An Apology or Something...

“Hello” he said and I looked up.  Shaved head, kind eyes, twenty-something - I recognized him from a week ago.  He motioned to the chair across from me, “May I sit?”

I mumbled a nodding,  “Of course”, shuffling coffee and napkins to one side of the table while nudging my computer nearer the wall to clear space for his elbows.

“I wanted to apologize,” he began, leaning into that space, his elbows perched on the walnut edge, fingers wrapped around the customary white and green cup.  He brushed through the details of our encounter a week before: some mutual acquaintances were passing the time in our coffee shop trying to flirt and teach me inappropriate words in their language.  I, having been exposed to enough games of, “No, it doesn’t mean anything bad – just say it” throughout my life’s travels, had recognized immediately what was going on, but felt trapped by cultural sensitivity.  Uncomfortable pointing out their obviously juvenile behavior, I (repeatedly) tried to politely leave.  Finally, in what I hoped was an appropriately respectful and face-saving out, I asked the kind-eyed twenty-something sitting on the fringe how to say, “Good night” in their language.  I had never met him before, but he seemed the trust worthiest of the group.  He rescued me and I slipped away.       

Now, he sat in front of me, distraught and embarrassed by his friends’ conduct.   “It does not reflect well on my culture,” he explained, “We should not behave like that.”  He stood to leave and offered me his hand, “Please, I hope you do not take offense”.  I shook it, assuring him I did not.  He smiled and left.  Minutes later, I stood for a coffee refill and the barista handed me a drink already prepared.  I was startled and confused.  The barista shrugged, “That guy bought it for you – said it was an apology or something”    

An apology or something.  Although the honest truth was that I hadn’t given the incident a second thought nor had it even occurred to me to be offended, how many times have we wished for an apology?  Or something?  For someone to recognize that we’ve been hurt, that their actions led to consequences and we were wounded in the crossfire? 

Fractured bits of broken hearts hedge the road mankind has been limping down throughout history.  No matter what century or culture, the civil war between every man and his neighbor has claimed the greatest number of casualties.  We humans have a tremendous capacity for offense, whether intentional or otherwise, and others bear the bruises of our choices.  We, in turn, bear the bruises of theirs.  An apology is a balm that aids healing, though deeper scars often remain.

Why do we get offended?  Why do we wish for apologies?  Why are apologies so difficult to give?  Every culture has at least one term/phrase of apology, and some have several.  It seems we all agree that certain behavior is acceptable and certain behavior is not – it demands an apology.  An apology is an agreement that unacceptable conduct has occurred and that it should not have; it begs the offended to forgive. (Note that while some specific actions which offend may vary from culture to culture, the idea of offense, through word or deed, is universal.)  

I believe we get offended, disappointed, and hurt because we have expectations for how we feel everyone should behave.  We instinctively expect others to recognize our inherent value and treat us with respect, kindness, and (gentle) honesty.  Funnily enough, those are the same traits I struggle to consistently find in myself, though I excuse their absence much more easily in my life than in everyone else’s.  I judge others by their actions and myself by my intentions. 

In fact, intention seems to be the lynchpin of offense.  Did someone intend to hurt me or was it an accident? “He/She/I meant well” seems to be the blanket caveat used to excuse all disagreeable deeds.  If the outcome is just as painful, why does intent matter?  Why am I more upset if someone meant to trip me and failed than if someone accidentally tripped me and I fell?  The ache in my soul at the intended wrongdoing is often more acute than the actual physical pain incurred by falling to the ground – why?       

As we continue the quest for an Ultimate Reality, one phenomenon we cannot ignore is the idea that there seems to be a certain underlying standard of behavior: we should, at the very least, intend to do right by one another.  And if we do not do right by one another, we should recognize our failure to do so and apologize.  Where do these expectations come from?  Why are they instinctive?  Why is it so hard for me to admit I’ve done something wrong and apologize?

The expectations which we seem to be consistently incapable of reaching may, at first, seem like the enemy, setting us up to fall.  “No one’s perfect”, we mutter, irritated that people expect us to be.  Would life be simpler without the expectations?  Could we dismiss them if we chose to?

No. I know what my heart is capable of, and I know how my words and choices wound those close enough to get caught in the crossfire.  I, myself, bear bruises of the wars that others have fought with themselves and lost.  Letting go of expectations for kindness, compassion, honesty, respect, dignity, unselfishness, gratefulness, and love can have only one result: the death of hope. Hope is what drives us; hope that the world could be less broken tomorrow by our actions today is the thready heartbeat beneath the skin of every "should".  Expectations are what make hope possible.  Without hope, people perish.  And, I'm sorry, but that’s bad in every language.

"We are frail, we are fearfully and wonderfully made

Forged in the fires of human passions, choking on the fumes of selfish rage

And with these, our hells and our heavens, so few inches apart

We must be awfully small

And not as strong as we think we are..."

-Rich Mullins