Working Through a Speech Impediment

This second Sunday of Lent the Church begins the first of three “scrutinies” of the catechumens preparing for Baptism at the Easter Vigil.  And the Gospel to be proclaimed today for this event is that of Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well of Sychar.  The two have quite a lengthy conversation, which ranges widely over the “awkward” topics of politics (Jew vs. Samaritan), religion (where and Whom to worship), and sex (You have had five “husbands” and the current one isn’t your husband either . . .).  But through it all, Christ is also trying to work on the Samaritan woman’s “speech impediment”---for a variety of reasons, she is initially unable to speak the truth.

Having a plastic splint in my mouth anchored to rubber bands is a great way to create a speech impediment!  Throughout the day when I want to speak, I must do so in a compromised way that some find unintelligible; in a crowded room I cannot be heard at all.  Even at my best—when people can hear and understand me---I am not able to communicate with my “real voice.”  I regularly feel as if there is some vital remainder that goes unshared.  This temporary physical condition (which thankfully improves in three week intervals as I can spend progressively more time out of my splint speaking normally) has placed me in situations conducive to unexpected spiritual reflection.

Back in my pre-splint days, for example, I never really gave much thought to the dual meaning of the word “dumb.”  It implies either an inability to speak or simply stupidity (mental slowness, if we want to be nice)---or both.  But there’s the rub:  I have come to discover in my impaired conversations with strangers that it is not immediately clear to them that there is in fact a distinction to my “dumbness.”  When I order an item in a restaurant, the server leans in toward me extra solicitously, desperately trying to figure out both what I want and also perhaps whether I have the mental faculties to know what I want. 

The fact that the splint and surgical braces alter the shape of my face, creating a “dumb-looking” protrusion of my lips, also does not inspire confidence my interlocutors---or in myself.  I instinctively want to explain my situation at the outset of every new conversation, as if to shout through my three blowholes:  I am an intelligent guy trapped for a time in this torture device for a very long, slow recovery---I do not want your pity but do beg your understanding!!!  As a result of my periodic frustrations, I can understand something of the negative feedback loop of someone whose physical deformity (or even external circumstances) can catalyze spiritual deformity (or warping of one’s interior life).  For many with this or that physical challenge, it is simply easier to give up or eventually shape one’s life around one’s disability.

I have also noticed one curious characteristic about my conversation partners which would seem to provide some natural ground for hope.  Even when I wore just ordinary braces several years ago, I noted that those with whom I spoke face to face instinctively---and I believe unconsciously---mimicked the shape of my mouth in the slightly distorted movements of my lips over my braces.  This almost uncontrollable, certainly primordial facial mimesis, does seem to point to a fundamental relationality (even perhaps empathy) deeper than words.  It has felt, at least to me, as if the person to whom I am speaking is naturally trying to enter my experience by mirroring it.

Whatever the physio-anthropological truth of my observations, I am so glad that in the Lord Jesus’ interactions with this Samaritan woman there is not the slightest sentimental indulgence of her spiritual “speech impediment.”  Like a good physical therapist, Christ the Divine Physician knows exactly what deformity to engage and how to exercise it back to maximal health.  He doesn’t “baby” the painful parts, pretend to ignore the problems in her life, or talk down to her because of her compromised situation.  Rather, in having this spiritually mature yet painful conversation, the Lord actually liberates her speech to the point at which she becomes a proto-evangelist to her town:  “Come see a man who told me everything I have done.  Could he possibly be the Christ?”  (One is, of course, prompted to ask:  Did no one else in the town have the courage to have a charitable conversation with this woman about what she had done?  Or was the whole town afflicted with its own, more deadly speech impediment of being resigned to gossiping behind her back!). 

Thanks to the gift of the Word made flesh, we can converse with Him this Lent about engaging and remedying the afflictions of our speech.  And we can discover the gratitude of the Samaritan woman in the progressive restoration of our ability to communicate---both with our voices (through all of their limitations) and beyond them.  From personal experience, I can attest to the wonders that the Lord can work even with the (recovering) jawbone of an ass!