Have you been to a bank lately? Let me rephrase—have you been inside a bank lately? I hadn’t. That is, until a couple of weeks ago.
I used to have a job where I would go in to the bank twice a week to make deposits. I would step up to the merchant teller line, exchange a friendly smile with the teller, carry out my transaction, and then leave. Nothing special.
A few years have passed since that time and now (let’s call it five or so years). During those entire five years, I can’t recall but one time I stepped inside a bank. Even that one time was fairly recently, within the past year or so.
I know you’re probably not terribly interested in my forays into various banking institutions, so allow me to state the observation that prompted this writing:
Nowadays, when you go in to banks, there are huge plate glass walls between the tellers and the customers.
Imagine it, if you haven’t seen these firsthand: Where the counter was (and still is) there now exists glass of at least an inch thick extending from the top of the counter all the way up to the ceiling. And you know how high bank ceilings tend to be—we’re not talking about a small plate of glass—we’re talking about a transparent prison, a literal barrier between teller and customer.
Why is that? Safety, I’m sure you would respond. I mean, it makes sense. If I were a teller, I would feel much more secure that someone was not going to make an attempt at robbing me. I’m assuming the glass is bullet proof, and the way it’s configured for exchanging money, there is certainly no way a person could get his or her hand even in contact with the teller, their money, or anything at all, for that matter.
I guess it never dawned on me that banks were such dangerous places.
It makes sense, I suppose—there is very valuable material inside, and they want to make sure that only the select few, the authorized, are allowed any contact with it.
Aren’t we kind of like that?
There is much talk in psychology about people putting up “walls” in their lives, barriers around their hearts, protecting them from the outside elements. But to me, that metaphor almost sounds warm and nice. I mean, I like hiding certain things. I like protecting myself from “the elements”. It’s kind of like sitting by the fire sipping a cup of hot chocolate while the cold rain falls outside.
It’s safe.
But what if the walls talked about are made of glass?
We also talk extensively about “transparency” in today’s language. We talk about being honest and open with one another, in the name of community. Those who bare their souls are spoken of highly in today’s world.
I’ll ask again: What if the walls are made of glass?
Allow me to break for a moment. My son, who is approaching two now, has never been inside a bank. What do you think he will notice when he sets foot in one for the first time? Will he notice the new glass additions, like I did? Or will he think to himself, “Oh—this is what a bank looks like from the inside”.
Is it possible that a new generation of people will be raised thinking that glass walls are “just how things are”?
Is it possible that there is already a generation of people now who don’t notice the glass walls?
Where are we in this?
I must admit, having experienced banking in the past and comparing it to now, I genuinely miss the old days. And let me tell you, the old days were nothing special. They certainly were not perfect but at least they were personal.
Again, where are we in this? Have we constructed protective glass walls around us? Have we built up barriers with the deception of transparency, but still affording us protection from the cruel outside world?
I’m not advocating blind vulnerability. But I am suggesting that we take a long, hard look at our own selves. I am suggesting that we take the time to analyze our own hearts, our own personalities, to see if we have erected a permanent barrier to protect our own valuable insides.
Notice, that when I used to bank in the old person-to-person style, there was the opportunity for a handshake, a pat on the back, a hug. It may not have been the best place for these, but at least the opportunity was there. Now, we have no opportunity. Ever. Now we have eye-to-eye contact, but even that isn’t without barriers…
I don’t know about you, but I’m not content raising my son in a world where glass walls are the norm. I’m not content raising my son in a world where physical contact is a thing of the past. I’m not content raising my son in a world where most of the communication is faceless—done over the phone, through email, or text messaging. I refuse to agree that the best we can do is to provide eyes, a face, and a voice muffled behind two-inch thick glass.
I want to break these walls. And I want to start with me. Right here, right now. I want to live in a world where glass walls are constantly, methodically, being torn down. I want to watch my step, not because I’m looking over my shoulder in fear, but because I’m sidestepping the broken glass of people reaching their arms out to one another, shattering the carefully constructed divides between us, each embracing his or her own humanity with a bear hug…
May we become “glass shatterers” in our current culture. May we reach our arms out in invitation to a new humanity—one eerily reminiscent of a bygone time, one whose voice echoes from deep within, crying faintly to be released once again…
