Over the past month, NPR has addressed various aspects of Williams syndrome, a rare chromosomal condition in which a series of genes on one chromosome has been deleted. Williams syndrome (also Williams-Beuren syndrome, or WBS) is characterized by learning disabilities and cognitive delays, small physical stature and features, a love for music, and a high degree of sociability and trust of other people, including strangers. One NPR report, “Is There an Anti-Racism Gene?” highlighted the fact that people with Williams Syndrome do not share most people’s tendency to discriminate against others of different racial backgrounds. A second report, “A Life without Fear,” focused on a family in California with a daughter with Williams, Isabelle. It mentioned that Isabelle is “pathologically trusting” and that it is “biologically impossible for her to distrust” other people. A third explored the social alienation experienced, sadly and ironically, by many persons with Williams in spite of their innately deep love for other people.
It’s a puzzling condition. Positive and even desirable traits of love, trust, and acceptance bump up against the biological fact that we need social fear in order to survive. To cite one example of the problems that arise with this loving, trusting nature, Isabelle cannot go to the bathroom alone at school because of the many stories of children with Williams who have been sexually abused. Isabelle herself has climbed into the backseat of a stranger’s car, ready to join the unknown family for a trip to Dairy Queen. Her mother says it is her job to teach Isabelle not to trust people.
According to NPR and most other media, biology describes and defines behavior. People with Williams trust because their genes tell them to. Or, put another way, they fail to fear because their genes don’t kick in when they should. Clearly, biological reasons account for these differences. Yet hearing the stories made me wonder whether there was also a spiritual component to this genetic difference.
My mind wandered to 1 Corinthians 13:4-7: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud …. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” And also to 1 John 4:18: “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.”
These verses are often heard at weddings, but perhaps the cakes and flowers and white dresses distract us from the radical nature of these commands. Paul and John talk about love in absolute terms. They create an ideal that seems impossible, for two reasons. First, most of us can’t imagine actually living without fear, in perfect trust and hope. Second, there is grave evil in the world. Paul also exhorts us, in 1 Thessalonians 5:21-22 to, “test everything. Hold on to the good. Avoid every kind of evil.” Those with Williams do not have the biological ability to avoid evil, at least in the form of people who intend to do them harm.
As Isabelle’s mom, Jessica, says, “Though Isabelle trusts the world completely, the world is not worthy of her trust.” Right now, Isabelle is considered the one with the disability. The rest of us, those of us who have learned to withhold love, to fear, to distrust strangers, to expect evil—we are considered normal. Yet hearing about individuals with this biological condition makes me wonder whether God is using Williams syndrome to show the rest of us something about what love looks like. Perhaps one day, as his kingdom comes into fullness among us, we will turn to children and adults like Isabelle, that they might teach us how to love.
