Blindness and Walking By Faith: Lessons from John 9:1-7

Today, T.D. Jakes preached a message from God to me.  It was about the blind man Jesus healed by making clay from spit and telling him to wash in the pool Siloam after the disciples asked whose sin caused his blindness:

John 9:1-9 (NASB) 

As He passed by, He saw a man blind from birth. And His disciples asked Him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he would be born blind?"  

Jesus answered, "It was neither that this man sinned, nor his parents; but it was so that the works of God might be displayed in him.  We must work the works of Him who sent Me as long as it is day; night is coming when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the Light of the world." 

When He had said this, He spat on the ground, and made clay of the spittle, and applied the clay to his eyes, and said to him, "Go, wash in the pool of Siloam"(which is translated, Sent). 

So he went away and washed, and came back seeing.

As usual, the Bishop made many excellent points.  I am only recording a few that speak to me in my moment...

1. Blindness was this man's particular weakness, allowed by God, that facilitated God's glory.  My strengths and weaknesses are increasingly public and difficult for me to handle.  But they facilitate God's glory--and my humility.   There is no fault; nothing wrong with me and no punishment I am suffering.  It is just my particular set of weaknesses that facilitate my utility.

2. The disciples viewed the man as a public display of the costs of sin.  For them, the man existed as a site for casting derision--derision that extended even to his family.  This despite the disciples deserving the same consequence (i.e. if blindness always results from sin--parental or otherwise--we should all be blind).  I should be careful that I can survive the measures/condemnations I use against others.

3. Jesus covered the man's eyes with clay, then told him to go to Siloam.  This is a picture of faith (and I would argue recreation).  The man is already blind, but now Jesus has heaped more "blinders/barriers" on him.  From the looks of it, his situation is made even more difficult after a genuine encounter with God.  The man must now publicly grope his way, doubly blind, through the city to where he was "Sent/Siloam."  I, too, must publicly grope my way through this particular phase of my life--one I have long feared and feel like my life has not prepared me for much at all.  ... but there is a promise....

4. The man washed in Siloam, where he was sent, and God gave him sight.  If I grope my way, understanding this a process of practicing and developing faith, I will also be healed--of fear, troubling circumstance, ignorance.  And, like the formerly blind man, I will come to know God better.

5. The process that dramatizes my weakness and results in healing glorifies God.

Free Writing On Impermanence

Free Writing on Impermanence

So I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately on things that are supposed to last. Specifically, I am reading an article by Tushnet (1992) about how particularities (e.g. narratives, stories) relate to general principles as inscribed in law. And I’m reading about how science is constructed (Harding ?). What brings these together for me is my recent spiritual development, one of the lessons of which is learning to embrace impermanence, including the impermanence of “truths.” As Buddha is supposed to have said, truths are like rafts that carry us across unsteady waters. Once one reaches the other side, it senseless to continue carrying the raft forever. Likewise, it is senseless to hold to the same truths forever.

I am struck by the robustness of this particular lesson. Physical science is built around the notion of debunking firmly held assumptions and presumed laws. The same is true of social science, although we social scientists are better at debunking than building. It is odd, however, that change and flexibility are also spiritual laws. I come from a Christian tradition that constantly highlights the permanent: "God is the same yesterday, today, and forever," He never changes; our souls are eternal; one cannot add to the Word of God, which is complete and unchanging; etc. But these pronouncements obscure biblical teachings of embracing life as transitory. We are familiar with verses telling us life is short (e.g. like a vapor). But we have learned to wrap those teachings in with our fetish for the permanent (life is short therefore only be concerned about your eternal destination).

But I think the Bible, like other spiritual authorities, encourages us to embrace transition and impermanence. This is true in Jesus’ encouragement to the disciples in Matthew 6:33-34. His encouragement to take no thought of tomorrow reflects awareness that tomorrow “has enough trouble of its own.” In other words, troubles are temporary. We often preach that troubles are temporary, but we don’t preach the implication: the tools necessary for confronting today’s troubles may not apply to tomorrow’s troubles. Life is not like math. One lesson does not necessarily build directly upon the other.

