Listen First Preached for Wollaston Congregational Church On Sunday February 21st, 2021 Scripture: Mark 1:9-15 This week we enter the season of Lent, and we revisit – yet again – the first chapter of the gospel of Mark. If you thought that today’s reading sounded familiar, you are right. We have already heard the story of Jesus being baptized by John, and then being driven into the wilderness by the Holy Spirit. This time we focus on the second part of the reading, the 40 days and nights that Jesus spends in the wilderness. Only, Mark tells us next to nothing about that time. He doesn’t tell us how Satan tempted Jesus. He doesn’t tell us how Jesus resisted temptation. All Mark says is that “[Jesus] was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with wild beasts and the angels waited upon him.” We have to look closely at this brief verse and its context in the larger story, to understand the meaning of the time in the wilderness for Jesus and his ministry. And, according to Mark, the time in the wilderness is the last experience Jesus has, before beginning his ministry. The 40 days Jesus spends in the wilderness are significant and symbolic. They reflect the 40 years the Israelites spent in the wilderness before they came to the promised land. Or the 40 days of the flood, during which Noah and his family and the animals sheltered on the ark. We can imagine that the period of time in the wilderness is not necessarily literally 40 days long, but a symbol of a time of trial. Perhaps it is a metaphor for the time Jesus spent during his early life, listening to God, and wrestling with his own resistance to the call to his ministry. Anyone who has ever experienced any kind of calling will relate. Perhaps you are being called to a new vocation or career, to a new level of spiritual devotion and commitment, or perhaps you are being called to have a difficult conversation with someone close to you. If you are feeling a calling, it’s probable that you are also feeling resistance. There is the call of God, and there is the resistance within ourselves that might be attributed to Satan. According to Mark, at the end of Jesus’s wilderness experience he emerges and is ready. He has worked through any resistance. He begins ministry, with the gifts and attributes he will use as he travels the countryside. One important attribute we will consider today is that Jesus listens. Jesus listens to God, Jesus listens to the people that he heals and teaches. Throughout the gospel we see Jesus take time away from the crowd to pray and listen to God. And we notice his perception when encountering people along the road. We notice his attention to those who are ignored by others. Over the Lenten season that began on Wednesday, we will be considering the “Mr Roger’s Effect” and the “7 secrets to bringing out the best in yourself and others.” Anita Kuhnley, the author of the book “The Mr Roger’s Effect”, looks at seven secrets that children’s TV presenter, Fred Rogers, used to communicate with children and adults. Today we begin with the first secret, “List First: Listen with more than your ears.” [1] As a young man, Fred Rogers attended the Pittsburgh Theological seminary and was ordained by the Presbytery of the United Presbyterian Church. But Rogers did not pursue a typical ministerial career. Instead, he created a children’s TV show for WQED, Pittsburgh. Rogers was concerned about the kind of programming being directed at children, in the 1950’s and 60’s. He was disappointed by shows that were full of pranks and gags, like throwing a pie in someone’s face. He realized there was a need for something more substantive to meet children’s needs. And so the Presbyterian church gave Rogers the leeway to create his TV show as a ministry, and that is what he did for his entire career. Rogers had been bullied as a child. He was overweight and suffered from asthma. One day he had been chased by bullies, and only just made it to a safe house in time to avoid being beaten up. Rogers also spent a good deal of time sick in bed. He had created imaginative play within the limitations of his surroundings. He also loved to pour out his feelings by playing the piano. Perhaps the period of bullying, the time alone in bed and with the piano was Mr. Rogers’ wilderness time. He came out on the other side, contradicting the saying that “the bullied becomes the bully.” Rogers became a listener, even though he communicated with his audience through television. He listened to understand, bringing children onto his show and listening to them with patience, kindness and respect. Rogers practiced listening to people who are often ignored. Children are among those ignored people. As we’ve noted, Jesus also practiced listening to people who were otherwise ignored. In one very poignant example, Jesus encounters a woman, who is practically invisible to those around