A Tenderness Recalled

It’s funny the things that I end up missing the most.
It’s funny how there’s really no way to describe those memories.
A scent, a movement, a look in her eyes. That feeling of unveiled joy, of intimacy, of knowing and being known.
A gentle caress, a luxurious resting, an embrace shared in the first waking moments when the sheets are warm and the air is cool. Half awake but mostly sleeping, a subtle shift of her shoulders and hips bringing me closer to her.
There are no words for such moments. There was a childlikeness, an innocence, an uninhibited playfulness at those times. A complete loss of self-consciousness, only the awareness of loving and being loved.
The moments of tenderness are the moments I have come to treasure more than the moments of passion.

Life Abundant

He says, “God is good!” but what I think he means is that God helps those who help themselves. I don't know how much he realizes that he has blurred the line between the two.
It's as if he is playing a game so I play along:
“God is good!”
“Yes, he is.”
Only I know it's a game. The problem is that I think he's played the game for so long that he's lost track of the deception. The illusion has become increasingly concrete. The game has become his reality.
And I really don't know how to tell him that. Or even show him that. Really, I don't think it's possible for me to. It was a passing meeting and I don't think our paths will cross again. So I respond affirmatively but, in the end, I mean something completely different.

…there your heart will be also.

“'He pled the cause of the afflicted and needy; then it was well. Is not that what it means to know me?' Declares the LORD. 'But your eyes and your heart are intent only upon your own dishonest gain, and on shedding innocent blood and on practicing oppression and extortion.'”
Jeremiah 22.16f
How do you teach middle and upper class Christians that journeying with people who are suffering, journeying with the poor and oppressed, the abused and abandoned, is at the heart of following Jesus?
They say that they have harmed no one in getting wealth, in fact they are defined by integrity. I say they haven't realized the depth of corruption that exists in our society.
I try to tell them that God aligns himself with the oppressed, that God sides with the poor (and as a result often sides against the rich), and if we are pursuing godliness we need to do the same, and they walk away offended. Too selfish(?) to admit that following Jesus means carrying a cross, too scared(?) to admit that carrying a cross is actually tangible suffering and not just flowery rhetoric.
This, after all, isn't what they've grown up hearing in church. So I try and tell them the stats, the overwhelming amount of passages in the Bible that speak of wealth and poverty, and of God siding with the oppressed but they don't believe me. I quote specific passages and they quickly try to rationalize and spiritualize what is a concrete call.
They tell me rich people need Jesus too, and I tell them that maybe the rich will start finding Jesus if they started giving up their riches. They tell me there needs to be people to share Jesus with rich people and I tell them that we should then be telling the rich that they're only fooling themselves into thinking they're following Jesus if they're still accumulating wealth.
I try to remind them that we're talking about relationships, we're talking about journeying with people who are suffering, but they can't get passed their relationships with their possessions.
I remember Jesus saying it's harder for a rich man to get into the kingdom than it is for a camel to go through the eye of the needle. They talk about how the eye of the needle was a gate in Jerusalem that was very small. I tell them that for a camel to get through the gate it had to dump it's pack and crawl through on it's knees. They say, yeah, but it got through right? And I say, start loving people more (or for the first time) and loving your stuff less.
They say, yeah, but look at what I give to the poor. And I say maybe you should focus less on what you're giving to the poor and more on how much you're taking from them. If you steal 100% and then give back 10% I'm not gonna call you a hero.
They say, Jesus is talking about where our heart is, do we own our things or do our things own us? I say Jesus says that where our treasure is there our heart lies also – and let's not fool ourselves into thinking otherwise. They say Jesus is just emphasizing he should be number one in our lives. I say that Jesus is saying don't start following me unless you've realized that there is a tremendous cost. He's not number one, he's the only one.
I try to tell them, start loving people who are suffering, and they walk away reassuring themselves that it's okay to be affluent. They admit that there are dangers to wealth, but they're up to the challenge… and before they know it, they've forgetten the suffering and the poor once again.

