i am in a year of service program with faith as one of the tenants. i am teaching theology. and never have i felt more unsure of what it means to talk about god. or if god is even a "who" or a "what." or if god even is.
this is scary. and sometimes sad. i think i am grieving the loss of the security i once knew in my faith.
so, when i attended a reflection on the stations of the cross, led by some other community members, i found myself becoming angry and sad. one source of these emotions was the sheer sorrow of the stories my community members were telling: jesus is stripped of his garments in the young man who refuses to go to school because he was shot at the day before. jesus falls the first time in the young woman who weeps as she discovers she is unexpectedly pregnant with no resources for this new life. jesus meets falls a second time in a man suffering from severe physical disabilities and grappling with a language barrier, trying to file for social services to assist him. jesus is nailed to the cross in ms. shirley, a wheelchair-bound woman experiencing homelessness, passed by daily by thousands in downtown chicago. the other source of this anger and sorrow was the realization that theologically, there was more i disagreed with or questioned in what my community members were saying than there was that i agreed with. i was not angry with them. i was just angry and sad. so i wrote "god," who/whatever that is, a short note of frustration, and then i let it go and focused back on what i was hearing.
then i was able to hear redeeming part of this evening of reflection. it came in the common theme that was woven throughout all the stories.
presence and accompaniment.
most of the stations deal with minute details: a small conversation, a gesture of kindness, a gift of a helping hand, small acts of persistence.
in reflecting on last night's events in connection with this week's theme, the good news of good speech, i propose the following:
-what if the good news of good speech is actually all about silence and presence?
-good words have meant nothing to me if the speaker isn't someone i first trust with silence and presence
- perhaps i am just afraid good speech will elude me when i need it most, so i feel safer offering presence and silence
- maybe the core words of good speech are, "you are not alone," and that is enough
Your last line reminds me of a short chapter in Dear Layla, "Two of the Most Welcome Words":
ReplyDeleteThe young activist was beside himself
But he had the temporary smarts
To seek out Henry
Saturated with guilt
He unburdened himself
And was crying after a few minutes—
All he hadn’t done since he returned from the West Bank
All the emails and phone calls and texts not returned
All the hopelessness that pounded his intestines
Beholding him
Henry responded
“You, too?”
When I was reading Dear Layla, I noted this chapter with deep attention and resonance. I have been where the young activist was, and where Henry was too.
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