Learning to be Human

Tags

contemplation, divinity, ego, gospels, humanness, Jesus, meditation, psychology, Syro-Phoenician woman, the Now

As I think I mentioned, I’ve been reading Richard Rohr’s, The Naked Now. It was really a foregone conclusion that I would adore his writing, I’d heard enough said about him from a number of bloggers who read him and were praiseworthy. That was plenty of recommendation.

Rohr talks about how to experience the Divine in the way the mystics do, and that essentially is in the practice of “now.” It is a well grounded practice in Eastern faith traditions, and frankly, has a long history in Western faiths as well, just by another name. In the East, the method of practice is meditation, in the West, it is called contemplation.

Both involve letting go of ego and past and future, and centering on the now. This is where we meet God. This is where we listen, open ourselves and wait. This is where we, if we surrender ourselves, find guidance. For all those who have experienced this wonder, whether for a moment or for long periods, it is in some sense indescribable, but pure joy. There is a oneness, a feeling of connectedness to all that is.

As anyone who has practiced either meditation or contemplation can tell you, the effort is hard. There is nothing harder to control than one’s own mind. The ego has a vested interest (it’s own perceived survival) in maintaining control, and keeping things within “known” parameters. To surrender to the Spirit, is to step off the cliff without a parachute. The ego fights mightily, and as anyone who has tried will tell you, the mind fills with one inane and disconnected thought after another, as one, in increasing desperation, tries to “quiet” the mind. But it is never about forcing, it is about letting go.

Living in the now means to be centered in the feelings, and senses fully of what is happening around you. Not thinking of what needs go on the grocery list, not recalling last night’s movie, not rehashing an argument of a week ago. It is smelling the flowers, feeling the sun upon your cheek, hearing the rustle of leaves in the trees, seeing the sparkle of sunlight upon the dew lipped blade of grass. It is being drunk in this moment of time.

While it is a perfect place to be, it cannot be the only place, lest we never get up, never move, and die of hunger and thirst. We must plan at least to shop and clean and it is also valuable to reflect, hoping to stave off repeating mistakes again and again. Still, we strive to be “now” people as much as possible, where we are called to be authentic and to respond authentically and with full attention to the world. As Rohr and others point out, we are Spirit, our job is to become fully human.

One point is made clear, that much of “now” work is non-dualistic. And we in the West, particularly, have a tough time with non duality. We are a right/wrong, up/down, happy/sad type of folk. Nothing brings this closer to home for us than contemplation of the humanity/divinity of Christ.

We by creedal refrain proclaim this belief. We assure anyone that it is true, (at least for most Christians). Yet, in our hearts of hearts, we are nearly incapable of realizing such a situation. How indeed can Jesus be fully human and fully divine at the same time?  We struggle with this, and imagine some switch whereby Jesus turned first one, and then the other on and off. One idling in the background while the other surges to the fore. We imagine, as best we can, but we don’t truly get it.

Yet the bible has a couple of stories that help us see it at least. One is the story of the Syro Phoenician woman. The story was apparently well known, used by both Matthew(15:21-28) and Luke (7:24-30). A Canaanite woman approaches Jesus and asks for help in healing her daughter. Jesus at first refuses, until the woman reminds him that even the “dogs receive the scraps from the table.” Jesus then does as she asks.

The story has always been difficult for me. Who is this Jesus who is so rude and dismissive? He has been traveling afoot for perhaps hours, and he clearly wants some peace, without the crowds demanding of him. When the woman approaches, alerting perhaps others that he is in fact the famous Jesus, he responds with  “it is not fair to share the food for the children with the dogs.”

This is mighty mean stuff. He refers to the woman and her child as being unworthy, dogs in comparison to the Israelites. He is dismissive. He appears tired and angry at the interruption. In a sense, one can think that Jesus was distracted with other thoughts, and reacted to the woman without thinking.

A similar story is told in all of the gospels about the cleansing of the temple, one of which in John, is replete with Jesus fashioning a whip out of cord to accomplish the task. Many people recoil again, at the anger expressed by Christ.

I think that we find in these stories, that perhaps unknowingly, the writer relates a glimpse of the real humanity of Jesus peaking through. Jesus was perhaps the human being who had transcended more than any other into the realm of perfect unity with the Divine, illustrated by living mostly in the Now. Yet, in his very humanness, he too, from time to time, failed and was overcome by ego. He too let gain purchase the too human emotions of frustration, anger, and perhaps physical exhaustion.

These stories, serve to point out to us, that we are in process. Even Jesus was it seems. His humanness in this is something we can relate to and thus we can truly seek to emulate his way of living. He failed here and there. We fail more than we succeed, yet, we are given courage and strength by his slips.

It is said, that without Jesus’ humanity, there is no point for us. If he is not us, then our efforts can come to nothing. These stories feed our need to feel that the effort is worthwhile. It is well we remember this. Tomorrow is another day to get up, dust ourselves off, and try again. Jesus, and the Creator beckon. Will you enter into the Now with them?

Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani

Tags

divinity, God, Good Friday, Jesus, religion, Son of God, the cross, theology

From time to time, someone claims that my view of scripture is radical. I always find that a bit amusing, since I seldom dream up my conclusions on my own, but am led to them by logical deduction from things I have read.

This is one that I have tried to push away, not wanting to “open that can of worms,” and sure that it will inevitably bring forth the usual criticisms that I misunderstand the bible profoundly. It’s either the word of God or it isn’t. And I guess, that might be true.