In Memory of Her

I saw Trinity one last time before I left the city.
“My pimp’s in jail, eh.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Yeah, another girl ran away again and this time when he caught her he cut off all her toes. He’s been put away for six years.”
“So you’re free from him?”
“Yeah, I’m working for the corporation now. Gone high-track. There’s a dress code.”
The only thing Trinity took from the clothing room was a beige jacket, I think it was actually made by Ralph Lauren or some big-name designer. It was a nice jacket. She left with it over her arm. I offered her another shirt and some nice shoes but she wouldn’t take them.
“You mean something less slutty?”
“No,” I really wasn’t saying that, “I was just thinking that it will be getting colder later tonight… At least take the shoes. Your feet look like they’re killing you.”
Trinity had come in wearing a bandanna as a top, a pair of stained white pants that looked painted on, and some pink high-heels that had sequin flowers on the strap. Her body was spilling out everywhere. Her hips, her breasts, her stomach, her calves. All this and more could be yours for the low, low price of… I spent a lot of time looking at those pink high-heels.
“No, I’ve got to wear these shoes, they’re part of the dress code.”
She kept up a constant dialogue while she was looking through the clothing room. Talking about finally being free of her pimp and admiring the clothes that are cute. Just briefly, and more to herself than to me she makes a comment, just one remark and then she’s off admiring another shirt.
“You know it’s not like I enjoy doing this. It’s not like I want to be this person.”
She’s still a slave. This time for a richer man who offers a better reward for a job well done. But chances are that his teeth are bigger. Low-track pimps are thugs, men who beat their girls with pipes, and put out cigarettes on their thighs… but they need to money every girl makes. High-track pimps are more organized. Not so desperate to take a girl back – more willing to make her disappear completely. That way the other girls are less likely to run away in the first place.
As we were walking back down the hall together we ran into a group of church leaders who were meeting with the shelter’s chaplain. I was slightly embarrassed. I had hesitated to take Trinity to the clothing room with me – it doesn’t look good to be alone on the second floor with an attractive (and hardly clothed) sex trader worker. Still, I figured it would be better than leaving her waiting at the front-desk where a constant stream of guys would be coming to look her up and down. Nobody tries to hide the fact that they’re checking her out and licking their chops… after all it’s not like she’s hiding much from their view.
As we passed the church group one of the men looked at her, then looked at me and gave me a wink and a knowing smile. I wanted to punch him in the teeth.

Exile Revisited

For a long time I've been struggling with the idea of exile – convinced that the corporate church in North America is in exile yet wondering if all genuine members of the people of God are also in exile. Can I possess the eschatological spirit and yet still be in exile? I thought of people like Joshua and Caleb who journeyed in the wilderness with a body of people rejected by God, I thought about Daniel, Shadrach and the gang, and wondered, is there a sense in which even the remnant is in exile?
There is a tragic moment in Ezekiel when the prophet watches the Shekinah depart from the temple. At that moment the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple is assured. Yet there is also the idea that God's Shekinah departs to go into exile with her people. So I wondered, is there a sense in which I am in exile yet God is suffering in exile with me? Is there a sense in which I can possess the Spirit of Jesus, interceding on my behalf as I am in exile?
I thought that the answer to those questions was yes. But now I'm coming to another conclusion.
If my body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, if I do possess the spirit of the eschaton, if I am Jesus to the world that I live in, then I cannot be in exile. Rather I am the Shekinah of God that journeys with a people who are still in exile. Therefore, I am no more in exile than Jesus was. Jesus journeyed with a people in exile yet he never was in exile. Rather he embodied the in-breaking kingdom. Even if he suffered some of the consequences of the people in exile he was not in exile. Rather he suffered those consequences to bring the people out of exile. Therefore, I am not in exile with God suffering alongside of me. Rather I embody the Spirit of God who journeys with a people in exile, sharing in their sufferings in order to bring them out.

