Tag: Tattoos on the Heart

Homecomings

“A home is a subtle, implicit laboratory of spirit. It is here that human beings are made; here that their minds open to discover others and come to know who they might be themselves.” – John O’Donohue, “To Bless The Space Between Us”

That is a way of looking at “home” that I hadn’t thought to articulate. Home is a laboratory of spirit, in that it gives us the comfort and the foundation to experiment, grow, change, find ourselves.

In our morning e-mail discussion of John O’Donohue’s book, “To Bless the Space Between Us,” this week’s theme is homecomings. One of the points he makes is that “home” should be a place that prepares us to go out and create a new home and ultimately that we also “develop the capacity to be at home in themselves.” He goes on to say:

“When one is at home in oneself, one is integrated and enjoys a sense of balance and poise. In a sense that is exactly what spirituality is: the art of homecoming.”

Spirituality as homecoming. As a coming back to something that we knew, or know, or that at least feels familiar. We recognize it. And it is something we recognize inside of us. If God is home, the Holy Spirit is the home within us. Mystical, or direct experience of something like that can help us feel at home in the universe and in ourselves.

But what if you’ve never known the safety of home, been able to open your mind, explore?

This past week, we had a Zoom conversation with Fr. Gregory Boyle. At Christ Church Easton, we’ve done studies of three different books that Fr. Greg has written–“Tattoos on the Heart,” “Barking to the Choir,” and “Cherished Belonging.” I’ve quoted and written about him frequently and I think that organization that Fr. Greg has founded, run, and been a spokesman for, Homeboy Industries, is the best example I can point to of what a community built around Christ-like love looks like today. Their community shows people in the toughest Los Angeles gangs what being loved and cherished can do, and it has changed the city and the world.


Fr. Greg mentioned that he sees tons of kids who have become adults and who have never been soothed at home, or anywhere. Between parents who themselves have never been soothed, or who weren’t there–were in prison or just left–or who were the opposite of soothing, imagine a childhood with no reassurance, no soothing. It immediately casts out any hope of HOME or this sense of home that O’Donohue is communicating. Homeboy Industries is the first sense of home they may know, and then once someone has experienced it, they can help offer a sense of homecoming to others.

Fr. Greg talks about a guy named Sergio, who Boyle calls his spiritual director. They write/text back and forth every morning reflecting on Scripture. The other day, Sergio ended his reflection saying, “Today, I will surrender into the arms of God, then choose to be those arms.” Boyle later made a similar point, that when we receive the tender glance, either from God, or from someone we encounter, we can then become that tender glance for someone else. Knowing that we are loved and cherished, then loving others from that knowledge, that belonging.

Let’s circle back to homecomings: if we have a sense of home, a sense of being loved, a sense of safety, we can be or offer that to someone who hasn’t had that experience of home before.

We develop or nurture our own sense of home, within us. And then we reach out to someone who could benefit from that feeling. Maybe that seems like a good idea, something you’d be game to try. You go through your day, you get to the evening, or maybe a quiet time before you go to bed.

John O’Donohue suggests, in his blessing, “At the End of the Day: A Mirror of Questions,” that we ask ourselves:

What dreams did I create last night?
Where did my eyes linger today?
Where was I blind?
Where was I hurt without anyone noticing?
What did I learn today?
What did I read?
What new thoughts visited me?
What differences did I notice in those closest to me?
Whom did I neglect?
Where did I neglect myself?
What did I begin today that might endure?
How were my conversations?
What did I do today for the poor and the excluded?
Did I remember the dead today?
Where could I have exposed myself to the risk of something different?
Where did I allow myself to receive love?
With whom today did I feel most myself?
What reached me today? How deep did it imprint?
Who saw me today?
What visitations had I from the past and from the future?
What did I avoid today?
From the evidence–why was I given this day?

That’s a lot of questions–almost like a spiritually inquisitive kid who has been slamming Pixie Stix and then gives us an existential 20 Questions. Maybe focus on a few each evening–the ones that resonate or open something up. Watch what happens when you start asking yourself questions like this at the end of the day.

