Crosses

The “aha” I blogged about in my last post has been unwilling to let me go. It has in fact gotten wrapped around the idea of radical hospitality and how that is related to what Jesus calls us to in the Gospel and how that is playing itself out in my life. In an earlier post, I talked about feeling like I was finally getting a handle on the humility/humiliation confusion that has long dogged me. Part of the legacy of that struggle is that I tend to be profligate with my power in the presence of threat, real or perceived. Ever since the day so long ago when G stood over me and determined me lacking in some fundamental way, the minute I feel that someone has judged me and found me wanting, I go “one down” in some very scary and seemingly irredeemable ways, hand my power, my efficacy and authenticity over on a silver platter, and roll over into shame.

That is not a place from which I can offer hospitality of any sort, let alone the radical kind that Jesus is asking. That is not the place from which I can follow a call. It is not even a place from which I can authentically discern what is really going on, as from there everything is distorted. Benign shadows morph into terrifying shapes and the innocent or random acts of others become sinister and triggering.

This has happened enough in recent memory to be sort of consistently on the radar screen. It comes up in all sorts of different arenas. The incident with the student is the latest example. Without exception the reactions I have gotten when I’ve talked with people about her have been the ones I got from those of you who commented here. Sane, rational responses. It is likely her problem. Keep on doing what I am doing. Be kind but hold my ground. Look under her reaction. And I get this, I really do. With my head. From one perspective I can be kind of righteously indignant…I am after all the teacher, I know what I am doing, who does she think she is? And from another I can be compassionate, she is frightened of something, she is reacting in fear, I can offer reassurance. And I have been in both places, acted from both, they both feel good in their own way.

But here’s the deal. I cannot move on, I cannot let go of this thing. I cannot take back my power from this person whom my rational self knows to be more scared than I am. I niggle away at it in my brain, it haunts my dreams and keeps me sleepless in the dark hours, where I worry it into something that even I know is way bigger than it is.

I know that this is the old thing, this is the legacy, the enduring ruthless dogging, dare I name it….demon….that will not release me. It seems to be locked my cells, woven in my being. I do not know when or how I will finally be quit of it. My SD assures me that I will, that there is a way, with God’s help. I am trusting that. I need to. Because more and more I hear that piece about the radical hospitality….and this is in the way. And the stuff in the way is the stuff that has to go. Of all the possessions I have to give up, perhaps this one is the hardest to figure out how to part with. Perhaps this is the cross. At least for right now. Maybe that’s all I need to know. Maybe that’s enough for today.