by Liz | Oct 26, 2008 | main
I’m sure we have all made mistakes. We have all exhibited some form of at least mildly unacceptable behaviour at some time in our lives. It’s a part of the learning process. However, when someone steps far outside the boundaries of acceptable behaviour and commits acts that are immoral/illegal then something must me done. Or at least we feel something must be done.
Recently, I watched from afar as someone is being erased. That’s one of the ways we cope with a broken person – someone who needs to be accountable, and at the same time needs healing. We erase them. We remove all references to them. We start the process of making them invisible. The name and the picture are removed from printed material or from a website. Connections are broken. Rooms are cleaned out. Personnel replaced. Or at a family level, the photos may have to be removed from albums and destroyed.
These actions are often needed as a part of a healing process for those who were damaged by the offender’s actions. It’s not all bad. It’s a way of moving forward and not staying focussed on the hurt. It’s probably even a part of the the process of forgiving.
I’ve heard it explained that being in “sin” is the state of being separated – separated from God. Being erased is a rather vivid image of being separated in a human sense. I’m glad that Scripture seems to tell me that God will not erase me. That there is hope – that the prodigal child can return home. I pray never to be erased from a community or a family. And I pray for healing for both those who must do the erasing, and the ones who are erased.
by Liz | May 27, 2008 | main
It’s stuck with me for over a week now: Mercy. And more than that, the definition of Mercy as something like “womb-love.” (Thanks Jack for that). Mercy is that kind of love and relationship that most mothers have for their off-spring. It’s what makes Mama always believe in you. It’s why, despite all evidence to the contrary, Mama believes you to be worth a second, or third or thirtieth chance. It that way of acting that Hosea speaks of: “Come back to me, with all your heart, don’t let fear keep us apart.”
I often cantor repsonsorial psalms at mass, and so I remember many of them. Phrases like “The Lord is kind and merciful” or “Be merciful oh Lord for we have sinned.” Mercy is all over the scriptures.
Am I merciful? I’d like to think so. And at times, I’m pretty sure I am. But today I had to ask myself once again, “Am I merciful? Can I be merciful in this situation?” It sometimes seems easier to have mercy when I am the one harmed directly than when either my child, or my friend has been hurt. I had to sit and listen as my friend worked through a rough spot. I had to not jump on someone who jumped on my friend. I’m now at the place of beginning to pray for the whole situation. Praying for healing. Praying for honesty. Praying for folks to be able to see in the mirror clearly and work out the difficulty. Praying for the ability to be merciful, let my frustration and anger turn to mercy and compassion.
It’s just not as easy as it would seem.
by Liz | May 12, 2008 | main
Several years ago I was helped along by a someone who carefully explained that in order to forgive, you must not forget – you must remember. I wonder why I should have a flare up of remembering on Pentecost… oh, yeah, it was Mother’s Day.
I finally, after nearly years am allowing myself to admit to how much something hurt. And realizing that it still hurts. And admitting that my response was to want to cause hurt in return. And realizing that it’s a recurring hurt. And I’m tired of it. To get beyond, I’ve been trying to sit with it and decide to change my response. Not as easy as I thought.
I sit with the hurt. I invite Jesus to sit with me. I ask for the grace to not bury it but pull it out into the light. This is a matter that I shoved aside because it seemed so petty to dwell on. I buried it. And now it rears its ugly little (well, not so little anymore) head and hisses at me. I think of my misuse of a good commandment: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I took that commandment, and I said: “OK – so this is how you respond to me. That must be how you want to be treated.” Not so good, it turns out. It seems better to do something positive — to do what I would have wanted done for me. To do something for another person that I would want them to do for me.
I’m not finished yet. I can see that I’m going to have to go and sit with Jesus and go over it a few more times before I can let go. Until I can remember without the acid rising. Until I can treat the other with love. Until I forgive.
This has been quite a journey to get to the place where I can actually pull these things out, sit with them and decide to forgive. It seems that first I had to accept not only that I hurt, but also that I returned the hurt. I have to let some of the shell break away and quite trying so hard to protect myself. Admit that there are a lot of chinks in the armor, and that the armor needs to be removed. And accept that I am safe in the Lord — and that I am loved.
I suspect that this doesn’t make a lot of sense to anyone reading it. But, it certainly makes sense to me. This is a personal Pentecost: The Spirit comes and I hear the Gospel proclaimed in words that I understand.
Come Spirit, Come!
