Edited by Jim McCrory, Tuesday 30 June 2026 at 15:04
The Crooked Kiss
We all have our favourite writers. Mine include Fyodor Dostoevsky for his exploration of the human condition, David Berlinski for his fearless engagement with the science-and-faith debate, Tomas Tranströmer for the luminous clarity of his poetry, and, for sheer beauty of prose, Richard Selzer.
A surgeon by profession, Selzer possessed the rare gift of seeing both the anatomy of the body and the mystery of the human spirit. His essays reveal that surgery is never simply about flesh and bone; it is also about fear, hope, dignity and love.
One scene from Mortal Lessons has remained with me for years. A young woman has undergone surgery to remove a facial tumour. The operation has saved her life but left her mouth permanently altered. When she asks whether it will always be that way, Selzer answers honestly that it will.
Her husband then does something extraordinary. Rather than shrinking from her altered appearance, he responds with quiet affection, assuring her that he still finds her beautiful before leaning forward to kiss her, adjusting his own lips to meet hers.
Selzer concludes the moment with one unforgettable observation: 'One is not bold in an encounter with a god.'
The word 'god' is not a theological argument. It is Selzer's attempt to describe a moment of profound human goodness. Having spent a lifetime repairing damaged bodies, he suddenly finds himself witnessing something no surgeon can create. His skill can heal tissue, but it cannot manufacture selfless love.
That is why he lowers his gaze. Not from embarrassment, but from reverence.
There are moments when ordinary human beings reveal something that seems larger than themselves. A husband who refuses to let disfigurement become distance. A love that adapts without hesitation. A kiss that quietly declares, 'Nothing essential has changed.'
To me, that is one of those rare moments when heaven seems to draw close to earth. Not through spectacle or miracle, but through simple, costly faithfulness. No sermon could have preached it more eloquently.
It is a reminder that the deepest truths are often spoken without words, and that the most sacred moments in life may arrive disguised as ordinary acts of love.
The Crooked Kiss
The Crooked Kiss
We all have our favourite writers. Mine include Fyodor Dostoevsky for his exploration of the human condition, David Berlinski for his fearless engagement with the science-and-faith debate, Tomas Tranströmer for the luminous clarity of his poetry, and, for sheer beauty of prose, Richard Selzer.
A surgeon by profession, Selzer possessed the rare gift of seeing both the anatomy of the body and the mystery of the human spirit. His essays reveal that surgery is never simply about flesh and bone; it is also about fear, hope, dignity and love.
One scene from Mortal Lessons has remained with me for years. A young woman has undergone surgery to remove a facial tumour. The operation has saved her life but left her mouth permanently altered. When she asks whether it will always be that way, Selzer answers honestly that it will.
Her husband then does something extraordinary. Rather than shrinking from her altered appearance, he responds with quiet affection, assuring her that he still finds her beautiful before leaning forward to kiss her, adjusting his own lips to meet hers.
Selzer concludes the moment with one unforgettable observation: 'One is not bold in an encounter with a god.'
The word 'god' is not a theological argument. It is Selzer's attempt to describe a moment of profound human goodness. Having spent a lifetime repairing damaged bodies, he suddenly finds himself witnessing something no surgeon can create. His skill can heal tissue, but it cannot manufacture selfless love.
That is why he lowers his gaze. Not from embarrassment, but from reverence.
There are moments when ordinary human beings reveal something that seems larger than themselves. A husband who refuses to let disfigurement become distance. A love that adapts without hesitation. A kiss that quietly declares, 'Nothing essential has changed.'
To me, that is one of those rare moments when heaven seems to draw close to earth. Not through spectacle or miracle, but through simple, costly faithfulness. No sermon could have preached it more eloquently.
It is a reminder that the deepest truths are often spoken without words, and that the most sacred moments in life may arrive disguised as ordinary acts of love.