We see the same in Jesus discussion of the Hebrew Law. We tend to read the Sermon on the Mount (Matt. 5-7) as Jesus giving us the eternal truths underlying his apparent change in the interpretation of certain laws (e.g. You have read where it is written…but I tell you….). Pastors typically preach that Jesus’ interpretation is the one God always intended His people to receive and live by. In this way, Christians erase the notion that Jesus was introducing change. This is particularly odd given that Christians readily embrace the notion that Jesus changed our relationship to the Law generally. So on one hand, Jesus represents complete change (i.e. law as law for all God’s people to obey) and no change (i.e. Jesus as teacher of the law’s true meaning, eternal past and future).

But I digress. My point is that the Bible teaches transition and importance of letting go of “truths.” We can see this in the critical lesson of David eating the shewbread. Eating that bread was a capital offense, yet the priest, God, and Jesus all praise David for overlooking the law. David also entered the temple, despite having less than 10 generations of pure Jewish blood (his descent from Rehab meant that by law he could not legally enter the temple). But God overlooked the Law—before Jesus—and allowed David’s entry. The same is true of Jesus’ teaching about the Sabbath, that the Sabbath is created for man, not man for the Sabbath.

I think we have limited the teaching of the Sabbath too much. Indeed, there is nothing particular about Sabbath law. It is repeated, and thoroughly explained in the Hebrew Law and subsequent commentaries. It is one of the Ten Commandments. It claims to reflect, and be based in, the very creation process. The creation process, which grounds the argument of God’s legitimate rule over humanity (Romans 9). So, there can be no more central law than the law of the Sabbath, and yet, Jesus says it was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. In other words, the law is there to help humanity. If humans’ immediate good/needs and the law conflict, then change/overlook the law. Change the law, no matter how central it is to our theology because the heart of theology is God’s goodwill relationship with humanity.

So then, my point is that law and religious teaching and the truths we learn over the course of our lives should not be used as Procrustean Beds. Truths are not fixed and permanent things we have to stretch or contort ourselves into fitting. Truths are tools God gives us to aid us along the journey of humanity. We have to have wisdom. Wisdom tells us when a truth is a useful guide and when a truth becomes a prison.

Returning then, to the Buddha’s analogy…we must learn when to use acquired truths and when to discard them in favor of ad hoc or new judgments. Carrying a raft (i.e. a truth) after crossing the river would make the rest of the journey that much harder, if not impossible. Learning to abide by truths and also to discard them is a common spiritual lesson. It matches with the notion that life is about the paradox of constant change. Embracing that lesson is a perfectly Christian thing to do, despite contemporary hegemonic Christians’ resistance to postmodernism, denominations’ new rules about who can be ministers, and other issues.

On Salvation, Spirit, and Grace

I feel compelled to write a note on God's lessons to me about salvation and grace.  (As a side note that has no clear doctrinal connection to this post, Bishop T.D. Jakes preached a great word about dimensions of grace today.  He worked from the story of Hannah, Samuel's mother [I Samuel 2:18-21].  I recommend his lesson to everyone.)

In my quiet times and through years of trials and therapy, God revealed a lesson I have never before understood.  This is my note on it.  Please feel free to comment with additions/suggestions/reactions.  This is as much a recording of the lesson for my future relearning as it is the opening of a conversation.

The lessons are in the Gospel of Matthew:

And Jesus said to them, "Watch out and beware of the [fn]leaven of the Pharisees and Sadducees." .... "How is it that you do not understand that I did not speak to you concerning bread? But beware of the[fn]leaven of the Pharisees and Sadducees." Then they understood that He did not say to beware of the leaven of bread, but of the teaching of the Pharisees and Sadducees (Matthew 6:6,11-12).  

The Pharisees and Sadducees are the teachers of the Old Testament Law.  The Pharisees are the "people's priests," whose sensitivity to the average person and avowed doctrines (e.g. resurrection from the dead, belief in active angels) resonate most closely with our own.  The Sadducees are official priests who run the temple and control Jewish government during Jesus time.  Their privileged position influenced their doctrine (e.g. no resurrection) and promoted abusive temple policies.  As Paul's experience demonstrates, the two camps were enemies.  Nevertheless, Jesus groups them together as problematic because their commitment to focussing on law rather than spirit blinded people to the gospel.  Their kind of legalism is described as "leaven" because the effects of even a little yeast seep through and affect the entire loaf of bread.  In other words, even a little legalism corrupts the gospel of Jesus.