her. She is hidden in the great crowd pressing in on Jesus. But she touches the hem of his cloak and in that moment he feels the power of healing go out from him. (Mark 5:25-34) This woman had been hemorrhaging for 12 years. We learn she has endured a great deal at the hands of physicians. And we may wonder if she endured because the physicians never really listened to her. But, now she tells her story to Jesus and he listens. Then he declares that her faith has made her well, she goes away healed. The example of the woman with the hemorrhage plays out even today, in medical settings. It is notable that when black women go to the hospital or to the doctor in pain, they are not taken seriously, they are not listened to. An implicit racial bias in healthcare is beginning to surface as many black women tell their stories. Often pregnant black women who are in pain are ignored, and in some cases this results in the losses of the pregnancy or even the mother’s life. In circumstances like these, a lack of listening costs lives. Besides people of color, especially women, the elderly often have difficulty being heard in healthcare settings. Over the summer, I took on the responsibility of calling residents of an elder housing location in Boston, to offer support during this time of isolation. One of the residents I most enjoyed speaking with was a woman who had a career history in healthcare. She told me that in healthcare interactions, elderly people need to be listened to most of all. They need the time to tell their stories. It takes a while to get to the heart of what is going on. Physicians, who are under severe time constraints, they often do not take the time to listen. And so this woman has volunteered to train medical students. She was assigned a student that she would talk with on the phone, over a period of months, helping them understand the importance of taking the time to listen. The student would learn, simply by listening to her and learning from her experiences. And, of course, the aspect she didn’t mention: she was being heard by being a part of this program. In the book “The Mr Rogers Effect”, author Anita Kuhnley makes that point that being heard and being listened to are essential for a person’s emotional, mental and spiritual health. Kuhnley says “we can listen to ourselves better as we are listened to and heard by others.” [2] She equates being listened to with being loved, and listening with loving. Probably we can all recall times, as children, when we were not listened to. Growing up, I wanted to be heard more often than my parents had the time to listen. But I was incredibly blessed to have four doting grandparents who all listened in their different ways. My grandfather was the greatest listener of all: he’d listen to me in his workshop, he listen to me on the long, long walks we took together. And after he’d listened, he’d pause. The reply would always begin, “well, love …” and then he’d slowly impart words of encouragement. What a gift it is to be listened to. In our culture today, we are bombarded with noises and sounds that demand our attention. Kuhnley says that on average we spend 45 percent of our time listening. [3] But this is not active listening, it is passive listening to things we would sometimes rather not hear. Students are expected to spend most of their time listening to teachers and instructors. And meanwhile, other outlets call out to us to listen: news programs, social media, phone calls and texts. In many ways we learn to tune out rather than listen. Because of all the noise we are exposed to, we need to relearn the art of listening. Those of you who participated in some of the group discussions we have had at Wollaston Congregational Church may remember the guidelines I have on “active listening.” These guidelines reflect Fred Rogers’ approach to listening to children. So often in conversation we are busy preparing our reply while the other person is speaking. In active listening, we are reminded to listen to understand rather than to reply. In active listening there will be a pause while the listener considers their reply after listening to the speaker. In active listening, interruptions are avoided. Clarifying questions are saved until the speaker is finished. Like Fred Rogers, if we can we make eye contact. If the person with whom we are speaking is at a different level, because they are small or because they are sitting, we sit or crouch to get on the same level. We express interest in their story, and reflect back what we understand they have said. Listening means letting go of fixing problems, it means refraining from giving unsolicited advice. And so, I wonder, how carefully have we listened, recently, to the people we love most? And, how much do we listen to those who are listened to least in our culture? How often do we pause to listen to God, and to our own deep inner wisdom? And most important of all: Who listened to you and who listens to you? And who is longing to be listened to by you? Amen. [1] Kuhnley, Anita Knight . The Mister Rogers Effect (p. 39). Baker Publishing Group. Kindle Edition [2] Ibid., 46 [3] Ibid., 48
