Beyond 65 Squares

"With few exceptions, we have not thought man could be trusted. We have thought he needs to be frightened off, scolded, contained, reprimanded. He needs to have his decisions made for him, for he is both unwilling and unable to make responsible decisions for himself. Over a period of time it would seem that this theology has created a community of men (better, sheep) who function best in such a context. But we need to ask whether this man as he is intended and could be, or if we have castrated him to fit the scheme. Wisdom teaching protests against our violations of the mystery and glory of man. He has been trusted by God and our thinking about him should mirror that trust." 

“In Man We Trust” by Walter Brueggemann

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Dear Alex,

At last this evening, I watched the first 3 episodes of “The Queen’s Gambit”, one of the very few Netflix series I have ever viewed. To me, the story has little to do with chess. Every piece gliding along the 65 white-and-black equal squares is looking for a spot to fit in, a view to behold, a stance to lose. Sooner or later, the gamer needs to face her own fears far removed from the competition: the fear of playing alone forever.

Brueggemann tells us that life “does not mean, as often it does in our day, longevity or mere survival”. The longing for life - all the things “which permit joy and security and wholeness” - is closely connected to people and communities. We can’t do life alone, my local pastor reminds us.

But for most of our waking hours in a day, we are insulated in our customized roles at work, school, home. Sure, we may join Zoom and conversations but the bulk of our tasks, whether walking or driving, cooking and cleaning, reclining or tallying before the screen, indulge us independently. Fling in personality and pandemic to the mix and we find more of ourselves and others lost in translation.

Elizabeth Harmon in at least the first half of this Netflix drama collides into three lives least likely approved as trustworthy companions. At the orphanage, her first real friend is Jolene, a Black teen misfit whose simple presence and generosity enable young Elizabeth to express vulnerability. Jolene flashes nothing for us to covet, a sack of disappointments, yet for Elizabeth, she is her keeper of confidence.

Then on scene fades the school custodial, Mr. Shaibel, into the backdrop, obscured behind the shelves of tools and trash in the basement of the campus. This dismal den of a discovery, at once transformed into his playground and haven, welcomes and shelters Elizabeth, dislodging her from apathy to hunger for possibilities beyond the chess board. He teaches her not to just tackle chess but to bow to failures with dignified acceptance and to measure success with the language of patience. “I don’t play with strangers,” he greets her. She would learn to be his friend.

And finally by the third episode, my last stop tonight, the most unlikely bond forged between Elizabeth and her adoptive parent, Alma, perhaps the most unfitting guardian in town. A substance-abusing mid-aged housewife whose husband has freshly departed for permanence, Alma garners the will to become a mother for Elizabeth in spite of her maternal frailties. The mother-child dynamics is flawed beyond a misplaced metaphor. Still Elizabeth extends her palm to rest on Alma’s hands, saying what words or trophy would fail to convey in the gesture of gratitude.

If there is any virtue from these early series I can take with me now to my sleep, it would be an invitation on this play field to trust in losers - brilliantly flawed gamers whose missteps and surrender point to our identity in the “mystery and glory of man”.

Yours, Kate

Epilogue: There is no such thing as a 65-squared chessboard. How can it be an odd number? This is how I have even messed up my title last night as I wrote from midnight through 3 am but I thank grace and trusting friends in my daily moves.