Having warned us about the wrong perspective about the Law and means for salvation, Jesus doubles down on the point:

Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, He was asking His disciples, "Who do people say that the Son of Man is?"  And they said, "Some say John the Baptist; and others, [fn]Elijah; but still others, [fn]Jeremiah, or one of the prophets."  He [!] said to them, "But who do you say that I am?"  Simon Peter answered, "You are [fn]the Christ, the Son of the living God."  And Jesus said to him, "Blessed are you, Simon[fn]Barjona, because flesh and blood did not reveal this to you, but My Father who is in heaven.  (Matthew 16:13-17)

Jesus's question highlights the failings of legal teaching on two levels.  First, the Pharisees and Sadducees are both factually wrong.  They fail to correctly identify the Messiah.  (They also fail to identify John the Baptist as the Elijah who was to precede the Messiah. [Matt. 17:10-13])  Of course, even from a traditional Jewish perspective, failing to identify the Messiah is a HUGE problem.  Second, and most central to the lesson Jesus is teaching, is that the correct answer--that Jesus is the Christ, i.e. the Son of the living God, the Anointed One--is revealed to the disciples by Spirit (i.e. through the Father who is in heaven) and not through legal teaching.  The two failings of the teachers of the law are connected.  Failure to learn through spiritual revelation produces incorrect doctrine--even to the point of missing the single most important thing in Jewish teaching, namely the coming Messiah.  The failing of law is total.

Jesus reinforces the point by immediately anointing Peter on the basis of spiritual revelation ("this is the rock upon which I will build my church" [Matthew 6:18]) and then immediately rebuking him when Peter falls back to traditional legal teaching about what the Messiah will do ("Get behind me Satan..." because Peter expects political revolution and rejects Jesus's predictions of his crucifixion [Matthew 6:22-23]).

Jesus again illustrates His points brilliantly through His transfiguration:

Six days later Jesus [!] took with Him Peter and[fn]James and John his brother, and [!] led them up on a high mountain by themselves.  And He was transfigured before them; and His face shone like the sun, and His garments became as white as light.  And behold, Moses and Elijah appeared to them, talking with Him.  Peter said to Jesus, "Lord, it is good for us to be here; if You wish, I will make three [fn]tabernacles here, one for You, and one for Moses, and one for Elijah."  While he was still speaking, a bright cloud overshadowed them, and behold, a voice out of the cloud said, "This is My beloved Son, with whom I am well-pleased; listen to Him!"  When the disciples heard this, they fell [fn]face down to the ground and were terrified.  And Jesus came to them and touched them and said,"Get up, and do not be afraid."  And lifting up their eyes, they saw no one except Jesus Himself alone.  (Matthew 17:1-8) 

Through His transfiguration, Jesus proves: 1) He is neither the Law (Moses) nor the Prophets (Elijah), but the Messiah.  Jesus description of Himself, revealed to the disciples spiritually though hidden from legal teachers, is factually correct; and 2) Reliance on teachings of the Law will mislead disciples.  Peter's reaction to the transfiguration, namely wanting to build a tabernacle in each figure's honor, is appropriate given the Mosaic tradition.  But, without shaming Peter's proposal of worship, God nullifies Peter's legal reasoning by ending the transfiguration and thereby eliminating the possibility of building a tabernacle.  This is because: 1) Mosaic Law and Prophetic teaching are foreshadows of the Messiah, not His equals; and 2) reliance on legal tradition, even for insight on how to worship in this instance, was not the mode Jesus wanted to teach.  Jesus was emphasizing spirit and belief, which the Father emphatically supported, "Listen to Him!"  That's why, Jesus immediately follows the transfiguration with teachings about faith the size of a mustard seed and faith that moves mountains (Matthew 17:20).  


And then Jesus gives us a beautiful and fundamentally transformative teaching about spirit and faith: 

When they came to Capernaum, those who collected the [fn]two-drachma tax came to Peter and said, "Does your teacher not pay the [fn]two-drachma tax?"  He [!] said, "Yes." And when he came into the house, Jesus spoke to him first, saying, "What do you think, Simon? From whom do the kings of the earth collect customs or poll-tax, from their sons or from strangers?"  When Peter said, "From strangers," Jesus said to him, "Then the sons are [fn]exempt.  "However, so that we do not [fn]offend them, go to the sea and throw in a hook, and take the first fish that comes up; and when you open its mouth, you will find [fn]a shekel. Take that and give it to them for you and Me."  (Matthew 17:24-27)

"Those who collect the two-drachma tax" are empowered by the Sadducees and are connected to temple worship.  The tax was a traditional sacrifice for entering the temple for festivals, holidays, and regular worship.  Peter--still not completely understanding Jesus's spiritual, rather than legal, emphasis--is slightly intimidated by the temple officials asking him if Jesus is an irreverent Jew, breaking the Law by not paying the tax.  Peter insists that Jesus follows the law and pays the temple tax.  


