On Humility (Heidi Aronson Kolk)
I did not imagine, when writing this reflection back in 2020, that in the years to come our family would come to face even more hardship and uncertainty: another hospitalization for my husband; the loss of a long-sought job (fired while he was still in the ICU!), and the upheaval and costs of an unexpected move; and then, because my husband was not strong enough to do the labor, the loss of yet another job right after our move. All of which has brought even more financial instability, and with it, the isolation, loneliness and shame that often accompany such situations. Our withdrawal from the world has felt a bit like the one we experienced COVID, but without the solace of being-in-it-together with the whole world.
Like the psalmist, we have wondered if all of this pain and shame might destroy us. We have “lost all strength,” and “been taken from our closest friends“ as well as our family—seemingly becoming “repulsive” to them, and even to ourselves. Our eyes have been “dim with grief,” and we have called out to the LORD every day. In our hours of desperation, we have prayed: “Shall Your wonders be known in the dark? And Your righteousness in the land of forgetfulness?” (Psalm 88: 3–4, 8–9, 12).
The post-COVID university seems a manic, mostly unreflective, place these days—its own kind of “land of forgetfulness” where strivers with seemingly boundless energy and optimism (or cynicism) advance their own interests, each worried about, and wrapped up in, themselves. Where is the community in that?, I have wondered, lamenting our apparent failure to apply lessons from the pandemic. But at least now, having been in a dark place so long, and communed with intense vulnerability myself, I can recognize this for what it is: an illusion. Suffering happens in all corners, to all people, at all times; it worms its way in even to the most hopeful and upbeat of places, including—maybe these days especially?—universities. I sense it everywhere now—almost before I learn the particulars of a given pain-filled situation.
It seems I now telegraph this to the world. Almost unbidden, people share their struggles and hardships with me. Last semester, a student I hardly knew approached me after class one day, followed me to my office, and there divulged all the details of a harrowing crime he had just experienced—in public, near campus—which ‘til then he’d told only the police and his parents about. I don’t know why I am trusting you with this information, he said; but I’m so afraid all the time, and I don’t want to cause any new harm to the community by dealing with it poorly. Can you help me figure out what to do? Perhaps he could sense in me a fellow sufferer—someone who sometimes struggles to walk across campus without fear and anxiety. In any case, even though we had only just met, I could bear witness to these difficult feelings, and show him the care he needed. A bond soon formed, and we continued to meet all semester, discussing how the episode had changed his perception of St. Louis, the university, and himself. At some point I learned he is a regular church-goer. On the last day of class, he hugged me gratefully. This has been a gift to me too, I told him.
What I can now say, not despite, but because of this long season of hardship, is that the LORD has not “cast off my soul” (v. 14). He has seen fit to put me in this place—this new version of my life, with this new vantage point on the university; with this wounded heart, and a newly-receptive mindset toward my students and colleagues. And though I have often “been ashamed,” He has lent me the strength to be present, and vulnerable, with others. In carrying their burdens, I have discovered one of the LORD’s wonders in the dark; I have seen His righteousness, even in the land of forgetfulness.
Heidi Kolk is an Associate Professor in the Sam Fox School of Design and Visual Arts, the Assistant Vice Provost of Academic Assessment at Washington University in St. Louis, and a Carver Project Faculty Fellow.
Read Heidi’s previous article from 2020: “On Vulnerability”