Let’s be clear. Today I got off track before I even started writing. I’m in full admittance. I’ll get the background details out of the way, first and foremost. Today is the birthday of George Whitefield. I don’t really have any interest in George Whitefield by his description. He was born in Gloucester, England, way back in 1714. A Sagittarius.
George was one of seven children, the youngest. I am fond of youngest children, especially out of seven. That is my lot. I guess I have a slight affection for him there. Anyway, the guy was poor, paid his way through college by being a servant, and grew up to be an Anglican Preacher.
And boy did he preach. George Whitefield was one of the most well known religious figures of the eighteenth century. Not only did he preach in England, he came to America too, and did some pulpit-crawls here.
They say he was a Calvinist his entire life. For those of you who don’t know — and I didn’t — Calvinists broke away from the Roman Catholic Church in the 16th century.
“Calvinists differ from Lutherans (another major branch of the Reformation) on the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist, theories of worship, the purpose and meaning of baptism, and the use of God’s law for believers, among other things.” (Wiki)
What all that means, I don’t really care. I think if there is a god, he/she/it is not concerned with drawing lines in the sand about wafers of baked bread and dunking people in water.
Anyway, back to his fame. When he came to America, he arrived in Savannah, Georgia in 1738. It was there that Whitefield developed a highly emotional style of preaching. It was called the “Great Awakening.” He preached to large numbers and would often do so outdoors to accommodate the numbers. We are talking about thousands of people at a time.
Whitefield traveled extensively with his book in hand. It has been estimated he preached 18,000 sermons during his lifetime. And that’s the guy.
But right next to his bio, they had a little picture of him, a painting. A portrait. The guy was as crosseyed as they come. Cross, cross, crosseyed.
Well, I read through all the other historical events on this date, trying to find something of interest to write about. I sifted through all the birthdays, from Ludwig van Beethoven to Jane Austen to Arthur C. Clarke. But dang it. I couldn’t get that crosseyed portrait out of my head. So. Of course, I had to Google the guy. There he was, all crosseyed, all over the place.
Let me be clear here. I am not making fun of crosseyed people. Not lazy eyes, not drifting eyes, blind eyes, or any such thing. I know I’ve written about my love of Columbo, and that Peter Falk had a glass eye. Sandy Duncan’s lazy eye was full of cheer. So there is no patronizing or ill-wishing going on here.
It’s just. Well, it’s just.
It’s just that I wish people who had these particular physical traits would say to the rest of us, “You’re supposed to look at my left eye.” Or. “Focus on my right eye.” Whichever it is that the good eye is. I wish they’d do this right at the beginning of the conversation, out in the open. Because whenever I’ve had interactions with crosseyed people or lazy-eyed people, I don’t hear a word they are saying because I can’t make up my mind where I should be looking to make eye-contact. And eye-contact is extremely important to me.
Making eye-contact is a sure sign that you care about the other person. It shows them that you are listening, that you care about what they are saying, that their words mean a great deal to you. By making a connection with the eyes, we are letting the person know we care.
They say the eyes are a window into our souls, and it is true. You don’t get the same feeling by looking in someone’s ear. The truth is, we start out from our earliest moments searching for eye contact. A 2002 study from MIT found that infants were far more likely to follow an adult’s eyes than just their head movements. We yearn for it.
So George Whitefield’s crossed-eyes made me wonder if he started out every sermon by saying, “Bless you, my brothers and sisters. Now, look at my right eye.”
And I couldn’t write about another thing until I said it.
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“Invisible threads are the strongest ties.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
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“Friends ask you questions; enemies question you.”
― Criss Jami, Healology
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“People leave traces of themselves where they feel most comfortable, most worthwhile.”
― Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance
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It crossed my mind, and also his eyes.