It’s akin to the Jesuit concept of the “Daily Examen,” where at the end of the day, you look back at the day you’ve just had and look where you saw, felt, heard, or experienced God’s presence or touch. And by doing that, you are also preparing yourself to look for it the next day.

O’Donohue’s questions are like that. If you get to the end of your day and reflect back with questions like this, you can be more mindful of looking for these things–keeping our eyes, minds, and hearts open to them–as they happen.

So what happens when looking back on our day with questions informs our coming days, that become our present days? Maybe we see, or hear, something we wouldn’t have.

It is so easy to stumble through our days without seeing, hearing, feeling. When we do that, there are so many things we miss out on. Let O’Donohue’s questions be a mirror. Let us be open to things that might be going on all around us, that we haven’t noticed before.

When we experience something new and profound, we can take it with us, and share it with others.

No labels, just love: the woman at the well

“I want to love like Jesus”—that’s a goal that’s thrown around by both fans of Jesus and maybe even doubters. Most people agree that Jesus knew something about love. And that that was and is a good thing.

How many people can tell us more about what that kind of love looks like? Is it just a hopeful thing to say without any real substance behind it? Or are we willing to look closer as to what it might mean to love like Jesus.

John’s Gospel story about the woman at the well is a great model for what that kind of love looks like in action.

Throughout each of the Gospels, Jesus makes a point of reaching across cultural, social, and religious boundaries and barriers to include people who were cast out or left out.

True to that form, the woman at the well, per culture and circumstance, is someone Jesus should not have been talking to.

Going through Samaria, Jesus was in a region and among a people the Jewish people didn’t look kindly on.

It’s the middle of the day, incredibly hot, a time when no one would have been at the well. And here comes a woman to get water.

Bible scholar N.T. Wright spells it out:

“In that culture, many devout Jewish men would not have allowed themselves to be alone with a woman. If it was unavoidable that they should be, they certainly would not have entered into conversation with her. The risk, they would have thought, was too high to risk impurity, risk of gossip, risk ultimately of being drawn into immorality. And yet Jesus is talking to this woman.”

If her being a woman wasn’t bad enough, on top of that she is a Samaritan. The Jewish people and the Samaritans didn’t mix. The Jews wanted nothing to do with the Samaritans. And no way in the world would they have considered sharing food or drink with them, much less sharing a drinking vessel.

Jesus reaches out to the woman by asking for a drink. He puts himself out there. Asks for hospitality. He makes himself vulnerable.

And who does he do this to? A woman who is coming to the well in the middle of the day to avoid having to deal with people, someone who has a stigma on her, a shame.

Debie Thomas in her book, “Into the Mess & Other Jesus Stories” makes the point perfectly:

“The Samaritan woman is the Other, the alien, the outsider, the heretic, the stranger. Jesus breaks all the boundaries he is not supposed to break to reach out to her.

What Jesus does when he enters into conversation with a Samaritan woman is radical and risky; it stuns his own disciples because it asks them to dream of a different kind of social and religious order. A different kind of kingdom.”

Maybe that’s a clue for us. Loving like Jesus asks us to envision a different kind of social order, a different kind of kingdom.

I picture this woman and the gossip about her, the things said to her, the looks, the scorn, the judgment. And here is Jesus, a Jewish teacher, and how does he talk to her? Without judgment, without shaming, without looking down on her, and at the same time fully engaging with her and fully seeing her for who she is.

John, as the writer, packs a lot into this story:

  • This conversation is the longest conversation Jesus has with anyone in any of the Gospels.
  • In John’s Gospel, this woman at the well is the first person to whom Jesus reveals his identity as the Messiah.
  • She is the first believer in any of the Gospels to become an evangelist and bring her entire city to a saving experience of Jesus.

All this for a Samaritan woman. This encounter was a big deal to John for him to give it so much space and meaning, and it was a big deal to Jesus.

So how does Jesus go about revealing his identity to the woman? Does he prove himself by healing the sick? Does he feed 5,000 people? Does he raise anyone from the dead or turn water into wine? No. He has a conversation with her.

He offers her “living water,” which she doesn’t understand. But he sits with her, listens to her, speaks to her, and reveals who he is.