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Sermon: Entering the Liminal Space Preached for Wollaston Congregational Church On February 24th, 2021 Scriptures: 2 Kings 2:1-12 and Mark 9:2-9 This morning, on Transfiguration Sunday, we come to the end of the liturgical season of Epiphany and we stand on the threshold of the season of Lent. We are at an in-between place. We could rush on, planning for what we will do next: maybe our Lenten program, Holy Week observances, or even our Easter celebrations. Or we could stay here for a moment. In many ways, staying here for a moment is the most difficult thing to do, because this is a liminal space, a thin place. And this kind of place can be an excruciating place to stop. This morning we heard of two encounters in thin places or liminal spaces. Thin places are the places where heaven and earth seem to meet. And liminal spaces are the spaces in-between the “this” and the “that”. In many ways liminal spaces are spaces of emptiness. And at the same time, because of their emptiness of earthly things, there is a fullness of God. In our scriptures, thin places or liminal spaces are often found in the wilderness, or on a mountaintop. These are not the tourist-trap places of scenic overlooks we often associate with mountaintops. They are places of separateness, and silence, places of pause. Dwelling in these places can be excruciating for us who like to know where we are going and what we are doing. And, as it is often noted in the scriptures, being in the raw presence of God is unbearable for most human beings. The first story we heard today was of the ancient Hebrew Prophet Elijah and his successor, Elisha. Elijah has not lived a comfortable life. He has often found himself on the wrong side of those in power: the kings and queens of his time. Speaking up for the God of Israel has been quite a terrifying calling. And he has had to flee, he has had to hide. Elijah has lived most of his life “on the other side,” on the east side of the River Jordan across from the land given to his people. At one point, Elijah spends 40 days and nights in the wilderness, like Jesus after him. At the end of this time, the angel of the Lord tells Elijah to stand on Mount Horeb, where Moses received the law, because the Lord was about to pass by. As Elijah shelters in a cave in this desolate liminal space, a whirlwind passes by, and then an earthquake, and then a great fire passes by. But God is not in any of those elements. And so, after it is all over, the Lord comes to him in the still small voice of silence. The silence causes Elijah to wrap his face in his mantle, in awe of God’s presence. Elijah will not live forever, and so he is given an apprentice, Elisha, to continue his work when he is gone. Not long afterwards, Elijah and Elisha are traveling together with a company of many prophets. The prophets keep interrupting their journey to tell Elisha that Elijah will soon be taken away from him. This is not what he wants to hear, Elisha tells them to be silent. And yet, he knows this is the truth. Elisha refuses to leave Elijah, who plans to journey on alone, and so the two of them cross the Jordan - to the other side - by means of a miraculous parting of waters. Now they are together in a liminal space, Elisha asks that he might inherit a double portion of Elijah’s spirit. Perhaps he wants an extra serving of Elijah’s courage and Elijah’s profound relationship with God. Elijah tells him this will only be possible if Elisha watches Elijah being taken. And then, as if on cue, a chariot and horses of fire appear between the two men, and Elijah is taken up to heaven in a whirlwind. Elisha stands watching in awe and in grief. He has experienced the most excruciating pain of the liminal place, seeing his beloved mentor being taken up. And at the same time, he has passed the test. He will be blessed with Elijah’s spirit. He will take up Elijah’s mantle. He has graduated on to the next stage in his life as a prophet. In our gospel reading this morning, Jesus takes three disciples: Peter, James and John, up onto a mountaintop. This happens toward the end of Jesus ministry in the gospel of Mark. Jesus has just revealed to the disciples that he will undergo great suffering, be killed, and in three days rise again. The disciples are still digesting this weighty news. The mountaintop is a liminal space for Jesus and the disciples. They are far from the crowds and in a silent place. This is a place where heaven comes close to earth, and in the moment that happens Jesus becomes transfigured before the disciples. His clothes shine brilliantly white, he