Quotes from Marilyn Chandler McEntyre

One function of the imagination in autobiographical writing is to allow the writer to try out different versions of the self.

The story is told of Mother Theresa that when an interviewer asked her. What do you say when you pray? she answered, I listen. The reporters paused a moment, then asked, Then what does God say? and she replied, He listens. It is hard to imagine a more succinct way to get at the intimacy of contemplative prayer.

A good conversationalist directs attention, inspires, corrects, affirms, and empowers others. It is a demanding vocation that involves attentiveness, skilled listening, awareness of one's own interpretive frames, and a will to understand and discern what is true.

Conversation is an exchange of gifts. Native American tribal wisdom teaches that when you encounter a person on your life path, you must seek to find out what gifts you have for one another so that you may exchange them before going your separate ways. This seems true even of daily encounters with those we know well. We come into one another's presence bearing whatever harvest of experience the day has offered, and we foster relationship by making a gift of what we have received.

In reading a recent novel, I myself was convicted by a comment the mother makes to her adult daughter: 'My dear, you've missed so many opportunities to say nothing.' We do miss these opportunities, as well as opportunities to say less and say it more judiciously. And so we miss particular delights of finding words and speaking them into silences big enough to allow them to be heard.

We have become desensitized, in ways discussed earlier, to the electrifying power of the well-chosen word. But sometimes it breaks through like a ray of light through a cloud bank. We all know the experience of reading or perhaps writing a sentence that evokes with absolute laser-like precision a particular feeling, atmosphere, action, or thought which, being named, seems to take on brand-new life.

George] Steiner makes two other points worth mentioning about the consequences of language abuse: as usable words are lost, experience becomes cruder and less communicable. And with the loss of the subtlety, clarity, and reliability of language, we become more vulnerable to crude exercises of power.

Caring for language is a moral issue. Caring for one another is not entirely separable from caring for words. Words are entrusted to us as equipment for our life together, to help us survive, guide, and nourish one another. We need to take the metaphor of nourishment seriously in choosing what we feed on in our hearts, and in seeking to make our conversation with each other life-giving.

In a broad and true sense, good conversation is life-giving: it inspires and invigorates...livelieness in our use of language, both oral and written, matters: how lively language is life-giving - how it may literally, physiologically, quicken our breath, evoke our laughter, raise our eyebrows, open our hearts, renew our energies. Lively language invents and evokes and sustains.

spoken confession releases us into forgiveness. Speaking enacts the attitude of repentance that is the precondition of healing and restoration. Like the naming of God's attributes and promises in praise, the particularity and specificity of what is named accounts for much of the psychological efficacy of confession.

Good conversation is a courtesy, a kindness, a form of caritas that has as its deepest implicit intention binding one another together in understanding and love.

When we converse, we act together toward a common end, and we act upon one another. Indeed, conversation is a form of activism - a political enterprise in the largest and oldest sense - a way of building sustaining community.

Conversation, like good reading, nourishes.

Tell the truth, but tell it slant...' is Emily Dickinson's advice.... I've been struck by how often slant is confused with bias - as though having a point of view, a set of assumptions, or a firmly held opinion is in itself unscrupulous or unfair. And as though neutrality is the mark of fairness or truth.

Curiosity. It was Oliver Sacks who first made me reflect on curiosity as a form of compassion. An ingenious and creative neurologist now well-known for his "clinical tales," he begins his work as diagnostician and healer with the implicit question 'What is it like to be you?

Everyone who writes with care, who treats words with respect and allows even the humblest its historical and grammatical dignity, participates in the exhilarating work of reclamation. Each essay or poem is its own "raid on the inarticulate," and every written work that forestalls the slow death of speech is a response to Wendell Berry's challenge to "practice resurrection.

Poems] train and exercise the imagination. Trained imaginations are what we need most at a time like this. That is what will enable us to reach across cultures and understand each other, to think of new models and modes of organization that might work better, and to wage peace, because the love of beauty is deeply related to the love of peace.

To see this way fosters not only gratitude but compassion for the creatures we behold. The sustained gaze required to find the adequate word engages us in contemplation and reminds us of the worthiness of what is given to us to witness.

Precise language surprises like a dancer's extra second of stillness in mid-air; word and experience come together in an irreproducible moment of epiphanic delight. The next time the word appears, it may have a different feel or color or emphasis. Contexts change; usage changes; assigned meaning shifts; words accrue rings of history like trees and become more dense with life.

f the "Christian right" would acknowledge the existence of a Christian left, the community of believers might be able to deliver a lively witness to the capaciousness of our faith in spirited (and I used that term advisedly) debate.

There are generous and inventive ways to enjoy words and to reclaim them as instruments of love, healing, and peace. All of us who speak, read, write, and listen to each other have opportunities to do that and to foster the kinds of community that come from shared stories and surprising sentences.

I have limits. Perhaps I can stretch them. But respecting them, I have learned, is generally wiser than pretending they're not there. Because I don't have all the time in the world, I have this whole hour, this day. The duration of one cup of coffee. The time it takes to listen to one more winding sentence or to stay with a child on her slow way to sleep.

I like to think the "watch" part of the instruction [to watch and pray] might sound something like the way a child would call out, "Hey! Watch this!" ... You don't want to miss this ... and closer attentiveness to the ... invitations the Spirit offers... We are accompanied and witnessed and even when we fall asleep, watched.

Naming is an exercise of power. Renaming involves a transfer of power. Unnaming is a stripping of power from the unnamed and often an abuse of power on the part of those who presume to reduce names to numbers, for instance. It takes courage to name what is being deliberately and defensively obscured. Plain language is not always welcome.