Still backtracking ... see Boylston Street Letter #9.
The week of April 9-13, 2007
What do the resurrection stories mean to the homeless? To you? To me? What do they do to us?
On Friday at my Bible study group discussed the resurrection appearances in John 20:19-31 and drew upon related texts in Chapters 20 and 21. At one juncture we were exploring the differences between the appearance to Mary Magdalene and the appearance to Thomas. Jesus tells Mary, “Do not hold on to me,” which to me does not exclude a physical holding or clinging to the body of Jesus, though this interpretation has gone out of fashion (the Latin “Noli me tangere” has a strong “hold” on me). On the other hand, Jesus says to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Why does Jesus invite Thomas to do what he forbids Mary to do, encountering his risen body? Does Jesus want us to touch the wounds or not? Questions, I had a few….
Do you remember the guest I previously dubbed the “Scripture savant”? The one who tends to monopolize the discussion when he comes to Bible study? Well, he was there Friday, and he had more than a few ideas he wanted to share. Thomas exclaims “My Lord and my God!” but, as our guest noted, there is no evidence that he actually takes up Jesus’ invitation. Seeking to harmonize these appearance stories, he commented that Jesus really didn’t want us to touch the wounds, and he invited Thomas to touch the wounds knowing that Thomas wouldn’t really do it. And then he added that Jesus knew touching those wounds would traumatize Thomas too much. Wow!
I replied that Jesus Christ really does want us to touch the wounds. Perhaps at the appearance to Mary Magdalene, because Christ had not yet ascended to the Father and given the Spirit, it was not yet time to touch the wounds. But by the time of the appearance to Thomas, Jesus had already breathed on the disciples and told them to receive the Holy Spirit, and so he could challenge Thomas to touch the wounds. I said that maybe Jesus’ challenge to Thomas is a challenge to all of us—it is traumatizing to have a real encounter with the broken, wounded body of Christ, but we are asked to “touch” it, anyway. Still, why would Jesus have us “put our finger here” and “reach out our hand” when that’s so risky, so dangerous? Isn’t God violated? Aren’t we violated? Is trauma an inevitable symptom of the divine-human encounter? Do we receive the Spirit before we touch the wounds, as we touch the wounds, after we touch the wounds? This hour of Bible study stirred lots of questions, few answers, and no certainties.
I shared these reflections with Professor Rambo, who has made trauma theory her specialty as she develops a pneumatology around the Johannine gospel and the experience of Holy Saturday. She wrote: “Perhaps in touching the wounds, Thomas is reoriented to his own woundedness. Perhaps in seeing the wounds, we are confronted with our own humanity (in all of its complexities) and, in turn, to see the woundedness of life and see the promise of life/love emerging from practices of witnessing to woundedness….
“It has always been interesting to me that the scars of the cross remain. It is a mark of our woundedness, but it is not an open wound. It does not threaten; instead, it reminds. What about thinking of the wounds as both a reminder of the death and the promise of life emerging from it … when Thomas touches, perhaps he is witnessing to the first movement of the Holy Spirit, in the touching of wounded flesh….”
She also cited a Johannine commentary by Hans Urs von Balthasar in which he asks us to enter the wound of Christ, to touch his heart, by which we “touch the pulse of God’s purpose for creation—to love.” Christ invites us to touch the wounds of his body so that we may love! I am reminded now of something else the Scripture savant said. To touch the body of Christ is an overpowering experience—even the briefest brush with it could be devastating. But in this contact with the divine wounds we are restored, not destroyed; empowered to believe, not to doubt; freed to live, not doomed to die.
I am counting on the resurrection power these days in ways I never did before. By it I seek forgiveness and wholeness; through it I expect to see the world transformed now, and not only in the future. I hope for greater things, and ardently I wish for others to be grasped by the promises of new life in the Spirit of God. I don’t think it is an accident that this turn in my faith and thought has come about while at the shelter, where I have come to know some very expectant men and women.
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Friday, August 3, 2007
Monday, March 12, 2007
Boylston Street Letter #5
Continuing backtracking ... see Boylston Street Letter #4.
The week of Feb. 12-16, 2007
The Moving Ahead Program celebrated the graduation of its 69th class on Friday, and I attended the ceremony at the Boston Center for Adult Education on 5 Commonwealth Ave. I walked there from the shelter with Mallory, the transgender student whom I was supposed to tutor that afternoon. We decided it would be a better use of our time to cheer on the men and women who were stepping out of the shadows of shame, disenfranchisement, and hopelessness into new lives.
