I SWEAR

I was thinking about this recently after watching the film I Swear, which tells the true story of John Davidson, a man with Tourette syndrome. Tourette’s, as you probably know, is a neurological condition which can cause involuntary movements or sounds, known as tics.

It is also one of those conditions which people think they understand, but often don’t. Many people assume Tourette’s just means shouting out swear words. In fact, that only affects a minority of people with Tourette’s. But because it is the bit that gets noticed, joked about, or sensationalised, it becomes the thing people focus on.

And this is where the film is so powerful. Because it shows that one of the hardest things John Davidson had to deal with was not only the condition itself, but other people’s reactions to it.

Someone hears an unexpected sound. Someone sees an unusual movement. Someone hears a word they find shocking. And very quickly they decide: rude, strange, badly behaved, attention-seeking.

But they are wrong.

I think this is something we all need to think about. Not because we all have Tourette’s, of course, but because we all know what it is to be misunderstood — and, if we are honest, we have probably all misunderstood other people too.

As we have just heard, this weekend the Church celebrates Pentecost. The disciples are gathered together, frightened and uncertain, and then the Holy Spirit comes upon them. There is the sound of a rushing wind. There are tongues of fire. And suddenly they begin to speak in different languages.

At first, that sounds simply strange. But the really important thing is what the crowd says next. People from many different places say: “How is it that each of us hears them in our own native language?”

That is the miracle of Pentecost. Not just that people speak, but that people hear. Not just noise, but understanding.

But, interestingly, not everyone responds well. Some people are amazed and ask, “What does this mean?” Others sneer and say the disciples must be drunk.

And there, it seems to me, is the choice we all face when we encounter something we don’t immediately understand.

We can mock it. Or we can try to understand it.

We can laugh at someone. Or we can ask what might really be going on.

We can reduce someone to the thing we find difficult about them — the way they speak, the way they move, the way they come across — or we can remember that a person is always more than the most difficult thing about them.

That is true of Tourette’s. But it is true much more widely than that.

Some people are quiet, and we assume they have nothing to say. Some people are confident, and we assume they are fine. Some people find eye contact difficult, and we assume they are rude. Some people process things slowly, and we assume they are not listening. Some people communicate differently because of anxiety, neurodiversity, disability, language, culture, grief, or simply because they are having a bad day.

Pentecost reminds us that God does not make everyone the same. The Holy Spirit does not remove difference. Instead, the Spirit makes understanding possible across difference.

Pentecost is a kind of spiritual hospitality: God enables people to hear one another across difference.

And that is a deeply Benedictine idea too. St Benedict tells us to welcome others as Christ. But real hospitality is not only welcoming the person who is easy to welcome. It is making room for the person who is different from us; the person we do not immediately understand; the person who may require a little more patience, imagination or generosity.

So, this week, my challenge is very simple.

Before you judge someone, pause.

Before you laugh, pause.

Before you repeat the story, pause.

Before you decide that someone is rude, odd, annoying, difficult or attention-seeking, pause.

Ask yourself: do I really understand what is going on here? Because the miracle of Pentecost is not only that people found their voice.

It is that others learned how to hear them.