As you might imagine, the story continues that Mary and Martha (Lazarus' sisters) are overjoyed that Lazarus is back from the grave and seems to be hale and hardy rather than zombie-like and hungry for brains. This is a happy back-from-the-grave story. So, Mary takes some expensive perfume (which Jesus says she had been keeping for the day of his burial) and anoints Jesus' feet in gratitude. The version of this story in the gospel of John also has Mary wiping his feet with her hair. Judas gets angry about the wastefulness of the act, which the authors of John attribute to his greed. Jesus makes the comment that there will always be poor people and one might assist them at any time.
When this story appears in the gospel of Mark, it happens while Jesus is staying with Simon the Leper, and the woman's appearance and identity are unexplained. All of the disciples were upset, suggesting that the perfume could have been sold and the money given to the poor, and in addition to telling them that the poor will always be around for them to help, Jesus also remarks that the mysterious unnamed woman is preparing his body for burial. The authors of Matthew copied the gospel of Mark closely, but the gospel of Luke tells a completely different story. Here, Jesus is dining at the table of Simon, a Pharisee, and the mysterious unnamed woman (the suggestion here is that she is a habitually sinful woman, which perhaps means that she is a prostitute) enters and anoints Jesus feet with affection that must have seemed excessive to others at the table. Here, the woman dries his feet with her hair. There is nothing said about the poor or about burial; this time the story is used as a lesson about gratitude and pride.
(Incidentally, the gospel of Luke does include a story about Mary and Martha elsewhere -- without a Lazarus raising -- in which Mary sits adoringly at Jesus' feet while Martha busies herself with meal preparations. It seems rather odd that this detail would have been preserved, while the resurrection of their brother was too insignificant to retain. This sort of thing points to the gospel narratives being collections of stories assembled for a particular agenda rather than historical accounts in the way that we often think of factually accurate histories.)
Since the gospel of John was written decades after the other three canonical gospel narratives, one might wonder if the authors knew of the other written versions of this story and deliberately altered it for their own purposes. Perhaps it was commonplace to use such stories as malleable illustrations for larger truths. Some would argue that Jesus must have had his feet anointed by various women at various points in time, thus accounting for the different stories. On the one hand, the disciples should have gotten used to that behavior after awhile, but on the other hand it could have been increasingly annoying for random women to waste expensive perfume on your teacher's feet over and over again. In any case, if it was a common occurrence, we might expect at least one gospel narrative to include multiple stories about Jesus having his feet anointed. Each only includes one such instance, however, and it is conveyed as somewhat shocking behavior.
No, this is simply a story that different authors use for different purposes. This is not a historical account. Did people in the Ancient Near East anoint their bodies with perfumed oils? Yes. Some ancient tales even include warnings for living heroes descending into the land of the dead to abstain from slicking themselves up with nice smelling oils, lest they make the dead jealous. There is probably a considerable amount of symbolism in this story that is lost on modern readers, although that doesn't stop biblical commentators from suggesting any number of interpretations. Many of them seem quite content to argue back and forth about assumptions without any real evidence. That being the case, we may as well jump into the fray to find some useful insight for our own intentional lives, laying aside any assumptions about an actual event to unravel. Three distinct pieces of this seem worthy of consideration: the attitude that Mary expresses, the attitude that Judas expresses, and the attitude that Jesus expresses.
In this case, both Mary and Jesus might serve as our exemplars, while Judas obviously represents some fear-driven reactivity. Mary is obviously quite impressed with Jesus, and she's particularly grateful for the restoration of her brother's life. She was not overly concerned with propriety. We might even say she was overwhelmed with gratitude. Now she didn't do anything overtly shameful. She held to some societal boundaries. She did trample over what some individuals in the room considered the bounds of good taste. And she didn't care. She was appreciative enough that she did what she was comfortable doing to express her gratitude, and she was apparently respectful of Jesus' boundaries as well.
Just as Mary was entitled to operate within her own personal boundaries despite whether others agreed with those boundaries, Jesus was free to set his own boundaries. He could have said, "Um, Mary? I'm honored that you appreciate me so much, but I'm uncomfortable with how you're expressing it." He didn't. He recognized the act as something worth receiving with some intention. As difficult as it is for some of us to express appreciation and gratitude, it's even more difficult for some of us to graciously accept appreciation and gratitude from others. Perhaps it feels somehow vulnerable, no matter which side of unabashed appreciation we happen to be on.
For some folks, maybe it feels uncomfortable to observe effusive appreciation. The authors of John invent a reason for Judas to have reacted unfavorably to Mary's display, but we could probably come up with any number of reasons why a person might object. Some people might feel like they've been replaced as an object of affection. Or they may be jealous that someone is getting more attention than they are. Or they may feel like the appreciation is undeserved. Judas was afraid of something, and when we object to other people giving and receiving unabashed gratitude, we're afraid of something. The authors of John wrote Judas off rather quickly. We might care for ourselves better and get at the root of our fear. When we are able to deal with that, we are better able to celebrate with people who are celebrating.