glows with the glory of God that has been hidden just beneath the surface up until now. And then the disciples see a vision of Moses and Elijah, the Hebrew Bible “greats”, talking with Jesus. The coming together of heaven and earth is indescribable. To simply stand and observe in silence is excruciating for Peter, and so he rushes to do something. He wants to build shelters: places to commemorate the moment that is still happening. But Peter’s suggestion is overruled, as a cloud overshadows the group and a voice speaks: “This is my Son, the Beloved: listen to him!” There is no doubt of God’s mighty presence in these two scenes. Jesus glows, shines with the light of God, he is transfigured. A chariot and horses of fire come down and Elijah is taken up in a whirlwind up to heaven. The experience is not the mountaintop, nor the east side of the Jordan. The experience is God. This isn’t about the view, it’s about what happens there in that thin place. Next week, Lent will have begun, and we will start our study and sermon series on the book "The Mister Rogers Effect: 7 Secrets to Bringing Out the Best in Yourself and Others from America's Beloved Neighbor" by Anita Kuhnley. But today, I’d like to give a little sneak preview from the Mr. Rogers book, because it fits so well with our stories today. Kuhnley writes about the 7 secrets, or habits, that Fred Rogers used when communicating with adults and children, in order to better listen and understand. The chapter on secret number 3 is entitled “Pause and Think: Take Time to Discover What is Inside.” This chapter begins with a quote from the book “The Little Prince”: “Here is my secret. It’s quite simple: one sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.” [1] The author reflects on the way Fred Rogers communicated with people by making time to pause and think when they had spoken. He made use of whitespace like a book. Whitespace is the part of a page that is intentionally left blank, so that the text or pictures on the page are more readable, and easier to take in. Fred Rogers used pauses and silence to sit with others in their stories, even the painful ones. The author says that in Mr. Rogers’ view it is essential to “Have compassion for each person’s inside story, even if it is a painful one” and recommends sitting with them in their pain. [2] Rogers had developed a way of sitting in the liminal space that many of us find intolerable. Too often we are like Peter on the mountaintop, quick to rush with the doing and the fixing. We want to fill the silence with chatter, or the empty space with fullness. This was my experience in my nuclear family as a child. I come from a family of hustle and bustle. My mom has always been brisk in everything she does. She is quite efficient at making and ending conversation. Sharing news is the purpose of a phone call, and when all the news is shared the conversation is over. I appreciated her style for many years. It made life easier for me. I didn’t need to make the effort to make conversation, I’d sit back and listen to the chatter with my grandmother and aunts, enjoying the entertainment. I am naturally quiet, so when I got older I’d always ask my mom to go along with me when I went to visit family members. That way I didn’t have to think about what to say. Gradually I realized that my mom’s conversation style does not suit my own pace. I discovered that if I didn’t have someone there, filling in all the spaces in the conversation, I’d learn much more. When I sat with an elderly relative: a grandparent, or one of my aunts, we’d stare at the fire for a few minutes, or swish the tea leaves in our cups. Then new memories would surface. New things would come to light. They’d share with me their fears, perhaps they’d even weep. I’d assure them that it was OK with me. I learned I could actually sit with the discomfort. It would be better for us both in the long term. This was one of the ways I learned how I would be a minister. It was a strange revelation, that I had this gift within me all along. I just needed to sit for a while in those liminal spaces for it to emerge. And so, as we stand at threshold of Lent, this Transfiguration Sunday, I wonder what is your liminal space? What is God’s invitation to you, to pause, to come into the silence, to listen? It may be the pause you need to determine who you will be in your next stage of life. It may be the silence you need, to hear God calling you beloved, as you wrestle with fears and doubts. It may be the pause you need, as you wait for difficult news. And so, I invite you to visit the liminal spaces often, over the next six weeks. There is no need to be afraid, because it is God who meets us there. May all God’s people say, Amen [1] Kuhnley, Anita Knight . The Mister Rogers Effect (p. 81). Baker Publishing Group. Kindle Edition. [2] Kuhnley, Anita Knight . The Mister Rogers