Because Peter does not recognize the spirit versus law conflict into which he has waded, he does not feel compelled to bring the question to the Christ.  Jesus has to initiate the lesson.  Jesus asks, "From whom do the kings of the earth collect customs or poll-tax, from their sons or from strangers?"  And receiving the obvious answer, Jesus gives the point, "Then the sons are exempt."  In other words, Jesus is saying that our judgement and behavior should no longer be determined by law but by our relationship to God.  Just as earthly children receive grace-based, not law-based, treatment from their parents, so we as God's spiritual children receive grace-based, non-legal treatment from God.  Jesus is saying to Peter and us, if we understand our relationship to God, then the questions and teachings of law-based folk are revealed to be obviously silly and irrelevant.  The law exists, yes.  It teaches a way to approach God.  But it's crazy to think God's children would be subject to law!  We approach through grace and love, just like earthly children do.  


Then Jesus teaches Peter and us a more excellent way.  Jesus is not interested in causing debates or fights with the teachers of the law, but He is also not going to insult His relationship with God by acting as though He is bound by legalism.  Therefore, Jesus instructs Peter to miraculously get a coin out of a fish's mouth and pay the tax with that.  The miracle of the fish containing a coin shows that God the Father confirms Jesus's teaching and the special relationship we have as sons and daughters.  And here's the part I like most, Jesus specifies that the fish will contain enough payment "for you and Me!"  Hallelujah!!!  Jesus is making clear to us that the lesson is about spirit, not law.  Jesus does not claim exemption based on his sinlessness (i.e. being law abiding), but rather He says that we all can approach God without law because of our status as His children!  And all of this is confirmed by the fact that Jesus issues this teaching and calls Peter to abide by it before He has died and paid the blood penalty for our sins (which would have classified us all as exempt based on conferred sinlessness).  The relationship with God was granted to Peter through spirit and faith, just like Abraham was justified through faith.  God is consistent and beyond generous!  [Cue the organ!  Do your praise dance!]  


And so that we don't miss the point, Jesus doubles down again with the ultimate demonstration: 

At that [fn]time the disciples came to Jesus and said, "Who then is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?"  And He called a child to Himself and set him[fn]before them, and said, "Truly I say to you, unless you [fn]are converted and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.  "Whoever then humbles himself as this child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.  "And whoever receives one such child in My name receives Me.... (Matthew 18:1-5)

The disciples now understand that Jesus is offering a totally new paradigm from the Law teachings they grew up with, but they don't know how the new paradigm of salvation works.  So they ask an old paradigm-based question to explore the dimensions of the new paradigm of spirit and grace, "Who then is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?"  Jesus capitalizes on the moment to reemphasize that spirit and faith are all that matter.  He does this by using a literal child as an illustration and says, "...unless you are converted and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven...."  The key here is that children are intellectually incapable of understanding and affirming doctrine.  If Peter, the disciples, and people generally were saved through law or doctrinal affirmation--even the affirmation that Jesus is Messiah as made by Peter in Matt. 16:16--then Jesus would have had to use an adult who had correctly identified Him as Christ for the illustration.  But the entire illustration hinges on being "converted and becom[ing] like children" and thus leaving the adult world of affirmations and doctrinal analysis.  Instead we are to take on the characteristics of children, namely the spirit-based wild-eyed character of faith and belief, that is universal to children.  As children, we are perfectly capable of believing the wildest things (e.g. Santa Claus) without the slightest hesitation or doubt.  Children are perfectly trusting (though they often have spiritual discernment about evil people).  Children are completely disinterested in doctrinal debates.  God has unfettered access to their minds and hearts.  That is the character God calls us to adopt as adults.  It is not easy, especially in a culture like ours (deriving from the Greek influence Jesus also lived under).  It requires humility and getting comfortable with uncertainty.  But it is the only way God--whose ways "are beyond our ways," whose "judgments are beyond searching out [and whose ways are] unfathomable!" (Romans 11:33)--can reveal to us the things of His Spirit.  God's thoughts and ways are "beyond searching out" and "unfathomable."  In other words, there is no amount of studying or teaching or listening or church or Bible study or even imagination that can reveal to us the ways and insights of God.  We can only begin by emptying ourselves, becoming like little children again, and letting Him introduce us to supernatural Christ-ness.  


