Finding Resilience in Vulnerability: A three-part series of worship and exploration.
Led by Sandra Turner and Sarah Mitchell.
For the Sunday mornings of July 22, 29 and August 5, using biblical stories, the topic will be opened within the context of worship and reflection as we seek to build resilient selves in the midst of our (so often challenging and painful) life realities. On the Monday evenings there will be the opportunity to explore, at depth, the implications of these stories for our lives.Sandra Turner is a member of Knox Church, Dunedin and a Psychotherapist who has a long standing interest in developing spirituality within the context of vulnerability and resilience. She is the author of To Rakiura & Beyond, which explores keeping going in the face of the unknown.
Sarah
There’s probably not one of us here this morning, who doesn’t know the parable of the Good Samaritan. For many Christians, this is the story which sums up the faith – being a good neighbour – being the Christ to others with the same amazing compassion offered by this unlikely, rejected and despised outsider – the Good Samaritan. He doesn’t have a name – in fact, none of the characters do – and yet, each has a role to play in inviting the listener to place their life story within the parable narrative. The Samaritan, the Priest, the Levite, the Innkeeper – all provide different perspectives and viewpoints from which we might consider how we understand ourselves and how we relate (or don’t) to our neighbour.
Today, in this first of three services in which we explore the developing of resilience in the face of vulnerability, Sandra and I invite you to focus on the one who probably receives the least attention in most interpretations of this parable; let’s consider the one, who in this story is probably the most vulnerable: the one who has been beaten up – and left for dead. Let’s step into his shoes for a moment...
He was taking the road from Jerusalem to Jericho … it was not a particularly safe route… a bit like life… Little did he know, as he set out that morning, he wouldn’t make it to his planned destination. Isn’t this our story too? The day starts just like any other, when – out of the blue – disaster strikes. A betrayal, a death, a diagnosis comes out of nowhere; we are robbed of our confidence and our security; our lives are changed for ever. Our battered selves lie, half-dead, at the side of the road... abandoned and ignored by others, unable to help ourselves; and we’re not quite sure that we have the strength to get through. We observe those representing the Church and the State (the ones we might reasonably expect to provide help) walking by on the other side; we’re alone. And sometimes, it’s at that moment, when hope is at its lowest ebb, the unlikely one comes, the despised one, the one we wouldn’t be seen dead with – holding out their hand, offering us their help.
Sandra
She offered nothing except the irritation of form filling and the gathering of baseline recordings: temperature, pulse, respiration and blood pressure. Her meek approach hardly seemed enough for this place where the stakes were high. I flicked her off as quickly as possible. Only the strong and vital captured my attention.
The call had gone out “Save the Hickmans”. An infection was lurking in the tubing that protruded from my chest wall and a great deal of effort was now being mobilised to shore up my struggling white blood cells. The Hickmans' line needed to be securely in place before everything could proceed; the stem cell harvest, the high dose chemotherapy and finally the bone marrow transplant.
Within a half hour the routine of life had vanished. No longer was it my schedule or even my life that ruled but the schedule and routine of the hospital. There was little to do but comply. I hunkered down, pulling myself three inches inside my skin, keeping all distress and worry at bay, donning on what good behaviour I could muster. Yet perfunctory dismissal, displays of irritation and arrogance hardly constitute good behaviour.
But this woman is persistent; she is determined to do her nursing care plan. I hardly hear her question, I’m not that interested in giving this mouse any more than the minimal attention I can get away with. She refuses to give up.
“What is it that bothers you about being in hospital?”
Eventually her words penetrate and despite my need to be self-contained, I begin to speak. I tell her what it is like to feel well; to have appointments scheduled for the week, to feel fully competent and then once again lose all independence, all ability to shape my own life. This place has been hard won. Twice now I have closed my practice and then bit by bit built up a confidence, in others, and in myself that I am robust enough and reliable enough for this work.
This is not just an admission for antibiotics. The big picture is of being in control or not being in control. No little thing. If I could stop long enough I would know that this was a spiritual crisis but I’m not yet ready to know that one. That comes later.
“So you need to be able to go home when you are not getting the antibiotics. Would that help?” The shock of being seen opens me up and my precious self-sufficiency begins to drop away. I accept her help and the nursing plan is written. Surprisingly the arrangement holds. The afternoon staff nurse arrives and announces she is organising teatime leave for me. No asking is needed, no good reasons are sought, this is what is needed, the nursing plan says so. Ah yes, this is a need, not a frivolous want. I do need to stay connected up to my life, to have time with my family at home. I will be better for this.
Returning to the ward after a few hours leave at home, a woman comes towards me from down the corridor. She is frail and shuffles along leaning close to the wall, seemingly for support and maybe even comfort. Her clothes hang on her and she wears what seems like a knitted tea cosy on her head. Any semblance of femininity has long since gone. Her features are gaunt, her eyes are dull. She hardly knows that I exist as she channels all her effort into this semblance of shuffling. Yet her very existence blares out at me, stopping me in my tracks.
Instantly my bile rises up. Does she not have any dignity? Surely she can do better than this? At least she could have the decency to get into a wheel chair or even use the utility corridor and stay out of sight. I want her away from me, I do not want to know that she exists. Her vulnerability disgusts me. I do not want to see her. I definitely do not want to see me or where I am heading. I want to be in a world that is okay.
This woman is possibly the last person whose hand I would accept as an offering of help. Maybe I might offer her my hand, be the person who is okay. From that place I can safely be the one who offers comfort. Life now is following the right order. I am helping someone who needs help. I do not even stop to consider that she has something to offer me. In this moment I have already dismissed her as someone of little worth to me though I could be of worth to her. Arrogance knows no bounds.
Who are the people you are comfortable enough to have them help you? Who will you let take your hand and who are the ones for whom you keep your hands firmly in your pocket. When someone asks you, “how are you?” what is you automatic response?
Will you let them know or will you keep them safely at a distance? Are you “fine”, “great”, or do you retreat to that old reliable place of “I’ve been really busy” as if being busy is the marker of well being. Is it easier to be alone and bruised rather than let any one see your vulnerability? Being willing to be seen requires courage and wise choices. After all not everyone knows how to take your hand easily, to listen without intruding or adopting a one up position.
But how do you choose? Does the person you let in have to be someone from your family, or not from your family, someone like you, same status, same position in life, a woman, a man, or even someone you will never meet again. We all limit our choices, sticking with the familiar, narrowing down, hunkering down, making do and keeping on going – not seeing there are other options.
When you look in the mirror do you turn away? Are you harsh in your appraisal or are you willing to embrace this person in front of you, flaws and all? Will you take your own hand and not turn away?
Having the strength to be vulnerable is an odd paradox? Will you let the Samaritan come into your life and take your hand?
Sarah
Developing such vulnerable strength takes practice. And so today, I invite you into a beginning moment of spiritual practice – a practice in which we cooperate with God in making the choice not to stay in the despair of isolation, but to enter the risky vulnerable place of being known and seen. Before we exchanged the Peace this morning, we sang about placing peace into each other’s hands as a treasure – each reaching out to the other – looking each other warmly in the eye – having the strength to be vulnerable to one another – and thus accepting peace from the most unlikely people. And so, in the minute of silence, which we will now keep, I invite you to get up from your seat, and without words, reach out your hand to someone and, looking them warmly in the eye, put peace into their hands and accept peace from them – give this treasure of peace a chance to flourish – so that love may enter the unexpected place, here on your road from Jerusalem to Jericho.
No comments:
Post a Comment