The Blazing Light of the Heroic Family of Christopher Nolan
The Blazing Light of the Heroic Family of Christopher Nolan.
“I want to highlight the creativity within the brain of a cripple, and while not attempting to hide the crippledom I want instead to filter all sob-storied sentiment from his portrait and dwell upon his life, his laughter, his vision.” (Christopher Nolan, referring to his autobiography)
Christopher Nolan was born on a small farm near Dublin in 1966 after a difficult delivery that left him with cerebral palsy, unable to speak or move. His only means of communication was his eye movement. His doctor flatly stated that his brain would remain forever infantile. Chris’ mom, dad and older sister refused to believe that, and for his first 11 years they each played a profound role in Christopher’s life and development. His father would read him novels, short stories, poems, selecting authors from D. H. Lawrence to James Joyce. His mother would string up all the letters of the alphabet on a clothesline in the kitchen and teach him how to read through constant “conversation.” His sister would sing him songs and act out little dramas that would flesh out words, scenes and ideas. Christopher’s family stayed the course, as if his mind was like their little family farm, full of seeds growing silently, seeking nourishment.
And then came the harvest. When Chris was 11 years old, a new drug was introduced which ended up freeing one muscle, his neck. That was all Chris needed. His parents devised a “unicorn stick” that was strapped onto his head, and Chris proceeded to peck one letter at a time on his typewriter while his mother held up his chin. He soon wrote his first poem, “I learn to bow,”, referring to both his method of writing and his gratitude to God for his new life. Chris later wrote what this release felt like… “My mind is like a spin-dryer at full speed, my thoughts fly around my skull while millions of beautiful words cascade down in my lap. Images gunfire across my consciousness and while trying to discipline them I jump in awe at the soul-filled bounty of my mind’s expanse.”
Christopher Nolan went on to complete his first book at the age of 15, “Damburst of Dreams,” an award-winning collection of his poems, short stories and plays. His autobiography “Under the Eye of the Clock” was published when he was 21 years old, and won the Book of the Year Award, the Whitbread Prize. Finally, his novel “The Banyan Tree” was published when he was 33, to much acclaim. He may have been mute his whole life, but his life-giving words and courage reached millions. His body wasn’t ever able to move, but he traveled, through his inspired imagination, to uncharted lands of truth and beauty. When a true hero dies, somewhere a little light is extinguished, not to be replaced. Christopher Nolan passed into Glory at the age of 43, and his light was not a mere flicker. But Christopher’s heroism was only released because of his family’s heroism and that simple “miracle drug.”
In November of 2004, Bono and his group U2 wrote a song about Christopher Nolan, and named it “Miracle Drug.” Some of the song’s lyrics were: “I want to trip inside your head, Spend the day there… To hear the things you haven’t said, And see what you might see. I want to hear you when you call. Do you feel anything at all? I want to see your thoughts take shape and walk right out. Beneath the noise, Below the din, I hear a voice, It’s whispering, In science and in medicine, ‘I was a stranger, you took me in.’”
Here’s how Bono explains what he’s thinking about with his lyrics to this great song “Miracle Drug”:
“The character of Christopher Nolan was in the back of my head. He was a boy who came into Mount Temple (a Christian high school in Dublin) just as we were leaving. He had been deprived of oxygen for two hours when he was born and developed cerebral palsy, so he was paraplegic. This song was written from his mother’s perspective. It’s about her faith in her son when for nine or ten years she had no idea if he was a conscious, sentient being or not. The hospital, the doctors and nurses could not guarantee her that he was awake to the world. But she believed it. She saw something in his eyes that was the light of being. And she had enough faith in her instinct and in her love for him to teach him, to read to him, to talk to him as if he was there. And then, aged eleven, this drug appears on the scene which frees up one muscle, which is the neck muscle, and allows him to move an inch. And through that movement he was able to type out all the stories and poems he had in his head for all those years. He had a little unicorn device attached to his forehead and his first poem was called, “I Learn to Bow,” which is about this mechanism of the head movement but it’s also his poem of gratitude to God, who I think he felt had worked through science to free him up. Now, I don’t know about you, but if I had been locked in myself for ten years and I eventually got out, I’m not sure I’d be so full of praise for my Maker. But my song is about his mother. It’s about faith.”
Isn’t that an amazing story? God used medicine to unlock Christopher, for sure. But God used the faith of his parents in a profound way as well. Bono’s powerful lyric shows us what we need to do to plumb the depths with each other in a transforming way. We need to be like Christopher’s family… fearless deep-sea divers with sonar; persistent diamond miners with high-watt lights; patient trail scouts mapping out new territory. His family showed us what it takes to be humane, full of grace and truth with the people we love. Believe in that person. Honor God’s image. Remain convinced that that student or child or spouse has gold in there, deep, waiting to be discovered. Trust in the presence of unseen treasure. Love that person so much you’ll never turn off the sonar, never extinguish the miner’s lamp, never stop believing that this person is of inestimable worth and is waiting to make a unique contribution. Please reread those lyrics at the top of the page. There, he says it. Do whatever it takes to take that stranger in.
The Jewish theologian and Old Testament scholar Martin Buber echoes Bono with these words that should laser-burn into our hearts: “The greatest thing any person can do for another is to confirm the deepest thing in him or her – to take the time and have the discernment to see what is most deeply there inside, most fully that person, and then confirm it by recognizing and encouraging it.” (Between Man and Man).
What a profound and life-changing fact… Christopher didn’t see his life as tragic! Thomas Reynolds, in his powerful book Vulnerable Communion: A Theology of Disability and Hospitality, put it this way: “Disability should not be construed as a ‘description of life as a tragedy.’ The image of God in human beings remains untarnished by the tragic. Tragedy does not define a person… Disability does not mark an incomplete humanity – a failure, defect or sinful nature. It models one way of being human as vulnerable yet creative, relational, and available.”
Here’s something I’d like to think about… How do we identify ourselves? How do we define who we are? By our job, by what we can do, or can’t do? By how useful or productive we are in the eyes of our culture? And is this how we define others as well? Christopher’s parents didn’t limit his identity to a disability. Neither did Chris. While not denying his “crippledom,” Chris did not allow that aspect of his life to define his essence or determine his destiny. And he didn’t allow others to limit him to that identity either. Largely because of the profoundly self-emptying gifts of his family, he learned to view himself with a wide-angle lens… Made in the image of God, free to enjoy the gift of life, fully blessed and uniquely gifted.
The greatest human fact of the universe is that all of us are images of our Creator and thus covered by His fingerprints, all of us are loved by a loving God, regardless of perceived strengths and weaknesses, abilities or disabilities, supposed productivity or lack thereof. Each of us, every person ever born or unborn on planet earth, is equally lovable, profoundly valuable, and particularly sacred. May that fact be the only dictionary we use if we seek to define ourselves and others. For we know, don’t we, that every person is already defined by the gracious heart of God.
So, teacher, strap on your miner’s helmet and take a trip inside that student’s head. Mom and Dad, turn on your sonar and dive deep into your child’s heart. Husband, install your hearing aid and listen to what your wife hasn’t said. Wife, pick up your shovel and dig for that treasure hidden in your husband. Pastor, put on your 4-D glasses and see what that parishioner sees. Neighbor, knock on the door of the person next door and make a meaningful connection. Adult child, respect your aging parents and seek to truly understand what they are going through. The fact is that every person is a holy mystery, all of us are strangers in some way unto each other. And each one of us can only flourish when another person believes in our sacred worth, when we are truly understood and loved for who we are deep down below the surface.