When naked we clothe ourselves. At funerals we shroud our tears in Oakleys. We protect those parts of us, physical or emotional, that we deem vulnerable to those around us. It’s natural to think, or so we’ve been conditioned to believe, that exposing certain parts of who we are leaves us short of true humanity. But does it? (Note: please don’t read the previous lines of thought as a proposal and encouragement of public nudity).
Let’s be honest, our propensity is to cover up our perceived weaknesses, to keep closed those doors to our hidden life, to protect our status as healthy humans. And this thinking can squelch a reality that may slip away from us if we’re not careful. When we train certain aspects of our humanness to vanish like ninjas when threatened we miss out on participating in and sharing with others our full humanity. And what did the incarnation of Jesus express if it didn’t express that God wants to, and does, participate in the fullness of humanity–the good, bad and ugly? God, in Jesus, embraced the vulnerabilities often disassociated from a complete person. He didn’t shy from them or throw on his shades. On the cross, and recorded for all to read, God unleashed his doubts and divulged a deep emotional trauma: “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”
God stamped approval on humanity by his willingness to enter it. He didn’t sit coldly from his divine perch and demand that we seek the status of gods before we could enjoy intimacy with him. He moved into our space, our world, our pain, our suffering, our condition. And Jesus didn’t enter human existence devoid of such realities. Still, he removed the typical protective measures and fully opened himself to God. He pled for his life in the garden. He wept at the passing of a friend. He cried out to God in confusion. Had he clamped shut these aspects of himself he would have come short of a full expression of humanity.
I’m afraid that failing to accept the implications of the incarnation has deepened our resolve to resist all the vulnerability we believe endangers our humanity. The irony, though, is that in doing so we cut off opportunities to be fully human. Let’s not forget that those tears and fears we believe need denied and suppressed are also emotions God seeks to share with us.
The song blows me away…”If I can change I hope I never know.” How many live with these feelings?
I’m still baffled by the short film. It’s powerful but in a way that words can’t explain. And this is why I believe that those who follow Jesus must wrestle with art expressions such as this video. Yes, we’ve often done a great job of engaging our intellect as we attempt to discover the human condition. But what about engaging our soul? Our emotions? Have we thrown in fully, (emotionally, spiritually, soulfully) to find solidarity with the society in which we find ourselves?
What people in our neighborhoods, schools and jobs face often defies articulation. Can we meet the mess of life without words? Yes, but.
Doing so means that we must open the emotions of our life to the vulnerability of being torn deeply by things to painful for words. Will we wear the scars of a neighbor’s wounds?
As if to awaken him from a comfortable certainty, doubt rings. The doorbell annoys the peace, leaving in his mind empty spaces of mystery. Is it another prank? Again?
Annoyed, he sighs. Frustrated, he must now move in the doubt of the ring’s possibilities. The old man’s bones and joints barely work, crippled by arthritis. Depleting his energy to merely get up, he stumbles to the door.
He makes it. He answers, though miserable and exhausted. No one, but he didn’t know. He’d crawl if he had to.
He makes his way back. Sits in his chair satisfied in his new certainty. Another ring shatters the silence. Another journey. More wobbles and near falls. He’d crawl if he had to.
He arrives. He answers. In his mind he sighs; the trip nearly got him that time.
Back in the chair.
His head bobs as he drifts away in the comfort of his chair, a bit of drool puddling at the corner of his mouth. Ding! His head jerks up. The doorbell.
Again.
He yearns to get up but the pain swallows his desire. He tries to talk himself into staying still. He knows the ending…he thinks.
He slowly ventures toward the door. Bruises reveal the falls he suffers trip after trip. Grazing the edge of the coffee table splits his delicate skin. He continues. He hurts.
Somehow he always makes it. He’d crawl if he had to.