~ continued from yesterday (since this is written in four installments and as a conversation, you may want to hit “previous” and read the preceding parts or minimally read the last paragraph or two from the previous installment to get the context and flow)
If deadly violence can in fact stop deadly violence, then why has deadly violence not stopped? ~ Wendell Berry
It is an offering of love that asserts the victim’s self-worth.
~ John Lewis
(Brother Weeps) “But the deep conviction that is the starting point of our faith and enacted theology — or are we not so convinced — is that each and every person, no matter how despicable their actions, is made in the image of God, and therefore meant to be treated as such. This ethic is what should stop us not only from returning hate for hate, vileness for vileness, irreverence for irreverence, but also what should stop the executioner’s hand — as if the state or federal powers and principalities can trump our belief in the sacredness of each person.
“Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord” or more realistically sayeth the psalmist who tastes vengeance in every bite and finally letting go of it says “Here God, you handle it, because it’s having me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Eating me alive.” In such instances, it is God whom we are revering. The black college students who had the moral courage and spiritual audacity to sit at the store counter in 1960 as they were cursed and sucker-punched and called unspeakable names and had drinks poured on their heads, showed reverence by revering God who made these hooligans, and by not striking back.”
Brother Weeps walks over to the lectern and flips through his notes. He holds a piece of paper and reads: “Dr. King said, ‘We shall match your capacity to inflict suffering by our capacity to endure suffering. We will meet your physical force with soul force. Do to us what you will and we will still love you. . . . Bomb our homes and threaten our children, and, as difficult as it is, we will still love you.’
Like non-violent resistance, being reverent toward those who themselves are grossly irreverent to us is not merely a spiritual strategy, but a way of being rooted in love — the radical love of God embodied in Jesus. The way of love as an act of resistance has the capacity to expose the perpetrators of demeaning or violent behavior to themselves — to the truth and foulness of their injurious, malevolent ways, to the truth that it is a betrayal of who God has created them to be and who they really are in God, and for the perpetrator of harm to see in the beholding other not hate or reciprocal anger but the possibility to choose to be good, kind, loving, and at peace with oneself and others.
Reverence doesn’t have one posture, pose, glassy-eyed gaze. Nor does “a loving look at the real,” especially when what is real is ugly or dehumanizing or vicious. To behold is to hold the being of another in love which does not stop at the externals but penetrates into the depths of the other. It involves seeing what or whom we see from a divine perspective. It’s having the humility and the spiritual audacity to hold the other in God’s mercy, when under our own power we cannot be so understanding, merciful, or forgiving.
When Jesus cries out from the cross, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing,” he isn’t giving his torturers and executioners a pass, letting them off the hook, making excuses for their vile behavior. In Jesus’ prayer is his recognition that if they really knew themselves, really knew who they were in God, really knew what it means to be human, they would be ashamed, remorseful, and change their ways. They would not be ashamed because we shamed them. They would be ashamed because they were fully exposed to the chasm between how they have acted and who they were created by God to be and still can be. The feeling or experience of shame has to do with being exposed. It’s different in this way from guilt. When a perpetrator feels shame, its the deep, true, noble part of their humanity that signals to them the contradiction between the dignity of being human and their acting in such an inhumane way. But, when reverence is offered to someone who is unworthy of being revered, it has the potential to function like a photo that’s a double exposure. It exposes them not just to their own evil, but also to “the better angels of their nature” if they so choose.
Imagine if we could look at those we do not respect the way Jesus looked down from the cross at the mob and his torturers and executions. Remember, Jesus didn’t flip on his God button while on the cross. He not only exposed the angry mob but also showed us what it looks when a human refuses to break faith with his humanity by returning viciousness and hate for violence and hostility. How transformative might that look be? I suspect that was a quality Jesus had – that healing reverent look. Piercing, not flashy, but capable of looking at people and seeing through their woundedness and faux fierceness and puffery that hides insecurity, secret self-loathing, and excruciating stored-up pain.