Effect (p. 85). Baker Publishing Group. Kindle Edition. A Year of Pandemic: Lifted by Eagle’s Wings Preached for Wollaston Congregational Church On February 7th, 2021 Scripture: Isaiah 40:21-31 Today our Hebrew scripture reading is from the book of Isaiah. The prophet writes to the people of Judah who are held captive in Babylon. Some 70 years earlier, Babylonian invaders had razed city and the Jerusalem temple to the ground. The invader took the people from Jerusalem and the surrounding area of Judah into exile. The former center of the Judahites’ religious and political life and the very residence of their God, had been destroyed. Now, the Jewish people have grown accustomed to life in Babylon. The elite members of the community have assimilated and made themselves new lives. But life has been harsh for the poor, servant class. They have been required to serve their foreign captors, without even the spiritual comfort of their home and their temple. Only the elders of the community remember the former grandeur of Jerusalem and the temple. For the children, Jerusalem is remembered only as a story of long ago. But now, Cyrus of Persia has taken over, and he has declared that the Israelites should be allowed to go home. This is what they have been dreaming of, all these years of exile. And, still, it seems that the people no longer have the energy to go. They have been exhausted by their years of grief. Over these past 70 years, they have buried their dead, birthed their young, and their youths have married in this strange new world. Could they ever truly return to Jerusalem? The long journey home and the arduous tasks of rebuilding the city and the temple seem insurmountable. And so, the prophet does not write words to reassure the returning exiles that their life back in Judah will be as before. He does not minimize their suffering in Babylon, or paint a rosy picture of what the journey back will look like. He does not deny that the restoration of the city and temple will require years of hard work. Instead he reminds them that God is their source of strength. The prophet creates an image of God as a mighty eagle, the largest, most powerful bird of prey. He helps the exiles to imagine God lifting them on mighty wings. Even as they are exhausted and weary, God will renew their strength, bringing them home to Jerusalem to live into the future that God imagines for them. They are to reconstruct and rebuild, creating a new community. They are standing at the threshold of an entirely new era for their people. This past summer I took some time for continuing education with the Hebrew Seniorlife organization. The Spiritual Care department was offering a program in Pandemic and Tele-chaplaincy, I didn’t want to miss this unique opportunity. At the beginning of the program, the other students and I were provided with a very useful model: the emotional lifecycle of a disaster. [1] This is a graph of the ranges emotions experienced as a community works through a disaster. This lifecycle can be applied to many community disasters, such as storms and hurricanes, mass shootings, events like those of September 11th, 2001, to name a few. The cycle tracks emotions beginning before the event, possibly with warnings and threat. Those emotions begin to move from neutral gradually downward until the point of impact. Do you remember around this time last year, when we knew that the novel coronavirus was spreading through China and some European countries? Our hearts were sinking as we realized that there was no escape from this pandemic and that the virus was already on our shores and in our communities. In the disaster lifecycle, emotions track downward until the point of impact hits, when there is a rapid boost of emotional energy. This is known as the heroic phase of the lifecycle, peaking in what is known as “community cohesion.” First responders rush to help. Healthcare providers work overtime, and back to back shifts, running to greet the gurneys of the victims arriving at the hospital. Community groups like churches respond to the need for emergency food and housing. Community members donate money, food and clothing. But, of course, human beings have a limited ability to remain emotionally “on call” in this way. This heroic phase can only last so long. Do you remember the pictures we have seen, over this past year, of exhausted nurses, doctors, hospital employees, and even morticians on constant call to the hospital? Under “normal” circumstances, if a disaster could ever be described as normal, energy subsides after impact. The next phase is known as disillusionment. In this phase the responders take stock and realize that if things had been different they would not have been required to sacrifice so much. And so, last year some healthcare providers were angry over the lack of PPE available to them. They were overwhelmed the great