Sunday, March 18, 2012

God of Day and God of Darkness

For perhaps thousands of years, humans have struggled with the duality of light and darkness. Light has almost always been regarded more favorably then darkness and has been most closely associated with divinity. Darkness, on the other hand, has been associated with evil and even Satan (a.k.a., the "Prince of Darkness"). In many cultures, light skinned persons have been regarded more favorably than darker skinned ones. The false dichotomy of light versus dark seems to be deeply etched into the human psyche and is very difficult to uproot unless one is consciously aware of this ingrained and cultural bias. 


The dichotomy between darkness and light figures very prominently in the Gospel of John. The Gospel writer uses the one (darkness) to serve as a foil for the other (light). Darkness very often symbolizes faithlessness or the "demonic" powers that are allied against Christ and his mission. However, there is at least one instance in the Gospel of John where the interplay of light and darkness and the integral relationship between the two actually serve as the foundation for a profound faith experience. The healing of the Man Born Blind (John 9:1-41) is precisely this instance of a far more nuanced, subtle, and complex interplay of light and dark. While darkness in John is usually a symbol of a lack of faith in God or, even, opposition to God's plan as it unfolds in Christ, in the story of the Man Born Blind, darkness in the literal sense provides the "horizon" or "backdrop" for the man to experience the light of Christ and to then proclaim him boldly before the harsh criticism of the religious leaders. It was no doubt the condition of darkness, ironically enough, that prepared the Man to be able to perceive the light of Christ's saving power. It would seem as though the darkness that enshrouded the man was akin to a chrysalis that formed and shaped his faith in such a way that when Jesus drew near he was able to be drawn out from his dark cocoon like a butterfly coaxed from it's shell by the warmth of spring. Far from being something menacing, darkness in this instance of John's Gospel is like a cocoon that played it's part in the Man Born Blind eventually spreading his wings and soaring in faith. 


What the story of the Healing of the Man Born Blind conveys, at a deeper level I believe, is that the God of Jesus Christ is both the God of day and the God of darkness. There is no place in our lives or world, no matter how dark or dank, where God doesn't deign to encounter us, mostly unobtrusively, to bring light, life, and love. However, we must allow ourselves to encounter God precisely there: in the darkness of insecurity, inferiority, injustice, oppression, difficulty, pain, doubt, and, yes, even, despair. When we allow ourselves to "go" to those places in our lives and larger world, the darkness we find ourselves at times overwhelmed by is precisely where we will eventually encounter the Christ who came into the world that, "those who do not see might see." (John 9:41). 

Monday, February 13, 2012

Mark 1:41: Moved With Compassion

In the Gospel from Mark for the Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Jesus is approached by a leper who is seeking his healing touch. The Gospel tells us that Jesus was "moved with pity" in response to the leper's request for healing. The word, "pity", doesn't really come close to approximating what the Gospel writer originally intended to convey about Jesus' emotional reaction. The Greek word that describes Jesus' reaction is splagchnizomai, which can be interpreted as, compassion. The word compassion means a deep sympathy for the suffering of another along with the desire to alleviate it.


If we compare the words "pity" and "compassion" as they are used in our culture, the difference between the two words becomes even more apparent. To pity a person implies not merely a sensitivity to the plight of another but a corresponding awareness of being in a position that is less pitiable. In other words, to pity another is, in a sense, to look down upon them or their situation from a better place. No matter how good the intentions of the one who feels pity, it speaks to an attitude or orientation that is fundamentally condescending. Let's contrast this with the attitude of compassion. Compassion, as a "deep sympathy" implies being "with" another in their sorrow, suffering, or, pitiable situation. Compassion is an orientation of solidarity in the sense that it recognizes in the other a struggle, suffering, and, even, a misery that is part and parcel of the human condition. Far from being condescending, the emotion, attitude, and virtue of compassion means "descending" to be with another in all that they are experiencing and being for another in seeking to alleviate the source of their misery.


What made the suffering and misery of the leper so acute and unbearable was undoubtedly the isolation and loneliness that dogged him like his own shadow. Fewer things make suffering and misery worse than the experience of being isolated, alone, and cut-off from others. This is as much the case with those who suffer now as it was in Jesus' time. The healing touch that Christ extended to the leper wasn't from above him, but was from beside him. True to his mission and mandate from God and the Holy Spirit, in healing the leper (and countless others), Jesus bears witness to the fact that he came to be the very compassion of God, to be with us and to be for us. Yet to allow God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit to be a source of healing compassion and solidarity, we must likewise "descend" to those forelorn, broken, and, even, miserable places within our lives and in the lives of others. In so doing, we will experience that, far from being alone, we have never known such intimacy, connection, communion, and, ultimately, healing.