The Parable Of The Abnegated Ego
And Why We Think Every Tragedy Is An Unprecedented Scenario
Dear Friends,
On Facebook the other day, I saw a repost from the Merriam-Webster page. Yes, the dictionary. It was a frustratingly relevant little tidbit:
It’s been some years now since we all started begging for a little more precedent, events that felt more familiar. But sometimes I think we’re all operating with too-short memories. Things are not so strange as we think, or even as we would like to think.
Maybe there’s something worse, when horrible things happen, to recall that we’ve been here before. A brief overview of my own not-so-long memory includes the following:
-Before Covid-19 we had Swine Flu. And those are just the two pandemics that I’ve not only lived through but been infected by (thank you college dorms during swine flu).
-Before the current war between Palestine and Israel were the seemingly endless conflicts of the Second Intifada (2000-2005) and, notably, that was already the second.
-Similarly, while I can’t remember Operation Desert Storm, I was alive for it – and I was acutely aware of the second Gulf War.
-There have been give partial or complete government shutdowns over the federal budget since 1995 (which is, historically, about where my memory actually starts), ranging from 3 to 35 days.
-And, particularly pressing this week, what we once dubbed once in a century storms have become annual events. Hurricane Sandy killed more than 250 people in the area where I grew up. My wife taught second graders born in the months before and after Hurricane Katrina, with its more than 1800 person death toll. Flooding, hurricane-related or otherwise, kills about 125 people each year.
What is happening in Texas is, unfortunately, like so many other worst things, the rule rather than the exception and we find ourselves confronting that fact in disaster after disaster.
The Rev. Jess Elfring-Roberts, Executive Director of Episcopal Camps and Conference Centers, offers in prayer God’s ability to hold all of that grief, that sense that this is too much, in the name of Christ who calls the weary – all of us –
Or, if you just need to speak your grief in a more ordinary way, maybe you just want a few variations on the classic, “This sucks.” Merriam-Webster has you covered on that front, too.
Marx said that history repeats itself, first as tragedy, then as farce, but lately, there is no farce. Just tragedy after tragedy.
When we call something unprecedented, a favorite word of the last many years, we are, perhaps more than anything else, trying to underscore our own feelings of helplessness. But maybe we’re not as helpless as we think, ways in which we are equipped to be guiding lights to others. We have seen, if not this, then something like this, before. And, particularly in our relationships with children, while we don’t need to know everything, while we can express our fear and uncertainty, even naming that this has happened to *someone* before can be a source of reassurance.
Parables & Precedents
When the man traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho in this Sunday’s Gospel reading, the Parable of the Good Samaritan, was set upon by robbers, I imagine he was thinking, among other things, that the situation really sucked. Probably not that it was unprecedented, but that it was tragic for him at the least and, as he laid on the side of the road nearly dead, tragic for his family.
And those who avoided him, the priest and the levite, they surely – hurrying on their way, unable to risk ritual impurity when they had to go serve at the temple – well, they probably thought the situation sucked, too. That they’d like to help but they’d be letting other people down and that guy was probably going to die anyway if he wasn’t dead already.
Then we have the Samaritan.
The Samaritan and this Jewish traveler coming from Jerusalem are figures caught up in a relationship of mutual enmity. This was not a one-sided conflict. So, there is no expectation of aid between these figures, no regard.
I wonder if you can think of a relationship – or a failed relationship (these were both Jewish people, but practicing in ways the other disagreed with), or even a sense of geopolitical relationship – that felt like this. When we think about praying for or aiding our enemies or those who persecute us, I think this sort of tension, these relationships, are the ones we’re talking about.
You all know how the Parable of the Good Samaritan goes. The unexpected person is the one who renders aid. They model how to be a good neighbor, a global neighbor, to those of us following along. It’s a story that demonstrates generosity, gentleness, and a sort of self-abnegation and sets a precedent for us to follow. There’s no ego here.
And maybe that’s also at the heart of our perception of tragedy. It has less to do with something never happening before, about a lack of overall wisdom regarding how to deal with the terrifying circumstances of our world, but about our own ego in the midst of this. When we can turn to the example of what others have done – the radical works of aid, of peacemaking, of love and restoration, rather than the self-centered idea that a particular tragedy or crisis is new to us – we are better equipped to respond together.
A Prayer
God who calms the storm, who comforts the frightened and binds up our wounds, you have been present to us in all times – in the Israelites escape from slavery through the Red Sea, in the blessing of the generations of the Great Family, in fire and flood, the hospital bed and the jail, in Jesus’s death, but also in his birth and resurrection. Help us to see your saving hand and to follow the works of the heroes and prophets sent to dwell among us. In their constancy and love, show us who we are called to be, living more like the Samaritan than the priest, more like Zacchaeus with his anxious pursuit of Christ than those who believed themselves deserving through righteousness. May we too pursue you, through prayer and works and through our simple love of you, knowing that we encounter nothing new under the sun, but all is known to you. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, we praise the heart that knows our own. Amen.
Resource Round-Up
It’s a good time to bring this interview with Roger Hutchison (author of Sparrow’s Prayer and The Gift of Baptism, among others) on using art to help kids process grief and loss. In addition to the aforementioned books, which may have already made it into your church library, Roger is also the author of “My Favorite Color is Blue. Sometimes.: A Journey Through Loss with Art and Color,” which uses the emotional resonance of color to explore the experiences.
I love this article I ran into this week called Sacred Sounds: Why Babies Belong in Worship. This is one of those articles that is going to make you go, Yes! Of course! while also having a warm fuzzy feeling about the particular tenderness described here.
I wrote about Jan Hus for Grow Christians this week, in honor of his feast day. You all know how much some good reformation stories resonate for me!
Sign ups are here: The Faith Formation Creators Collaborative out of Lifelong Learning from VTS is on the calendar (remotely) for September 23-25. If you’re a Forma member, make sure to go check the Forma space for 25% off. Speakers & Workshop leads include Kyle Oliver, Kelly Brown Douglas, Katie Nakamura Rengers, and Melina Smith (founder of Storymakers).
The Beautiful Stuff Project is a non-profit based in Somerville, Massachusetts, one of my usual stomping grounds, and their work is focused on facilitating open-ended, upcycled art experiences for schools, community groups, and other organizations. Recently they posted this Creativity Challenge, and you don’t need access to their particular supplies to take part! What activities do you want to try?
I’m certainly in the whirlwind of a busy summer, friends, but I’m also scheming about a few things! Stay tuned and we’ll keep imagining, telling stories and writing our own.
Peace,
Bird