Oh My God!  For an intellectual like me, this is a tremendously difficult teaching.  But praise God!  I'm looking forward to trying to live it out.  I can't wait for all the things God will show me and the things God will do.  I will be meditating regularly in an effort to release the old wineskins of traditionalism and legalism in favor of the new wineskin of spirit and Christ-ness.  I am as clueless as anyone else on what to do or how to do it.  


I'll end with an invitation.  As the old preachers say, "Won't you come?"  

Blessed Circle (cont....Finally)

Hi, everyone.  Two posts (and two months!) ago, I wrote about the blessed circle I was fortunate enough to be a part of with some wonderful activist friends here in Texas.   At that time I promised reflections on my own experience.  I had planned a longer, blow-by-blow narrative, but as is so often the case, responsibilities and indecision force me to boil it down to the bare (and more readable) core.  So here goes...

For some unknown reason--force of personality, ignorance, biography, delirium, gifting--I generally find myself in the more spiritually knowledgable and aware portion of a social group.  Considering the circle began with a brief (if rambling) discussion of some of my academic work which led to one person reflecting on his own spiritual history, I felt pretty sure of myself as a knowledgable participant.  The traditional patriarchal man in me still feels a sort of confidence, leadership opportunity and responsibility even, arising from the sort of social space in which I am well grounded.  It's a tacit thing, but it informs my sense of self and interactions in those kinds of settings.  I believe masculinity produces this kind of confidence, which generates blinded domination, in nearly every western man in nearly every social setting.

Returning to the point, it didn't take long for the group to disabuse me of my masculine confusion.  Early in the conversation, one of the Afro Caribbean women asked what happens to people when they die (this is an oversimplification of her question).  The question catapulted us into the conversation which was the backdrop for our connection and experience.  What got me was that the range of answers people had corresponded to a range of experiences and knowledge bases far greater than any I have ever experienced.  Most circles with southern people of color will be dominated by traditional protestant Christian frameworks, maybe a little agnostic skepticism thrown in.  In this group, traditions ranged from protestant Christianity to indigenous traditions and creole religious traditions across centuries and continents.  I am not knowledgable enough to trace each tradition and idea back to its roots, but the presence and power of strong and well-developed spiritual roots undergirding every statement was palpable to me.  No statement could be dismissed as mere speculation or musing.  Everyone's comments were born of old knowledges whose legitimacy and worth are well beyond question.

Not only did everyone's comments come out of long traditions, acknowledged or not, but each contribution was generally linked to a person's experiential story.  The stories mixed clear spiritual perception with empirical evidence, grounding seemingly unique events in our universal experiences.  In a few stories, multiple members of the group had experienced the same events, sometimes in different locations.  Normally, the triangulation of "sources" would add credibility, but every story was so powerful and connected so clearly to universal experience that veracity was a given.

For me, the entire experience was wonderful, in large part because I--and my particular knowledge/experience base--became so small.  I felt like a child, a spiritual child, in the presence of these great spiritual teachers and practitioners.  I was learning, though there was no atmosphere of conversion or compulsion, as my Christian training usually generates.  We were simply sharing and tapping into truths that govern and organize our lives, but usually remain beyond view and discussion.  The women of the group were the clear leaders.  The depth of experiences and power of the circle owe much to the fact that women collectively drove the experience.  We men were happy and frequent participants, but the character and development of the circle were womanist.  I have never had a womanist experience like that before.  It's something I will seek like the holy grail from this point forward.

