The Writing on the Bathroom Wall

There's a story from the book of Daniel. It's got all the great action and drama that you'd expect from Biblical verse: idolatry, doubt, disembodied fingers writing on the wall of a banquet hall, stupefied scholars and a single wise mind.

When I discussed this blog post with my wife, Holly, she offered this parable as the right inspiration for a title: I wanted to write about bathroom graffiti at William and Mary and this was the story of "writing on the wall" in a "throne room." What could be better? What could be more snarky than that?

I try to do my research, so I looked into the verse and considered the events: a banquet of worship to false idols, a warning from God that no trusted adviser could interpret and the incisive mind of Daniel, whose faithful servitude gave him the single clarity to understand the message.

It may seem a stretch to relate this tale back to the scribblings of undergraduates as they stand at a urinal. It may even seem insulting or blasphemous. I promise you now that is not my intent. The message of the story for me is that we should read the writing on the wall regardless of the fingers that wrote it--and whether or not they were still connected to their body.

I've been a grad student at William and Mary for almost two years, and have stood in the bathroom and stared at the wall many times. With each visit, my anticipation grows as each bit of penned graffiti comes into view. Apparently, some of my invisible schoolmates take quite a shine to sharing their thoughts while doing their business: clearing their mind as they clear their body. I don't know any of them personally, but we've got our own little relationship through the medium of painted cinder block.

Most of these posts are either vulgar or inane, but they're all pretty entertaining. One writer declared how a fictional character performed a certain unmentionable act, then two more edited the sentence for grammar (the description of her performance developed from "real good" to "very well" to "adequate"). Another discussion began with the seminal question "Why does everyone pee with a pen?" After several rounds, the final answer seemed so simply beautiful: "Because it's so difficult to write with a penis."

These little discussions usually center around the things that would interest typical college kids. Cynical expressions of life meaning or the value of a good Saturday night. One artist wrote, cryptically: "I am the way, but I cannot show you the way," he apparently thinks he's invisible. Another offered some uplifting encouragement: "The future of the world is in your hands," an interesting thought considering the environment.

Last week, a new post appeared: "Trust Jesus." There was an immediate response: "Trust me." If I were the type of person who peed with a pen, I would've been tempted to continue: "Trust something." I suppose I'm letting my inner grafiti artist/collegiate metaphysicist get drawn into the whole game.

Our whole society screams out to be heard, to be listened to, to make a dent. Some do it on bathroom walls, others in tweets or blogs, some write songs or poems while the rest of us tune in and hope for enlightenment. I don't know why this is such a necessary human trait, why we all yearn to believe that what's inside of us will be valuable to someone else. Like the wise man said:

"Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia; dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth."

In the story of Daniel's wisdom, the hand appeared and wrote what needed to be said. The next time you find yourself with the future of the world in your hands and a few moments of peace, take a chance to read the writing on the wall.