What I Learned: Growing a Beard

I grew a beard because my sister has cancer. If it isn’t obvious to you how those are connected, then you will not be surprised to learn that The Great Beard Project of 2011 has come to an end. Here’s what I am processing in the aftermath of my follicle fail:

1. Symbolism

I should have known this wouldn’t work out by how it began. Yes, it was quite itchy, uncomfortable, and awkward for everyone. But that’s not all. I shaved my head on September 20, my sister’s birthday, about a week after she had her first round of chemo for breast cancer. I shaved my face the last time that day and thought it might be neat to just let it all grow out together from there.

So shaving my head was an act of solidarity with my sister, but the beard was an afterthought. Now, as time went on, I was able to load different symbols onto the beard itself that, like sugar cookie crumbs, attached themselves quite well. The looks I would get would remind me of the looks she would get after losing her hair. The uncomfortability factor would remind me every day, multiple times a day, to pray for her. The growth of the beard would mark time from the approximate date of her beginning chemo.

But it was more like deciding to fast after skipping breakfast because you’re late for work. It wasn’t the real reason. Just a symbol projected onto an indifferent object in a moment of yearning for something deeper, or to be someone deeper.

2. Communication

It was difficult communicating to people why I had the beard. If someone came up to me to ask why I had grown the beard, telling them it’s because my sister has cancer would have made them feel terrible, since their next line was going to be something about how I look like Yukon Cornelius. And while I would personally revel in turning the turntables like that, my professional obligation as a pastor is not to make people feel terrible.

Of course, after feeling horrible for a few minutes, a thought would have occurred to them: What does his stupid beard have to do with cancer anyway? Since I knew all along that this question would pose a real problem, highlighting, as it were, the indefensibility of my facial situation, I almost never told anyone the real reason. Which is to say, I always told everyone the real reason–that the beard was just grown on a whim.

3. Tangible Benefit

I don’t know what I was trying to pull, anyway. The fact of the matter is that the beard did not help me remember or pray for my sister any more than I would have. The two were completely unconnected. I thought about and prayed for my sister a lot, but it was almost never prompted by the beard. And my attention was drawn to the beard multiple times a day, but rarely did that turn my attention to my sister.

Beyond that, what real benefit was there for anyone? Would I go another couple of months and then donate it to Locks of Love? Do they even take that sort of thing?

4. The Beard in Question

I realize now that many of you have not seen this beard, which will compound your sense of loss. I apologize for complicating your grieving process. I post the following pictures so that everyone who wishes may say their goodbyes.

Beards are mean-looking. I could have commandeered a freighter with this thing on. Long Live Captain Red Beard!

Has the Shekinah glory gotten caught in my beard? Probably not, but I don't want to be too skeptical.

What I would have looked like preaching this Sunday.