©Lauren Martin
In Tales of the Hasidim there is a story:
An old rabbi asked his pupils how they could tell when the night had ended and the day had begun. “Could it be,” asked one student, “when you can see an animal in the distance and tell whether it’s a sheep or a dog?” “No,” answered the rabbi. Another asked, “Is it when you can look at a tree in the distance and tell whether it’s a fig tree or a peach tree?” “No,” answered the rabbi. “Then when is it?” the pupils demanded. “It is when you can look on the face of any person and see that it is your sister and brother. Because if you cannot see this, it is still night.”
The students understandably enough assumed that the old rabbi was talking about darkness, as in the absence of light, but that is not the case. From the rabbi’s answer it is clear that he is talking about a different type of darkness; a darkness of the soul. In our gospel reading we meet Jesus and his disciples also in a type of darkness, and liturgically (in the church year) we are in another type of darkness.
Jesus ascended, Pentecost is around the corner, but not yet here, so now we wait. We wait in this awkward space where it seems as if Jesus followers have been abandoned. Yet, it is in this space where there will be transformation and union. Like the old rabbi’s question, ultimately the light will come from within.
In our Gospel reading, Jesus prays for the disciples in what has been called the high priestly prayer – well at least part of it. The Last Supper and foot washing are done. Following this prayer, Jesus and the disciples will go on to the Kidron valley and meet Judas. This is a dark time, but this is also a time of transition and transformation.
What does Jesus do at this time? He prays. He prays to God the Father – not a gendered identity, but using a term to indicate a close familial relationship. God the Father, or should we say God the Mother as we celebrate Mother’s Day today. God who is close to us. God who cares for us. God who we can talk to, closer to us than our closest family members.
This is a new way to thinking about God that Jesus opens up to the disciples and to us in this prayer. This new way to thinking about God is relational. God is no longer removed, transcendent, (some old bearded guy in the sky) but relational and present to us.
In this prayer, on a dark night, Jesus prays to God who is relational; God of the Divine dance present and active in creation, intimately interwoven in and between us all. We are invited to no longer think about God from a collective mentality but from that of a universal relational presence.
This relationality is not that of connectivity – like following someone on Facebook or Instagram, but about individually and communally being united in God. That does not look like conformal, cookie-cutter moulded people, but as Carl Jung said, ‘wholeness is not achieved by cutting off a portion of one’s being, but by integration of the contraries.’ – a unity not built on isolation or sameness but on a purposeful relative and conscious relationship with others. This unity is both, and not either, or. This unity is not based on building walls between us and the other.
On the other hand, this is not a unity granted to disembodied people on a spiritual level or a future hope reserved to God’s eternal kingdom, but a unity that is present amongst us and can be embodied now. A unity that is relational and dynamic. Like that of the concept of the Divine dance. A unity that is possible and present in the world.
So, what does that mean? After all Jesus prayed, we do not belong to the world but that we are also sent into the world. We are to be not of the world, but in it.
What does it mean to be of the world? Perhaps we could use the word ‘culture’ instead. The human ordering of life, encompassing human constructs such as social, cultural, political, and economic structures that shape, influence and quite often determine so much of our lives. Ways that are susceptible to systems that perpetuate injustice, death and othering. Ways that according the tale of our rabbi friend, could very well leave us in the dark.
That doesn’t mean that we sit back, abandoning the world – even if at times that may feel tempting. Jesus prays that the disciples are not of the world (not belonging to the world – the human ordering of life and its resulting structures) but are in the world. They are guided by a new way. We are called into that way of loving based on faith, embracing diversity – valuing and preserving the whole, looking after our neighbours, recognising the universal human worth present in all and acting based on love for others.
As Nelson Mandela said, “No one is born hating another person because of the colour of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.”[1]
In this unity- this relationality- there is no us and them. The constructs of us and them are an entirely artificial part of the human ordering of life. It is not real. There is only we. One world. One people. One family. Only we.
We can nurture this unity from acts of deep listening, from learning the stories of each other. Learning stories not to judge, but to learn and to be. To enter that Divine dance, especially in those in-between places. To enter into relationship. To be co-creators with God, allowing God’s creative spirit to birth new things, not of the world but in it.
We are still in the cultures (or the world) around us, but we are no longer made by (“of”) them. As Brian McLaren wrote, ‘through the Trinity we transcend us-them, in-out thinking… In the Trinity, we move beyond that dualism so that mine and yours are reconciled into ours. One and other are transformed into one another. Same and different are harmonised without being homogenised or colonised. Us and them are united without loss of identity and without dividing walls of hostility…. God is characterised by equality, empathy, and generosity rather than subordination, patriarchy, and hierarchy.’[2]
Jesus prays, opening a new way of thinking about God that is relational. A relationality that also offers unity. A unity not based on sameness, but on in-dwelling, care, concern, compassion, and love. These are expressed in Jesus’ high priestly prayer, in the care, concern and compassion evident for those he prays for. We too do this when we pray, trusting that God sees those we pray for as just as, or more important than how we see them.
There is an element of the dark surrounding this prayer, between Last Supper and Judas’ betrayal. This week, as a church, we sit in a time between the Ascension and Pentecost. Through Christ, through this prayer, we are invited into the Divine dance. Into the presence of a relational and loving God.
As the old rabbi said, How do we know the night has finished? Do we see our sister and brother in any person? Or do we sit in a sort of twilight, where we can only recognise those close to us, those who are familiar?
May you see the light of God within you, and in all those we meet.
[1] Mandela, Nelson 1996 Long Walk to Freedom
[2] McLaren, Brian 2014 We Make the Road By Walking, pp.228-29