Being a spiritual child felt so natural and comfortable.  At the time, I accurately said it felt like I was a boy who had been forced to be "the man of the house" for a long time, and finally got to just be a boy again.  The release was beyond words.  It was Atlas putting down Earth.  Even more, taking up my actual role as novice was so enjoyable because it finally felt like I was living in truth.  That's not to say that I am lying when I work out of the strengths of my own place in my own Christian tradition--I know what I'm talking about, technically and experientially.  But being the ultimate Christian, in terms of knowledge, behavior, and Christian maturation, only takes a person so far.  To use Christian parlance, Paul said that in this life, we see partially as through a dark glass.  John tells us that the great majority of the things Jesus said and did are excluded from the gospels.  There is no way to know it all, even if we master our tradition.  Orthodoxy says we'll get a complete picture in the next life.  I believe we can gain a fuller, if still partial, picture in this life by listening to and benefiting from other traditions in addition to mastering our own.  Non-Christians are competent people, too.  Their spiritual lives, beliefs, and experiences reflect God's interaction in their lives and tell us something about God, God's self.  Those outside our religious tradition are not delirious; they are seers, like us.  If we respect that, we will grow.  I enjoyed the Blessed Circle because it exposed this truth to me and put me in my accurate place.

A Blessed Circle, A Blessed Evening (Part I)

Yesterday was my friend, Rose Pulliam's birthday.  [Happy Birthday, again, Rose!]  If you don't know Rose, she is a beautiful woman, in every sense imaginable.  Hers is a gathering and nurturing soul; the kind that keeps communities together.  She totally dispels the notion that activists, of which she is one of the finest, only throw bricks and don't build anything.  Rose can throw a brick, but through her stories, comedy, outreach, and just force of personality, she constantly edifies individuals and communities in the deepest, most profound and elemental ways.  

So, we gathered to celebrate her birthday.  Overtime, as the crowd ebbed and flowed, about of dozen of us--all queer people of color, mostly activists, many with Bible-based religious backgrounds of various denominations--formed a large circle and began to talk about religion and faith.  In the circle were 4 men and 8 or so women, people in their 20s through 50s, including African Americans, Latin@s, and women from the Caribbean.  We covered a lot of ground as the conversation flowed from an academic look at religion and politics to how religion played in people's coming out stories and a host of other angles.  Eventually, one of the sisters in the group asked the pivotal question that launched us into the meat of the night.  She asked, "what happens to the soul when we die?  Where does the soul go?"   

I cannot do justice to the following events, nor can I completely recount every word (or even highlight) of the blessed conversation that followed.  There was too much wisdom in the group to even imagine capturing it in words.  We simply vibed together.  As the Bible says, "deep calls to deep," and that's where and how we met each other.  The energy in the space was so holy (for lack of a less loaded word), built on the trust and safety we recognized and built in each other.  And it was as much recognized as created.  The secret price of entry to the circle, demanded by the Spirit that brought us, was years of deep and intense personal reflection on who we are in the world and how our religious histories had both revealed and hidden aspects of the spiritual realities we are called to share.  It was the evidence of that pursuit of truth beyond dogma--an uncommon spiritual maturation--that we silently recognized in one another.  Everyone brought some truly spiritual gift to the collective, and we recognized that gifting in each other as well.  Upon those spiritual recognitions and connections, we experienced our circle.  

Like I said, there was far too much wisdom in the circle for me to recount it here.  Truthfully, so much happened beyond the aural that even a perfect transcription of the night would give but a fraction of the experience.  So let me touch on just a few things to give a sense of the conversation.  In the next post, I want to talk about my experience in the circle.  

So, the pivotal question was, "Where does the soul go when we die?" People offered a range of answers, generally speaking of our souls and essences as collections of energy that may or may not (or may also) remain as a self-identified unit after bodily death (as opposed to breaking up into fragments, given away in life and/or recycled in death back in to the whole).  We related stories of speaking to people who had passed, whether directly or through mediums.  [[I'll note here that even the Bible says this is possible; remember Saul speaking to Samuel through the Witch of Endor and Abraham's acknowledgement that it is possible for the dead rich man go back and talk to his brothers though it would be useless.]]  We spoke of dreaming other people's dreams and receiving and conveying supernatural messages...and the awesome responsibility that entails.  We spoke of visions; some viewed alone, others shared.  We wondered how all this is possible.  What truths about now and the next epoch do our experiences reveal?  Conversely, we did not try to fit our experiences into the orthodoxy boxes of our various traditions.  Nor did we doubt one another.  We did not all have identical experiences, but we've all had experiences that were similar enough and far enough beyond the fringes of orthodoxy to know that everyone was speaking of "reality."  Every story was more than sincere; it was accurate.  