Oppressive Potential

Her: “I'm fucked-up.”
Him: “No you're not.”
Her: “I've been shattered.”
Him: “No, you're whole.”
Her: “I'm ugly.”
Him: “No, you're beautiful.”
Her: “I'm damaged goods, I'm worthless.”
Him: “No, you're precious.”
Her: “I'm fucked-up.”
Him: “No you're not.”
Her: “Yes I am.”
Him: “No you're not.”
Her: “Yes I am.
Him: “Okay… jeez… relax. What's your problem, anyway?”
You see, here's the thing. Loving people means allowing them to be fucked-up. That's why so often it is better to listen than it is to offer solutions. Even when people cry out for help, even when you're sure you have all the answers. Job's friends had all the answers and look what they did to him. The only time the demonstrated their wisdom was at the very beginning when they sat in silence with him. Once they started offering solutions everything goes downhill and Job's sufferings are made worse. You see, a person who has been shattered is only sure of one thing – that she is shattered. To say that they're not, means nothing to them and only leads them to conclude that you don't understand. It's what Rick Tobias calls “oppressive potential.” By always seeing what person can be, we never end up meeting them where they are. Instead of offering answers we need to be offering love. That conversation should run more like this:
Her: “I'm fucked-up.”
Him: “I love you.”
Her: “I've been shattered.”
Him: “I love you.”
Her: “I'm ugly.”
Him: “I love you.”
Her: “I'm damaged goods, I'm worthless.”
Him: “I love you.”
Her: “I'm fucked-up.”
Him: “I love you.”
Although she may be sure that she is shattered this love thing may be something new. It may start her thinking, “What is he talking about?” She may be sure of her brokenness, and worthlessness no matter how many times you tell her otherwise, but as you journey in love relationship with her, she will begin to realize, “Hold on a minute… this love thing is something that makes me whole. It's something that makes me beautiful and precious. It's something that makes me not fucked-up!”
Of course the genders could be just as easily reversed. I don't want to suggest that women are always the “victims” and men are always saving them (the idea that men must always save women is one that, ultimately, only further victimizes women).

Love

Here's the difference between the way in which Christians today define love and the way in which Jesus defined it not that long ago.
Love is in these days. Everybody talks about love, it seems like we are all in agreement that we just need to be more loving. Not that we're doing too bad of a job of it… we'd all like to believe we're pretty caring people. Even more interesting to those who pay a little closer attention, is the fact that Christians and those of other faiths seem to be talking about the same thing when they talk about love. It seems that love is demonstrated in a willingness to sacrifice should the need arise. It is a willingness to give to those who cross our paths. Walking down Queen Street I demonstrate love by stopping to buy lunch for the squeegie kids. Heck, I love my family so much that, should the need arise, I would even die for them., If someone were to fire a gun, I'd jump into the line of fire – that sort of thing.
Unfortunately for us Christians I think Jesus is talking about something very different when he spoke about love. This isn't lost on the authors of the New Testament. In “Romans” 5 Paul says this:
“But God demonstrates his own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”
A little later John writes in “1 John” 3:
We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us; and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren. But whoever has the world's goods, and sees his brother in need and closes his heart against him, how does the love of God abide in him? Little children, let us not love with word or with tongue, but in deed and truth.”
The words sound familiar, the examples equally so, but something radically different is going on here. We have defined love by the willingness to make sacrifices as we cross paths with those in need. Yet this is not love as God has modeled it to us. It is not simply that humanity (and the rest of creation) was headed in one direction, God in another, our paths crossed, Jesus died, and we both keep going our separate ways. No. Fallen humanity was journeying away from God. Yet God demonstrated his love by deliberately placing himself in our path. God went and sought us out.
And that's where the difference lies. As Christians we are not called to give as the need arises. We are called to go out and discover that need – not simply address it as we stumble upon it. That's why we are called to lay down our lives. It is in our living that we pay the price. It is about living a sacrificial life, not simply dying a sacrificial death. The question is no longer, “What are you giving?” but rather, “What are you holding back?” Then the language Jesus used, the language about crosses, about sacrifice, about suffering, starts making sense in hard and practical ways. It's not simply flowery rhetoric, it's the cost of discipleship.
When Jesus tells the famous story of the “Good Samaritan” he concludes by asking, “Who was the neighbor of the robbed man?” The man who was questioning him (remember this takes place in context of the command to “love your neighbor as you love yourself”) responds by saying, “The one who showed mercy.” Jesus then says, “You have answered correctly. Go and do likewise.” Love is demonstrated by placing ourselves in the paths of those who have suffered, love is demonstrated in seeking out the wounded – not just waiting until we stumble upon them (which we hardly do. Mostly because we are untrustworthy and unsafe and so those around us never share their stories with us).

