CONFESSOR'S CONTEMPLATIONS: The Language of God
I have been listening to Harold Kushner's book, "When Bad Things Happen to Good People" while I drive into work each day. In the beginning of the book, he quotes a Rabbi, I can't remember who exactly as I write this, but the quote is this:
"The language of God is human beings."
When we have pain, struggle and strife in our lives, it is people who show up to care for us. It is people who try to support us and share their empathy. This is a very incarnational expression of faith and understanding that I think I find to be core to my own ministry.
Last week, we listened and we listened and we listened as Chip read the miles long Gospel story of Lazarus being raised. But it is important to note that when Jesus heard Lazarus had died, Jesus went directly to be with Martha and Mary. He showed, in his actions, what it was to be part of the language of God. In his approach he was chastised and told that had be been there, Lazarus would not have died.
This sentiment is a sentiment we have all heard in one context or another. I heard it when Eliot was 2 years old and had been diagnosed with Leukemia. It's odd, but I often equate, in my mind, Jesus' appearance to Martha and Mary in the same way the doctor who diagnosed Eliot first treated Eliot's mom. Sara, knowing how close we were to Christmas, and how busy the life of a priest gets at that time, asked the doctor if we could return in a couple weeks and admit Eliot to get looked at.
She must've thought that this was just a simple infection, or something that some pills or medications could hold at bay while we got through Christmas. (I haven't talked to Sara about these experiences in years, so I have forgotten what she might have said back then). Anyway, I think most of us would have thought the same way, it was an inconvenience we could put off until another day.
The doctor looked at Sara and said, "If you want him to die, then yes, take him home." Jesus is often as direct as this at points in the Gospel stories. But he always had compassion, or at least the writers of the Gospel wanted us to think he had compassion and would follow up his harsh direct statements with compassionate actions. This doctor had no empathy in that moment and was singularly focused on getting Eliot the medical help he needed.
I say all this, because it's important to understand that when we speak to people who are in pain, or are spoken to when we are in pain, we should be aware of what it is that is needed, most often it's not fake comfort, or hollow words, it is our bodies, our touch, our presence that is needed.
The night Eliot was diagnosed I had a soccer game. After a brief conversation with Sara, I went to my game, arrived, and told everyone about Eliot. The ref had to come and yell at us to get ready so as to keep the scheduled games on time. The guys all surrounded me and gave me hugs, and words of support and encouragement. Saying that if I needed anyting, to let them know.
Contrast that to the first Bishop's Committee meeting at Gethsemane I held after Eliot's diagnosis, this was just a day or two later, so it was not widely known. When I shared what had happened, the entire committee remained seated and silent. I never really asked what was the reason, maybe everyone was shocked, too shocked to say or do anything. Maybe they were angry, at me, at God, I don't know. But we sat there in silence until I started up the meeting, breaking the awkward silence with something like: "So yeah, let's move on to the Treasurer's Report.
Which experience left me feeling the most supported? Which experience was incarnational? The Church is filled with good intentioned yet structured people who have to follow rules and systems that are in place. We have arrived, in my mind, where we must work hard to not let our dogmatic structures dictate how we allow the incarnation to be seen in the world around us. How do we work to become the language of God?
"The language of God is human beings."
When we have pain, struggle and strife in our lives, it is people who show up to care for us. It is people who try to support us and share their empathy. This is a very incarnational expression of faith and understanding that I think I find to be core to my own ministry.
Last week, we listened and we listened and we listened as Chip read the miles long Gospel story of Lazarus being raised. But it is important to note that when Jesus heard Lazarus had died, Jesus went directly to be with Martha and Mary. He showed, in his actions, what it was to be part of the language of God. In his approach he was chastised and told that had be been there, Lazarus would not have died.
This sentiment is a sentiment we have all heard in one context or another. I heard it when Eliot was 2 years old and had been diagnosed with Leukemia. It's odd, but I often equate, in my mind, Jesus' appearance to Martha and Mary in the same way the doctor who diagnosed Eliot first treated Eliot's mom. Sara, knowing how close we were to Christmas, and how busy the life of a priest gets at that time, asked the doctor if we could return in a couple weeks and admit Eliot to get looked at.
She must've thought that this was just a simple infection, or something that some pills or medications could hold at bay while we got through Christmas. (I haven't talked to Sara about these experiences in years, so I have forgotten what she might have said back then). Anyway, I think most of us would have thought the same way, it was an inconvenience we could put off until another day.
The doctor looked at Sara and said, "If you want him to die, then yes, take him home." Jesus is often as direct as this at points in the Gospel stories. But he always had compassion, or at least the writers of the Gospel wanted us to think he had compassion and would follow up his harsh direct statements with compassionate actions. This doctor had no empathy in that moment and was singularly focused on getting Eliot the medical help he needed.
I say all this, because it's important to understand that when we speak to people who are in pain, or are spoken to when we are in pain, we should be aware of what it is that is needed, most often it's not fake comfort, or hollow words, it is our bodies, our touch, our presence that is needed.
The night Eliot was diagnosed I had a soccer game. After a brief conversation with Sara, I went to my game, arrived, and told everyone about Eliot. The ref had to come and yell at us to get ready so as to keep the scheduled games on time. The guys all surrounded me and gave me hugs, and words of support and encouragement. Saying that if I needed anyting, to let them know.
Contrast that to the first Bishop's Committee meeting at Gethsemane I held after Eliot's diagnosis, this was just a day or two later, so it was not widely known. When I shared what had happened, the entire committee remained seated and silent. I never really asked what was the reason, maybe everyone was shocked, too shocked to say or do anything. Maybe they were angry, at me, at God, I don't know. But we sat there in silence until I started up the meeting, breaking the awkward silence with something like: "So yeah, let's move on to the Treasurer's Report.
Which experience left me feeling the most supported? Which experience was incarnational? The Church is filled with good intentioned yet structured people who have to follow rules and systems that are in place. We have arrived, in my mind, where we must work hard to not let our dogmatic structures dictate how we allow the incarnation to be seen in the world around us. How do we work to become the language of God?
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