The Scribe of the Soul

These things I remember

as I pour out my soul:

how I used to go with the multitude,

leading the procession to the house of God,

with shouts of joy and thanksgiving 

among the festive throng. 

- Psalm 42:4

Ever since we hosted a floor hockey tournament for our day program, one of my client's has been wearing his hockey medal daily for the last few months. Every time I see him now, with his shining medal draped around his neck like a medaled war veteran, the imagination is stirred and I am flooded with memories and feelings. 

Everyone had a contributing role that day; the opening ceremonies began and each team walked in with their team's banner and logo flying high; one of my client's sang the Canadian national anthem as we patriotically faced the Canadian flag; another client prayed that God would watch over us and give us a "fun time together"; still others served as colour commentators and statisticians. And, of course, we were all there to cheer each other on.

At the end of the tournament we shook sweaty hands and celebrated with an Awards Ceremony. Every member of each team was awarded a medal to commemorate their valuable contribution to the making of a historic tournament. 

Funny thing, as I remember it now, this client who tirelessly wears his medal doesn't really care for hockey all that much. In fact, I wonder if he recollects how his team lost mercilessly in the playoff round, or how the ball would roll past him as everyone shouted, "shoot! shoot!" and still he stood with a puzzled expression on his face, as if to suggest that everyone was making a big fuss about nothing.

The memory, of course, was much more significant than how many goals he scored (none) or how many games his team won. "Memory", according to Aristotle, "is the scribe of the soul". Serving as a scribe of sorts, he's been narrating the history of our community; the texture of our soul. He was a member of a team participating in a story with a Divine scriptwriter, writing out the history of the broader community. He wore that medal as a visible expression of his inner life, the raw material of the soul, which re-presents the past and gives direction to our future.

Like the psalmist who lamented and "poured out his soul" as he looked back and remembered better days, we need visual reminders to give us concrete hope on those days when we inevitably grow disappointed with others and disillusioned with life in community. We need each other to make sense of our lives. 

His medal calls us to re-member, as each member of the community gathers together to share our collective memory and narrate our lives to one another. The act of re-membering is essential to the life of the church, and sometimes it's the most broken and bruised member of the body of Christ who invites us to join together as many-limbs-to-one-body, revisiting the memories that shape us as a faith-community. 

With his medal still decorating his neck, he approached me today with a sense of urgency; "Remember Dallas...I like you", he said again. I won't forget.