Her

Her body’s like a prison
that’s locked-up from the inside,
but always open to those
outside.
They choose to come, and then go –
but she still has no way out.
It’s a partner that she can
hardly recognize. Although
strangers never cease to look
at her,
as if they somehow know her –
like it`s inevitable.
Like they see the things she hides
from the image she reflects.
Like hot water over glass,
Or wind
that moves over still water –
Only the heat is stifling.
And the wind is biting.

Stigmata

In the crypt beneath Sacre Coeur there is a tiny chapel called, “The Chapel of Holy Piety”. Compared to the church above it’s exceedingly barren, a simple alter, one white marble sculpture of the Madonna holding the dead Christ, a few relics, two tombs with sculptures of archbishops, and, off to the side, a black onyx sculpture of Jesus. Jesus is laying on his back. He is dead, his body has yet to be cleaned, there is blood lingering around his wounds but his heart has stopped beating, his chest has stopped rising and falling, no breath escapes from his lips.
I was alone in that chapel for close to an hour. I spent a lot of time meditating on the sculpture. Sacre Coeur was a time of close communion, an intimate encounter with God.
I’ve never really told anybody but as I was praying and weeping and singing during my meditations one of the things I found myself praying for was that I, on my body, could bear the wounds of Christ. It was a strange prayer, I felt a little bit weird praying it, I’ve felt even more weird by the idea of telling anybody, but I prayed it nonetheless. There was something going on…
Anyway here I am six months later in Muskoka Ontario and I get into a conversation with a friend about what it means to journey with people who are suffering. What it means to take up a cross, what it means to grieve with those who grieve. As we are talking I also mention some of the dreams I’ve been having recently. She says she’s never had dreams like that. That night she dreamed this dream:
Her and I were walking into a party together. It was a mixed crowd, a large party, and there were people there we knew, and people we didn’t know. As we moved through the crowd I approached a girl sitting off to the side. Almost in slow-motion I reached out and touched this girl’s face.
“You have a cut here,” I said to her. Then I touched my own face. “I have the same cut on my face.”
Then in slow-motion I touched the girl’s back, touched a series of scars, of cuts, of marks all over her body and every mark she had on her body I had on mine.
The party progressed and I disappeared into the crowd. My friend found herself in a bedroom with the girl with the cut on her face. The girl was crying and asking my friend where she could find me.
“I don’t know, he comes and goes,” she said.
The girl was crying, and my friend was unsure what to say.
As she woke-up a voice in her head repeated, over and over again, “suffer with me. Suffer with me. Suffer with me.”
That was her dream. As I was thinking about it the other day I realized something. It is by entering into the suffering of the oppressed, the wounded, the abandoned that we begin to carry the wounds of Christ on our bodies. Just as Christ bore our griefs, carried our sorrows, was pierced for our transgressions and crushed for our iniquity, so we now carry the wounds, griefs, sorrows, transgressions, and iniquities of those around us. This is how we fulfill our vocation as the suffering servant. Yet, our wounds, like Christ’s, are redemptive. We are chastened for their well-being and by our scourging they are healed.