REFLECTIONS ON FAITH &
LIFE FOR THE YEARS OF WINTER:
I have a woman friend who
has a rare and mysterious skin illness. The doctors say no one knows what
causes it or how to treat it. One result of it is that she is losing her hair.
That’s more traumatic for
a woman than a man. Men in general don’t prefer baldness, but it’s no big deal
if we have no hair on our heads. Some guys even shave their heads, choosing the
bald look. I did not choose it, but I’ve been bald and white-bearded since I
was 15, or thereabouts, so the comment I get most often is, not necessarily
with approbation, “You haven’t changed a bit.”
If a woman loses her hair,
though, it’s more than just a bit of change. The change to her sense of self is
even greater than to her physical being. [Yes, I checked this insight with
women to be sure I have it right.]
I thought I would get
sympathy when my right leg went bald when I had chemo. Nobody knew why, and
nobody was much interested. They shrugged their shoulders, the ones hair down
to them, and went on.
Not so with Helen. She got
lots of sympathy. Her hair dresser cried
when she cut off the rest of Helen’s hair as her chemo progressed. She knew
what that meant. Helen got a wig, wore it in public. Sometimes she forgot it
was on and so singed her bangs one day when she got too close to the oven. When
her own hair returned, she burned the wig. It was an occasion.
Jesus says that even the
hairs of our heads are numbered; that’s how carefully God pays attention to us.
Perhaps that’s the only thing we really need to know from all of Christian
history and theology: God cares about you, and about me. “His eye is on the
sparrow, and I know he watches me.”
I’m not sure I want that
much attention from God. I do lots of things I’d rather God not know about. But
I don’t have many hairs on my head, so maybe God won’t notice. You hairful
people are on your own.
John Robert McFarland
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