to love what is there instead of looking for what is not. It doesn’t automatically make every text perfect, and it also doesn’t mean blinding myself to the ugly that so often sits beside the beautiful. But in an odd way, I am learning to appreciate and examine “whatever is” instead of whatever we might expect or require.
From that perspective, Paul’s language of “whatever” sounds an awful lot like grace.
Sara Flores is a Ph.D. student in English at Washington University in St. Louis and a member of The Carver Project.