As usual, the testimonies from the graduates were moving and steeped in gratitude. Several staff members and current MAP students paid tribute to these persevering graduates, and even Mallory stepped forward to give thanks for their example. A small but sumptuously catered reception followed, the kind of banquet that Jesus saw fit to use as a metaphor for the reign of God in heaven and earth.
Here, at these graduations, you see hope fulfilled. However, I felt strangely detached from the proceedings. Maybe it’s because I work at the periphery of this program and have not been touched by these children of God. Maybe it’s because I was thinking about school, my classes, and my love life. Maybe it’s because I felt sleepy.
Maybe it’s because while these men and women are moving ahead, I’m also moving on.
First of all, I am eager to plan a course of study for a Ph.D. or Th.D. in theology. Second of all, the novelty of ministering to homeless persons passed a while ago; and, in recent days, so has the feeling of guilt for not doing enough to lighten the lives of the least of Jesus’ brothers and sisters. The welfare of the homeless and the heartbroken does not depend on me. I have allowed myself to “let go and let God.” However, sanguinity poses its own risks. If anything, I am concerned that the familiarity of the shelter will breed complacency and inattentive behavior. Already there are indications of obliviousness in my morning shift. Sometimes my nose is stuck in a newspaper while guests wait at the hospitality desk for their daily bread; sometimes I linger in the photo room, where we produce guest identification cards, to check e-mail. One more confession: While I was running an errand for the shelter last Monday morning, receiving and delivering a donation of soaps, shampoos, and moisturizers I had secured for the shower room and clothing distribution, I was thinking about how much of a relief it was not to have to staff the hospitality desk during the peak hour of craziness.
“Only, we were to be mindful of the poor, which is the very thing I was eager to do.” When this internship started, I could not think of any better way to use my time on Mondays and Fridays. Now I can think half a dozen things that are good and needful and that have little to do with the poor, at least those of St. Francis House. (I decided to take President’s Day off.) Is it God’s will leading mine, or merely my own will?
The week of Feb. 12-16, 2007
The Moving Ahead Program celebrated the graduation of its 69th class on Friday, and I attended the ceremony at the Boston Center for Adult Education on 5 Commonwealth Ave. I walked there from the shelter with Mallory, the transgender student whom I was supposed to tutor that afternoon. We decided it would be a better use of our time to cheer on the men and women who were stepping out of the shadows of shame, disenfranchisement, and hopelessness into new lives.
As usual, the testimonies from the graduates were moving and steeped in gratitude. Several staff members and current MAP students paid tribute to these persevering graduates, and even Mallory stepped forward to give thanks for their example. A small but sumptuously catered reception followed, the kind of banquet that Jesus saw fit to use as a metaphor for the reign of God in heaven and earth.
Here, at these graduations, you see hope fulfilled. However, I felt strangely detached from the proceedings. Maybe it’s because I work at the periphery of this program and have not been touched by these children of God. Maybe it’s because I was thinking about school, my classes, and my love life. Maybe it’s because I felt sleepy.
Maybe it’s because while these men and women are moving ahead, I’m also moving on.
First of all, I am eager to plan a course of study for a Ph.D. or Th.D. in theology. Second of all, the novelty of ministering to homeless persons passed a while ago; and, in recent days, so has the feeling of guilt for not doing enough to lighten the lives of the least of Jesus’ brothers and sisters. The welfare of the homeless and the heartbroken does not depend on me. I have allowed myself to “let go and let God.” However, sanguinity poses its own risks. If anything, I am concerned that the familiarity of the shelter will breed complacency and inattentive behavior. Already there are indications of obliviousness in my morning shift. Sometimes my nose is stuck in a newspaper while guests wait at the hospitality desk for their daily bread; sometimes I linger in the photo room, where we produce guest identification cards, to check e-mail. One more confession: While I was running an errand for the shelter last Monday morning, receiving and delivering a donation of soaps, shampoos, and moisturizers I had secured for the shower room and clothing distribution, I was thinking about how much of a relief it was not to have to staff the hospitality desk during the peak hour of craziness.
“Only, we were to be mindful of the poor, which is the very thing I was eager to do.” When this internship started, I could not think of any better way to use my time on Mondays and Fridays. Now I can think half a dozen things that are good and needful and that have little to do with the poor, at least those of St. Francis House. (I decided to take President’s Day off.) Is it God’s will leading mine, or merely my own will?
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