By Lisa Hershey Kutolowski
“Living in a climate of deep insecurity, Jesus, faced with so narrow a margin of civil guarantees, had to find some other basis upon which to establish a sense of well-being. He knew that the goals of religion as he understood them could never be worked out within the then-established order. Deep from within that order he projected a dream, the logic of which would give to all the needful security. There would be room for all, and no man would be a threat to his brother. ‘The kingdom of God is within.’ ‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor.’…
By inference he says:
“’You must abandon your fear of each other and fear only God. You must not indulge in any deception and dishonesty, even to save your lives.
Your words must be Yea – Nay; anything else is evil.
Hatred is destructive to hated and hater alike.
Love your enemy, that you may be children of your Father in heaven.’”
- Howard Thurman in Jesus and the Disinherited
Last week, I was going to write about our complicity in the face of injustice. I was going to write about how those of us who know relative comfort and security so easily turn a blind eye to social evils. I was going to write about how much our quality of life is interwoven and dependent on systems of oppression. In fact, I did write about it. And while these assertions may be true, upon rereading it, I realized I was seething. I’ve been angry recently. I’m angry about how much pain there is in the world and how little I can do about it. I’m angry about the injustices Black people in this country have always had to face and how little I’ve cared to notice. I’m angry about how easily our country justifies anything – slavery, environmental degradation, mass incarceration, wealth consolidation—to maintain comfort and security for the few. I’m angry about the increased isolation so many people are experiencing and the correlating spike in domestic abuse and mental illness. “Maybe if I can pass along some of this anger (and pain) to you” – my fearful soul unconsciously thought – “I would feel a little better.”
Of course, when I say it like that, I know it’s not helpful. What other option do I have other than to be angry about the state of our world? It seems we can either look at the painful reality of our social (dis)order and be angry, or, if we are in a position to do so, we can look away and get on with our lives. Advent has quite a bit to say about injustice, so it seemed fitting to write to you in the spirit of the former. That was until read the words of Evagrius Ponticus in our evening prayer:
"Anger is calculated to cloud the eye of your spirit and destroy your state of prayer."[1]
The Christian Desert Fathers and Mothers of the fourth century are clear about anger: it blinds one to spiritual discernment.
Anger was blinding me. I could feel its hardness and constriction in my throat, gut, and heart. What then could I do? The wisdom of the desert tradition urges one to wait when they feel anger arise. "The antidote to anger is patience. To be silent and wait till the heart is stilled and the right action is prompted by the Holy Spirit is the way out of the affliction of anger."[2]
Monday morning, I woke up with an inner whisper – God with us. I turned to the whisper. Throughout the day, I held it in my heart – God with us. I sang and the tears fell.
(If you know the tune, I encourage you to pause to sing this prayer song)
O Come O Come Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel
O Come Thou Wisdom from on high
Who ord’rest all things mightily
To us the path of knowledge show
And teach us in her ways to go
Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel
O Come Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts if all humankind
Bid thou our sad divisions cease
And be thyself our Prince of Peace
Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel
Emmanuel. God with us.
God with us is the answer to the false dualism of blinded complicity or blinding anger. It’s a heartbreaking answer. I can see why the House of Israel in first century Palestine would have been disappointed in the way Jesus fulfilled his promises of salvation. A savior overthrows the enemy, challenges the foe, and fights for their people. A savior claims victory. A savior fixes things.
But God did not overthrow, challenge, fight, claim, or fix. God entered in.
God did not come as the lawyer to get people off death row. God became the prisoner awaiting his own execution.
God did not come and develop a COVID-19 vaccine that would help us “get back to normal.” God became the grandmother mourning the death of her husband this Christmas, alone and isolated in the nursing home.
God did not come and break down doors to rescue children from the hands of their abusers. God became the little brother to the neglected child, as powerless and vulnerable as her.
Friends, I do not understand this. God with us – God with all of us. Yet I do know that we truly are all in this together. That I am not free until you are free. That we are all in lonely exile here. Christ coming as a human infant reveals something that words cannot articulate. It’s not what anyone expected, or even wanted. It still isn’t something that seems to make much sense. And yet, the more I open to the injustice and pain of this world, the more the vulnerable Christ does make sense – not with my rational mind, but in the way my shoulders relax, tears come more easily, my eyes see more vibrantly, and when I encounter another I feel the oneness of our shared existence. I have more space to feel pain – the agony of my sisters and brothers, the desperation of the poor, the withering souls of the greedy, the fear of the disinherited, the blindness of the oppressor, the groaning of creation herself, and my own pain as victim, oppressor and silent bystander. When the pain overwhelms and I contract into anger or am tempted to look away, Christ in the manger and Christ on the cross invite me to continue to look, continue to feel, continue to love until Love breaks through.
God is with us.
Prayer Practice:
Begin with 5 minutes of silent prayer, resting in God’s love.
Spend 10 minutes in prayer for a specific injustice. It could be an issue you know a lot about or a news story you just heard. You could simply recall a situation or read an excerpt from an article. A specific situation with specific people and places is helpful. However, it is best to use a situation that you are not personally involved in.
Replay the details of the unjust reality in your mind.
Feel what happens in your body. Do not judge your response. Just notice it.
Notice if you are tempted to distract yourself from looking at this unjust reality. If you do find your mind wandering, simply return to the issue.
Notice if you are tempted to rationalize or explain away the situation. If find yourself adding commentary, simply return to the issue.
Notice if you are tempted to do something to change the situation. If feel the desire to act immediately or plan out what you will do when you are done with the prayer, simply return to the issue.
Now, use your ‘holy imagination’ to imagine Emmanuel – God with us – entering into the injustice, pain, weakness, and vulnerability of this situation. Where and how does God enter in?
If images are helpful for you, bring an image of Christ in the manger or Christ on the cross with you into this prayer.
Continue to hold the reality of the injustice and the presence of God in that situation. Return to any of the prompts above as needed and explore your reactions in body, heart, and mind.
Finish with 5 minutes of silent prayer, resting in God’s love.
The vulnerability of infancy - my daughter, Anna, at six weeks old in the arms of her grandfather
About this Advent Series
The singular message of Advent is at once a comfort to those who are oppressed by large systems anda warning to those who prop up these oppressive systems. At the same time, it is a call of hope to those suffering discord in their personal lives andit’s a call to shine the light on the evil in our hearts. We receive this message of hope both as individuals and as members of society. And as people who both suffer and cause suffering, we must heed the warning as well as welcome the comfort. It is so easy for us to collapse this hope for peace into a warm blanket of comfort and consolation, and in doing so to miss the whole.
This series is an attempt to see more clearly the whole message. The first two weeks we looked at the shadows within our own hearts and our personal pain in waiting. Last week was going to be called Facing Our Complicity. I wrote it, but wasn't able to send it. This is what came instead.