We might not be expected to revere everyone. But we are called to try to look deeply enough into the other, through their duplicity and ignominy to the other side where we see what the other is too wounded, frightened, unwell, or insecure to see: their God-given preciousness and belovedness.
It’s getting late. I want to end these reflections on reverence with a powerful story that reveals the ultimate and enduring power of living with integrity, dignity, and reverence. Forty-eight years after beating the late Congressman John Lewis over his head with what were meant to be death blows when Lewis and other Freedom Riders got off the bus in Rock Hill, South Carolina in May 1961, a man named Elwin Wilson, sought out Congressman Lewis and in Lewis’ office in Washington, D.C. acknowledged his regret, deep remorse, and asked the Congressman for his forgiveness. And sticking to his conviction, and just as composed as he had been when savagely beaten – John Lewis didn’t shame the confessing man, he didn’t say “Yeah, well it’s a little late now, you barbarian.” He said, “I accept your apology.” Later, Congressman Lewis embraced the man. He reverently embraced his attacker because his motive force was gospel love.”
Brother Weeps reached for a book. “About his response forty-eight years earlier when he was assaulted, and then his response nearly five decades later when Mr. Wilson apologized to him, John Lewis wrote in his recent book Across that Bridge: A Vision for Change and the Future of America: “Diffusing the fury of violence by obstructing and redirecting the intention of an attacker is itself an act of love … Having compassion for your attacker means you harbor no malice and seek no retribution for the wrong that has been done. It is an offering of love that asserts the victim’s self-worth. It makes room for the inner working of his or her soul that has a way of invoking a quiet insistence to do what is right.” In other words, reverence has the power and potential to awaken the soul which is the essence of the human person fully alive.♦
Goodpeople, please consider passing on THE ALMOND TREE to others, then do so. I appreciate it. ~ Dan
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Happy New Year, Dan –
I always feel that to send a response every time your work moves me is to be too intrusive on your time/life. This 4-part series on Reverence was so very wonderful, challenging, and of course, timely, calling many of us to be more reflective on the thoughts we hold towards individuals in particular, who are trying to destroy our democracy.
But calls also to be reverent toward the homeless person whose encampment along a trail I stubbled upon early one morning in December while hiking early to try and find an elusive “falls” behind the golf course in Enumclaw. I can say at least that I was reverent to an extent with this gentleman who was stumbling out of his make-shift tent on that freezing morning to take care of a call to nature. We hardly became aware of him stirring until we were nearly upon him, and had to move through his ‘space’ to return to our car.
I apologized – we were moving in a fluid motion and to stop would have been even more rude.
He was gracious, and replied, “No, you’re good!”
At least I apologized. I have not been able to get that gentleman out of my mind since then – every day. Trying to think of how to reach out or what to do. I know I won’t approach in early morning like that morning – such an intrusion in his carved out space. We’ve lost our local winter shelter program due to COVID (housing provided nights at different churches by our ministerial association). Perhaps he finds his way to the free hot meal served 1x/week by a local non-profit. Perhaps he prefers to be left alone.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be so afraid to go ask.
Thank you Dan, for pushing my thoughts and heart to the edge of what is comfortable for me. You are a gift. You’ve turned me on to Mary Oliver, whose books I am enjoying, and many times enlightened my learnings when you highlight other amazing people like John Lewis. And you’ve pushed me to practice patience and being able to sit still long enough to read a long piece because I know there are nuggets there for me, seeds to influence my day.
Keep it up!
Well, Nancy, if the only reason I wrote that was to elicit that story, your words and sincerity and honest self-reflection and struggle, it was worth the time. It is a long piece and I know people’s time is precious. So I posted it in four-parts as you know. But the breaks were more by word count than thematic sections. So it reads much better as one piece. . . And, I have to admit, given the solitary nature of writing, and though I’d write if no one was reading, I do greatly appreciate hearing from readers — friends like you, and new readers who can become new friends. Thank you, Nancy.