onslaught of victims, that may have been avoided by better planning. They were tired of being called “heroes” as if that was an excuse for expecting far too much of them. The disillusionment phase of the disaster is the time for grieving. The lowering of emotional energy is interrupted by a few trigger events, until the disaster anniversary comes around with its own reactions. In this phase there are memorial services, times of reflection, discussions on how to handle things better in the future. Churches and places of worship play a major role in this phase, as we facilitate grieving and reflection. The emotional energy gradually rises as the community enters a time of reconstruction, working through grief with some setbacks. I don’t need to tell you that the COVID-19 pandemic has not followed the typical lifecycle. There have been many numerous occasions when the impact has repeated, with new surges of infections and new quarantine restrictions. Some community leaders say that we will have a time of memorial when the pandemic it is over. But, religious and spiritual care providers recognize that there will be no clear end for some time. We need to reflect and acknowledge our grief now, especially at the one year mark. Healthcare providers, first responders, even funeral directors are exhausted. And we are weary … weary of being apart, weary of taking precautions, weary of thinking about sickness every day. And we are exhausted by the other challenges of life that are still going on in the midst of all this. We do have the hope of the vaccinations, of course. The roll out has been a little rocky, but we hope it is getting on track. We have the hope of lowering infection levels. Still, our hopes are often tempered by new concerns such as variants of the virus arising from different places in the world. And so, we long to be rid of this disaster, we hope for post-pandemic world. We imagine a return to the “good old days” pre-COVID. And, perhaps, there are children, even now, who do not recall what life was like before the pandemic. We elders will need to tell stories of those times before. The pandemic has impacted our economy, our work lives, our schools, sports, travel, leisure and cultural activities. Will these things return to “normal” automatically when it is all over? And what about us? How will this experience change us? Where will we draw our strength to reconstruct our church and our community? As we hope to transition out of the pandemic, do we have opportunities to rebuild our religious and communal life better? Do we have opportunities to address questions of inequality, inclusiveness, and stewardship of the environment? The phases of the disaster lifecycle I shared with you today have been observed, time and again in disasters that have played out in history. It is interesting that the final phase, “reconstruction”, is mirrored by something in our reading from the book of Isaiah this morning. The exiles will return to Jerusalem and begin what was known as a period of reconstruction. The will rebuild the city and the temple. This will be a new era: the second temple period. The Jewish diaspora has begun. Various sects will form, including the Pharisees, who are foundational for Rabbinical Judaism. This group will allow Judaism to move from temple ritual, to religious practices in the home and synagogue. And, of course, Jesus of Nazareth will be born toward this era. Early Christianity, began as another Jewish sect that was birthed in the second temple era. It’s hard to imagine that the exhausted, weary exiles from Babylon would be able to even think about this new era in their relationship with God. They have an arduous four month journey of 900 miles back to Judah, just to start with. It’s doubtful they would have any idea what the new city, and the new religious-political structure, and the new temple will look like. For now, they do not need to know. They simply need to wait, or trust, in God, who will give them the strength they need to do the task. And likewise, we who are weary, from this pandemic, and have a hard time imagining life: work, school, sport, travel, even church, in a post-pandemic world. And here at Wollaston Congregational Church, as we discussed during Annual Meeting last week, we are making plans to do something different in our church and with our building. We know that this must coincide with the needs of the community for the years to come. Our imagination may fail us, as we journey to get on track with whatever our communal life will look like then. But we are reminded, that we do not need to look to our own strength, or our limited human vision. Because God will raise us up on God’s eagle wings. We might even run, and not grow weary, and walk and not faint toward the future God imagines for us. May all God’s people say, Amen [1] https://www.edusc.org/blog/the-emotional-lifecycle-of-a-disaster/ Eagles, Giraffes and Jackals Preached for Wollaston Congregational Church January 31st, 2021 Scripture: Mark 1:21-28 Over the summer, while our girls were still living with us, we spent time together in our place by the lake. There are some lovely views of the lake from the house, but there is only one upstairs room accessible by a spiral staircase. Since the downstairs rooms were occupied for work and studying, and my husband needed to get on a Zoom call, I went upstairs for my time of prayer and reflection. I realized, then, that the window in the attic room gives a completely different view. Up high, I could see across the whole expanse of the lake, over the little islands, to the hills and mountains in the distance. I had a bird’s eye view, like that of the bald eagles who nest in the tallest tree on one of the remote islands in the middle of the lake. And so I imagined their perspective as they circle the landscape in search of food for their babies. And I remembered the biblical imagery of God as mother eagle, who has a panoramic perspective, and yet still keeps an eagle eye on the safety of her young. This “up high” perspective helped my spiritual processing. I could imagine letting go of my tense grip on some of the issues that were drawing my gaze downward. I could breathe more fully, inhaling and exhaling deeply. Somehow a panoramic view is also a God’s eye view. It is a view, not only of the moment, but of what can be and what will be. It is a view that leads to wellbeing. Our gospel scripture reading for today is from the first chapter of the gospel of Mark. We are still in this is dense chapter, written in the spare language of the oldest gospel. We need to take this scripture one bite at a time, and marvel at the way that each bite also contains allusions to the entirety of the Jesus story. This passage we heard today comes at the very beginning of Jesus’ ministry. He has recently recruited disciples: Simon, Andrew, James and John. They are in training, carefully following what Jesus does, listening to what Jesus says. On the Sabbath he leads them from shore of the Sea of Galilee to the synagogue in Capernaum. Jesus enters the synagogue and teaches the people, who marvel at his authority. But he is interrupted by a man possessed by an unclean spirit. The man must be tormented. He cannot even speak for himself. Instead the spirit cries out “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” The spirit recognizes Jesus for whom he is, the Holy One of God! The spirit is on guard, knowing that he doesn’t stand a chance up against the Spirit of the God of Israel. Some kind of self-preservation mechanism has put him on notice. The man is possessed by a defensive spirit, causing him to snarl and spit. Jesus has to say one word “Silence!” and then “come out of him.” The spirit loses power and leaves. The tormented man is healed and no longer possessed. This time the people are even more impressed with Jesus’ authority. Surely he must speak for God, as even the spirits obey him. When I read this story I remembered my experience in the attic room over the lake. And I imagined, if I had been present that day in Capernaum, taking a bird’s eye view of the scene, observing before analyzing, like the Eagle soaring above the lake. This brought me to two other animal metaphors: the giraffe and the jackal. These animals are used in the Nonviolent Communication tool developed by Marshall Rosenberg. You may remember that Nonviolent Communication uses observation, and identifies feelings and needs. When you use this style of communication, you are neither judgmental on yourself nor your conversation partner. You use “I” language, rather than “you” language. You avoid projecting or transferring feelings on the other. We all have the ability to be either the jackal or the giraffe in any given situation. When we’re stressed and anxious, the jackal in most likely to emerge. The jackal is our amygdala (or reptile brain) taking over. It happens when we fear danger or attack. This is sometimes called our “fight or flight” response. The jackal keeps his eyes low to the ground, focused on what is in front of him. He is inclined to be defensive and quick to attack. His ears are pricked up, looking out for enemies and competitors. In verbal conflict the jackal lashes out at the other using “you” language: “it’s your fault”, “you are so stupid.” It’s worth remembering that not everyone responds this way when stressed or anxious. Some engage a “tend and befriend” response, trying to quickly paper over the cracks of conflict. They turn the jackal on themselves, quick to apologize, saying things like “it’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have done that, I’m so stupid.” The giraffe is the response we use when we are in a position to observe and reflect like the eagle. The giraffe sees far and wide