We wondered.  We spoke of the power of this wonder and of faith and doubt and fear.  One sister shared a valuable lesson.  She said, "fear haunts.  Truth does not haunt.  Truth always manifests itself."  And she is right, truth comes to pass.  Fear dogs people, but the fearful possibilities cannot and do not all come into being.  In another exchange, a brother spoke of doubt and faith.  Relating his coming out story, he said he learned to have as much faith that God created him as gay as others have that being gay is sin.  We spoke of how doubt creates much opportunity--to expand beyond dogma, to receive others, to experience spirit.  

We spoke of how death is a simultaneously individual and collective experience.  Even birth is a collective experience (just ask your mother), as is every subsequent experience until death.  No one experiences death per se with you; we all face it individually.  Yet, we can experience it collectively.  Several sisters recalled being together when a loved one passed, in the very house where we were talking.  Everyone recounted the different experiences, in at least three locations, that marked the instant of the person's passing.  A sleeping baby sat up to witness the moment, people pulled close in immediate anticipation, one woman spoke in words and a voice unrecognizable to herself.  

We spoke of shared energies.  How we miss the experience of collective worship, especially the songs.  We hummed the Old 100; that classic set of moans and ancestral hymns that welcome the Spirit and make the Black church so powerful and comforting.  We spoke of how the songs put us on the same wave length and how our bodies and essences feel that.  How that collective energy is so strong it can become visible.  

We laughed.  Uninhibited, joyful laughs.  We truly enjoyed each other and all the people, present and past, whose spirits and other remnants, were in the place.  It was a blessing.  It was healing.  We all held hands, felt a powerful warmth, and gave thanks.  

These Wounds I Suffered in the House of My Friends...

I credit my mother with the great majority of my Bible teaching.  She bought me my first Bible when I was 14 years old.  She drove me to Bible study for the 2 years following.  She taught me memory scriptures from my earliest days, and so beautifully sang gospel music that I still hum her songs to comfort my soul when it is troubled.  Mom gathered the family for Bible reading and prayer periodically.  She also called me to help pray through the family's toughest times.  My spirituality is mostly a reflection of hers.  Nevertheless, the two verses my father taught me reverberate in my mind as often as all the others.  One verse is about having to show yourself to be friendly if you hope to make friends.  The other is the subject of this entry. 

And one will say to him, "What are these wounds between your arms?" Then he will say, "Those with which I was wounded in the house of my friends."  --Zechariah 13:6

 Despite being raised in New Jersey, my father has a Southerner's gift for memorable phrases.  His sayings, like, "What they do with you, they'll do to you" have served me well.  His quotations of Zechariah 13:6 were given like an old country saying, and I have internalized its wisdom accordingly.  The context for Zechariah 13 is God's prophecy of a devastating military defeat for Judah, and the verse itself centers on a false prophet whom the Jews reject.  Again, I never learned the context for the verse.  In fact, I don't recall Dad ever giving a citation for it all--beyond it being in the Bible.  So, I've learned the scripture and used it as folk wisdom.  Even still, the word of the Lord is never void. 

We've all heard the saying, "you only hurt the ones you love."  Standing alone, Zechariah 13:6 pretty much means the same thing, but from the victim's perspective.  Paraphrased, "I am only hurt by the ones I love."  Through my many hours of therapy  :)  I almost exclusively talk about the "wounds I suffered in the house of my friends."  Though the events are years, even decades, old, I spend countless hours rehashing hurtful incidents--incidents that refuse my best efforts to bury them beyond my memory.  Usually, folks had no malice when they hurt me, but the wounds are so deep that I am still tending to them all these years later. 

The scripture speaks to that sentiment.  The wounds the false prophet bares are actually from his mother and father, who attempted to kill him because of what he spoke (Zech. 13:3).  Though no one tried to kill me, the wounds are so deep and obvious to everyone that it appears the wounds came from a murder attempt.  I'm sure everyone relates to that.  We all carry very deep wounds.   

The point being, the wounds we suffer in supposedly safe and nurturing places hurt the worst and mark us for years.  As Paul Simon said in "Graceland", "Everybody sees you're blown apart.  Everybody hears the wind blow."  Simon concludes by saying, "I'm going to Graceland."  My next post demonstrates why the metaphorical "Graceland," i.e. Heaven, represented by the Church, may not be a sanctuary for safety.  When it comes to race, white Churches apparently function as "the house of your friends."