Reading: Mark 16: 1-8
Just as negative emotions and harmful feelings can become addictive and very destructive, so, too, positive thoughts, generous actions and compassionate reactions can become a way of life that, once we familiarize ourselves with this perhaps strange and new territory, there is no turning back. In the process of letting go and daring to set out as a pilgrim to a new world, that of the upside down kingdom of God, there comes a point where we cross the Rubicon and we know there is no going back. Yes, we may have been plunged into chaos and wilderness wanderings. We may even have felt that we were bordering on the edges of madness. We may have walked through the dark ravine and felt utterly abandoned, but we are not the people we were. Oh, there’s still a lot of transforming to be done. There may be more chaos, more moving out from safe places, more stretching. That will never stop this side of death, but our certainties now are different, our trust is more secure, our goal is more clearly defined. Our world may even have been turned upside down but only in order that we may fulfil our calling as those who themselves turn the world upside down – for Jesus’ sake. How do we do that? St. Francis gives us, yet again, the key. When we are in a place of isolation or rejection, put there by the misunderstanding of others, we are desperate for someone to counter the act of betrayal, to stand with us in that sense of dereliction, to understand us, to take our story seriously and to award us the dignity and respect of being really heard. Sometimes we crave to be understood. It is one of the loneliest places to be, the place where you feel no-one understands you. To realize or grasp where a person is coming from, to see their side of a particular situation, to listen to their story, to know or to sense what is happening to them and why they find themselves where they are at a particular point in time is one of the greatest gifts we can give to another. It involves a deep and active listening (which can be very hard work), a recognition of a common humanity and the resulting dignity that flows from that, a respect for the other (even or especially if they are different or you disagree with them). In a sense, if we can break down the word, it means to ‘stand under’ the person, to affirm them in their personhood, to hold in a freeing and open way the essence of who they are. If anyone has ever done that for you, you will know what I mean. Right throughout the gospels there flows the compassionate understanding of Jesus for all the people he encounters – the rich young ruler, Martha and Mary, Nicodemus, Zacchaeus (whom he literally stood under and who was transformed,) the dying thief, and so many others. Perhaps we see it especially in Jesus’ dealings with Peter. After the crucifixion Peter was locked in grief, guilt and shame. Jesus understood his vulnerability and fear and all of the other negative emotions he would have been experiencing. One of the first words he brings after the resurrection is one for Peter. The meaning behind the message is really, “Peter, I understand.” That was the beginning of Peter’s transformation. Is it possible that we can pray, “O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be understood as to understand?”
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