across the landscape. A herd of giraffe cooperates to avoid predators and find good grazing. The giraffe uses “I” language, and reflects on feelings and needs. I first encountered the giraffe and jackal language on a retreat I took a couple of years ago. One of retreat leaders was trained in Nonviolent Communication and she led an exercise using this imagery. We broke into small groups and each group gathered around a set of four chairs. First a focus person described the conflict they had experienced with someone else, then they sat in each of the chairs to look at the situation from each different perspective. I have remembered a time when I was a teenager. Our family had combined resources with my grandmother and we moved into a large stone Victorian home. The carriage house in the backyard served as the garage. We could just squeeze in my dad’s larger car and my mom’s mini in the back corner. This involved maneuvering back and forth through the narrow door, putting wing mirrors in peril. One day I knocked a wing mirror off the car for a second time. Of course, my dad was upset that the car would need to go back to the shop, and I was ready blame anyone and anything but myself. Here’s how the chair exercise plays out for this situation: The first chair is “Jackal ears out.” The jackal blames or criticizes the other person, saying “It’s your fault that … you are … you should ….” In the case of the garage incident I blamed my parents: “it’s your fault that we have this stupid garage, you should come up with a better plan for parking the cars.” This is the voice of anger. The next seat is “Jackal ears in.” The jackal blames or criticizes themself for the conflict. “It’s my fault … I am … I should ….” In this seat I blamed myself: “It’s my fault I knocked off the mirror, I’m a terrible driver, I should pay for the damage and never drive the car again.” This is the voice of guilt, shame and depression. The third seat is “Giraffe, ears in.” The giraffe connects to their feelings and needs, using language such as “I’m feeling … because I need or value …” In this seat I could acknowledge that I was feeling frustrated, embarrassed and tired. I needed competence in parking the car, or else acceptance that I was going to make a mistake sometimes. This is the voice of self-empathy. The fourth chair is “giraffe ears out.” The giraffe asks the other person “Are you feeling …. because you are valuing/needing …?” I could have said to my dad “are you feeling annoyed and frustrated, because you need honesty and accountability?” It is the voice of empathy. Giraffe ears in and giraffe ears out are both needed for our healthy communication. We need to be empathetic with ourselves and others. This morning, we began with the scene of Jesus in the synagogue in Capernaum on the Sabbath. The people are wowed by his preaching. But there is a jackal in the mix: it is the unclean spirit. The spirit in the man is on the defensive, immediately recognizing Jesus for who he is. The spirit knows that Jesus has the ability to silence him and cast him out. The spirit cannot bear to be in the presence of God. What is holy exposes what is unholy. Jesus observes the situation with giraffe ears out. The man is feeling tormented, he needs to be healed. Jesus rebukes the spirit, not the man. “Be silent! Come out of him!” The people are amazed, yet again. But they do not know what they are witnessing. This is just the beginning. Jesus travels with the disciples through the land, giraffe ears out, observing each situation. He hears every need, he takes in every feeling. Just two chapters later in the gospel of Mark, Jesus will call on the disciples to do the same. He will give them authority to drive out demons in his name. If you like, he is calling them to look at the world as giraffes too. In these times of ours, there are many jackals prowling around. Tensions are high, people are exhausted, the environment is perfect for inner jackals to come out. We can thank God that we have the example of another way, shown to us by Jesus. May we pray: Gracious God, who has the eye of the eagle, surveying the landscape, caring for and defending her young, give us the good graces of the giraffe, the one who enters each situation of contention silently observing, ears turned out to take in what needs to be heard, eyes turned toward the long view of your desires for the world. This week and into the future, we will engage in families, workgroups, classes and meetings. The tensions of our time provoke the jackals who will be prowling in weary souls, turning them competitive and defensive. Relieve us of those tensions, fill us with your grace and love, that we might be the healing the world needs so badly in these times. May all God’s people say, Amen |
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April 2022
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