Cynthia Kittredge in her book, “Conversations with Scripture: The Gospel of John points out:

“That Jesus’ revelation and the woman’s realization of him come through dialogue is an important feature to notice… Jesus does no sign here. There is no miracle.” He makes a claim which then takes a dialogue, a back and forth to make sense of.

“This is a type of dialogue in John’s Gospel which reflects a way individuals and people come to faith—through a process of effort and discussion.”

Jesus reveals himself with no miracles or signs, simply with conversation, insight, and presence. He hears her, he sees her, he doesn’t dismiss her—he shares with her.

How did the woman respond? She goes running off to her town and tells absolutely everyone there. And Jesus stuck around and confirmed her testimony for people. She went from scorned outsider to credible witness.

Jesus restores her and transforms her.

Is this what it looks like to love like Jesus? Is this something Jesus still offers us today?

Here’s where Debie Thomas asks questions that we need to ask:

“Just as he does for the Samaritan woman, Jesus invites us to see ourselves and each other through the eyes of love, not judgment. Can we, like Jesus, become soft landing places for people who are alone, carrying stories of humiliation too heavy to bear? Can we see and name the world’s brokenness without shaming? Can we tell the truth and honor each other’s dignity at the same time?”


In the six-plus years I have been at Christ Church Easton, being a part of small groups has been a revelation for me in witnessing what becoming this kind of soft landing place can do.

For several years we ran the Alpha Course after our Saturday evening service, and we had between 90 and 100 people who would meet in the Parish Hall for dinner. Our youth group and leaders were a part of that number as well. Our Parish Hall was packed with food, laughter, and new relationships forming. Everyone sat and ate together before breaking into small groups, and over the course of 11 weeks we also went on a weekend retreat together.

That program became a landing place for people in recovery. In many cases these were people who were getting clean through Narcotics Anonymous. And it was a huge leap of faith for them to walk through the door of a church. Repeatedly we heard, “I didn’t think a church would want someone like me here.” People named and worked through shame they carried. They shared stories of why they started using; of their low points, in some cases being in prison; and they shared hopes and dreams—things like being able to be present, to be a parent in the lives of their children.

They went deep when they shared. And that gave permission for everyone else to go deep with their own struggles and failures. We had a congregation of people come to know by name someone who they might have dismissed, labeled, and judged. Which would have been the congregation’s loss.

Middle schoolers in our youth group would find and sit with—both in church and at dinner—the friends they made, in some cases big dudes covered with tattoos, who came to absolutely love these kids. There were no labels, just love. There were no more outsiders or outcasts, just a community of people, a group of friends. It has a holy thing and a holy time.

It looked a lot like Jesus with the woman at the well.

Fr. Gregory Boyle in his book, “Tattoos on the Heart,” tells a story about a former gang member who lived near their church and who liked to hang out his window to talk to people on their way by. One day Boyle was walking by and the guy yelled out, “Hey G, I love you,” and waved him by like he was blessing him. Boyle thanked him, and the guy’s reply was, “Of course, you’re in my jurisdiction.”

Boyle uses the idea of “jurisdiction” to talk about the area of our love, and he talks about God’s jurisdiction, the area of His love, which is all-inclusive.

When thinking about how to love like Jesus, we need to expand our jurisdiction to be as inclusive, as expansive, as Jesus’s. In the story of the woman at the well, he gives us the example of what it looks like to expand our love and compassion to include someone who had been left out.

We don’t need miracles or signs to accomplish this—it is something any of us can do. And we do it with presence, vulnerability, empathy, dialogue, listening, and seeing.

I want to leave you with some of Fr. Gregory Boyle’s words about expanding the jurisdiction of our love:

“Close both eyes; see with (eyes of your heart). Then, we are no longer saddled by the burden of our persistent judgments, our ceaseless withholding, our constant exclusion. Our sphere has widened, and we find ourselves quite unexpectantly, in a new, expansive location, in a place of endless acceptance and infinite love.

We’ve wandered into God’s own jurisdiction.”

That’s how we love like Jesus.

Amen.


* On Saturday, March 11, I preached at our Iona Eastern Shore seminary class (at Old Trinity Church in Church Creek, MD) on John 4:5-42, the story of the Samaritan woman at the well. The text above is the sermon that I gave.