The passage that I have never had satisfactorily explained to me is the death cry of Jesus, reported in both Matthew and Mark. “My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?” How do we reconcile this with the man claimed to be both God and man, and moreover, the man who KNEW this through it all.

After all, it takes no genius to meander through the Gospels and find examples of Jesus explaining to others who in fact he was. Moreover, there are plenty of places where he announces his impending death and subsequent rising. But I defy anyone to explain how this statement of abandonment can be reconciled with those pronouncements.

Let me make it quite clear. I am not arguing that Jesus was not divine. One could perhaps make such a claim, many of course have, but that is not my task today, nor frankly do I believe in it myself. I do fully believe that Jesus was divine. Of course, I believe we all are, but Jesus stood alone as being fully and completely actualized in his divinity. He was united perfectly with God, at least so I believe, in his divine self.

Yet, bible aside, my issue is whether Jesus was aware, as man, of his sonship, his divine history in I AM. And I think he was not.

Of course most every religious commentator struggles to reconcile this problem. Somehow, we are told, God could not look upon such suffering of his son, so he “momentarily turned away” and Jesus felt abandoned. Or, we are told that Jesus, in the moment when the full burden of our sins fell upon him, was momentarily blocked from his divinity, and felt God was not there. Pope John Paul II put it thusly:

If Jesus felt abandoned by the Father, he knew however that that was not really so. He himself said, “I and the Father are one” (Jn 10:30). Speaking of his future passion he said, “I am not alone, for the Father is with me” (Jn 16:32). Jesus had the clear vision of God and the certainty of his union with the Father dominant in his mind. But in the sphere bordering on the senses, and therefore more subject to the impressions, emotions and influences of the internal and external experiences of pain, Jesus’ human soul was reduced to a wasteland. He no longer felt the presence of the Father, but he underwent the tragic experience of the most complete desolation.

Here one can sketch a summary of Jesus’ psychological situation in relationship to God. The external events seemed to manifest the absence of the Father who permitted the crucifixion of his Son, though having at his disposal “legions of angels” (cf. Mt 26:53), without intervening to prevent his condemnation to death and execution. In Gethsemane Simon Peter had drawn a sword in Jesus’ defense, but was immediately blocked by Jesus himself (cf. Jn 18:10 f.). In the praetorium Pilate had repeatedly tried wily maneuvers to save him (cf. Jn 18:31, 38 f.; 19:4-6, 12-15); but the Father was silent. That silence of God weighed on the dying Jesus as the heaviest pain of all, so much so that his enemies interpreted that silence as a sign of his reprobation: “He trusted in God; let God deliver him now, if he desires him; for he said, ‘I am the Son of God'” (Mt 27:43).

In the sphere of feelings and affection this sense of the absence and abandonment by God was the most acute pain for the soul of Jesus who drew his strength and joy from union with the Father. This pain rendered all the other sufferings more intense. That lack of interior consolation was Jesus’ greatest agony.

Many people believe that we are divine beings, incarnated in human flesh to experience life as such. Our journey in life is the journey back to God, in full recognition of that. As such, we at our “incarnation” in the flesh have our divine self shielded from our past eternal connection to God. We must in a sense relearn it. That is our task, to block off the unreal ego self, and bring forth the eternal spirit self.

After all, what does it mean for Jesus to be “fully human” while “fully divine.”  I would suggest that one cannot be fully either while aware of the other fully part, and that Jesus was no exception. I mean it takes not great courage I would submit to willing go to the cross, KNOWING of the glorious end–resurrection. It takes all the courage in the world to do the same, HAVING FAITH that that will happen.

What then of the biblical accounts, related in the Gospels? How do we answer the statements again and again wherein Jesus refers to himself as God’s son, the Son of Man, Messiah, I AM and tells of his coming death and resurrection?

Quite simply, I believe these to be later church additions. We know of course that the Gospels were written fully as much as 40+ years after the events described. There was much time to reflect on those events, and even more time to discern the believing community’s ongoing theological conclusions.

Moreover, we must never forget that the Gospel accounts were intended to convince. They were not and could not be history in the way that we define it today. In that time, rumor, anecdote, and third hand hearsay were more than adequate “proof.” Each writer, firmly convinced of the truth of his beliefs, set out by his writing to convince others, and in a way that would leave no doubt.

I believe it is here that we find all those statements by Jesus claiming his divinity as Son of God.

In reality, I believe that if Jesus did not know of his true divinity, but believed with all his human being that he was united to God’s will, it is much more powerful for us today. It is, because it brings Jesus close to us; he is not some so perfect being that we can only worship  from afar. His courage can indeed be ours–to risk death, embrace it, all the way to the bitter end, believing and never veering away.

Jesus on the cross, discovered in those closing moments that this time he would not be saved from death, as God had saved him before. From angry Jews who were frightened of him, from the bouts with evil that miraculously he had overcome. On every occasion that we are told of, Jesus asked, and Jesus’ received his request–for healing, for food, for “signs”. God granted his ability to walk on water, turn water into wine, and the list goes on.

Could it be that Jesus expected God to save him once more in some glorious lifting of him from the cross? Before the Romans, the non-believing gawkers, and his friends, those that had not run in fear? Then do his words ring out, echoing our own in our deepest despair of being rescued from our agonies of the cross?  “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani!!!”