LAST WINTER I woke up to 24 text messages on the family chain, which could only mean that someone had died, or someone was pregnant, or the San Antonio Spurs had finally decided to end their rebuild and trade four first-round draft picks for star point guard Trae Young. But I was wrong. My 2-year-old nephew Sébastien had asked his first theological question. The question arrived, according to my sister, around 6 a.m., an ungodly time for existential matters.
“What is a soul, mama?” Séb asked her. My nephew had been running through the lyrics of “Frosty the Snowman,” wondering what it meant to have a “jolly, happy soul.”
I FaceTimed my sister to learn more. “How did you respond?” I don’t have any kids — yet — so her anecdote was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
She laughed. “I kind of just deflected and made it about Frosty. Told him that the singer was trying to communicate that Frosty was consistently joyful. Besides, that seemed more like a question for Aunt Jenna.”
Unbeknownst to me, Séb, who was off camera, heard our conversation and wanted in on it. “What is a soul, Aunt Yenna?” (The toddler is somehow too young to pronounce the J sound but not too young to stump me with questions about the invisible essence of life.)
“Wow Séb, I don’t know exactly. The soul is a mysterious thing that makes you who you are. It exists inside of you now but will also exist after you. I do know for sure that you have a beautiful soul.”
Once I’d inadvertently quoted Jesse McCartney, my sister stepped in to help. “People have different understandings of the soul, baby.”
He seemed satisfied, in large part because his chicken nuggets were ready. “Press the red button, mama.” The call ended, and I was left wondering if chickens had souls.
My mind ablaze with questions, I turned to my favorite theologian, Mary Oliver. I had a vague memory of her saying something about souls and grasshoppers ... or maybe it was souls and geese? Or bears in the summertime? Hopefully, nothing about chickens.
Sure enough, she kicks off her poem “Bone” with the declaration, “Understand, I am always trying to figure out / what the soul is, / and where hidden, / and what shape.” She goes on to describe finding the ear bone of a pilot whale. Apparently, the ear bone “is the portion that lasts longest / in any of us, man or whale.” Now, it makes sense that Mary Oliver would see a fossilized ear and cast it as a soul; she has always described loving the world as listening to the world.
I’m guessing this ear-bone-soul news will be initially concerning to Séb, seeing as Frosty the Snowman doesn’t customarily have ears. But we can change that with a few well-placed birch leaves.
This soul theory is also auspicious for me because I remember reading once that the ear is the only part of the body that never stops growing. I aim to have massive ears when I die — a mammoth soul. My true love, who will have to outlive me in this scenario, will release my body into the Gulf of Mexico, and a century later, a theologically curious and osteologically knowledgeable poet will find one of my ear bones on the shore and consider the soul anew. She’ll scribble some verses down in her laser scroll then skip my smooth fossil across the waves. The ocean will sound so delicious to my ear bone, ASMR for the soul.
Jenna Barnett is the culture editor at Sojourners and the producer of the award-winning podcast Lead Us Not.
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