Honestly, Mary's appreciation was a wasteful act. Yet, what good are the things we have if we don't use them to connect with the people around us? Gratitude isn't ever wasted. Honestly, Jesus' response was indulgent. Yet, we need to indulge a bit in affirmation. We need to allow room in our relationships for celebrating others and being celebrated by others. Gratitude, affirmation, and appreciation are not finite resources. They're not going to run out just because someone bestows a phenomenal amount on one person. Gratitude, affirmation, and appreciation are in abundant supply, as often as we care to express them.
It's important for us to anoint someone's feet once in a while, when it's a sincere act of gratitude. And it's important for us to humbly take it in when someone is appreciative enough of us that they choose to anoint our feet -- and to accept that gratitude for what it is. We long so much for human closeness, and we so often fearfully keep ourselves from it, that when we experience closeness with another person, we try to turn it into something it isn't intended to be. We might mistake genuine appreciation for a romantic invitation, or worse, we might be tempted to take advantage of someone who is expressing gratitude. The real potential for these reactions are one reason that people have such a difficult time expressing and receiving genuine appreciation -- it feels dangerous because we are so often unaccustomed to healthy human closeness.
Gratitude doesn't need to feel dangerous. It is vulnerable, to be sure. But we can choose to remain aligned with our own deep values about the inherent worth and dignity of every person and still give and receive appreciation. We can maintain the boundaries of our relationships and still celebrate others and be celebrated by them. The more we practice allowing gratitude and appreciation to be just what they are, the less dangerous they will seem. In other words, if we don't let our fears about our own worthiness get in the way, we can make it safe for others to express gratitude and appreciation toward us.
Another catch is that we can't really demand appreciation from others. When we start expecting effusive praise as standard operating procedure, not only is it less likely to be sincere, but it literally means less to us. On a certain level, we need peaks and valleys to make the terrain of our lives meaningful. We need moments of expressive gratitude and moments when we do what we do because it aligns with our principles, whether or not anyone notices or appreciates what we do.
One last piece of this story is worthy of mention. The Jesus character says that the poor will always be around. The people with whom we develop close bonds will someday be gone, but there will always be people in need. Mary had set aside that perfumed oil for Jesus. She was just using it before she had initially planned. In a sense, that nard was already his, whether he got the gift after he died or before. It's appropriate for us to be as lavish as we would like in our generosity.
At the same time, there will always be people in need. They are the more faceless characters in the story. They are mentioned, but they don't have names. They are a category, a population. As such, it's more difficult for us to feel connected to them. The poor are often a Them and not a part of Us. Perhaps there are ways that we can attend to the real physical needs of people around us who are under-served while still being unashamed in our expressions of gratitude to the people we appreciate. That might look different for each of us, depending on our locations and resources. Still, it need not be true that there will always be people in need. We can contribute to the well-being of people geographically close to us and contribute to the well-being of people who are emotionally close to us without either being compromised. Maybe learning to celebrate others and be celebrated by others without shame is one part of a bigger equation. Being generous in our gratitude and appreciation may open us to being generous in other areas as well.
Showing posts with label celebration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label celebration. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Monday, October 13, 2014
John 3:22-36 Religious Privilege and Being "from Within"
When a person comes from a particular culture with a particular set of traditions and practices, it can be shocking to encounter a person from a different culture with a different set of traditions and practices. Sometimes, our reaction is to find things that look similar and assume that other people think like us -- we validate our own perspective by equating other people's perspective with our own. There might be actual similarities between cultures, and noticing this can be a very connecting observation. However, I have also had some conversations in which people point out how "Christian" my worldview is, because they are Christian and they assume that God is working through all people and situations, no matter what those other people believe.
On the one hand, this is generous of the Christian in question. Assuming that people are like you is much more connecting than assuming that people are so different that they are dangerous. This other extreme is still an unfortunate reality throughout the world -- the Other seems so dangerous that some people justify violent reaction. On the other hand, assuming that people are like you -- for instance, saying things like, "That's a very Christian thing to do," when someone engages in an act of kindness or compassion -- forces an identity onto another person. Perhaps in that person's mind it is a very Buddhist thing to do, or a very Muslim thing to do, or a very Wiccan thing to do, or a very human thing to do. To equate everything good with one's own identity and incorporate all good acts under the umbrella of one's own subculture robs other people of their identity and ignores the diversity of humanity. It's also very difficult to learn anything new when you assume that you already know why people do the things they do.
As human beings, we learn to look at the world through a preferred set of lenses, and we have a tendency to focus on the things that affirm that perspective and dismiss the things that challenge it. When we encounter data, our first impulse is often to find a way to neatly fit that into our "mental model" of the world so that we don't have to change in any significant way. A believer recently told me that the similarities between the basic teachings of world religions convinced him that there was a God. Aside from ignoring some vast differences between world religions in order to arrive at this conclusion, this individual had a belief in God before learning about some similarities between world religions. Seeing some data about similar teachings and ignoring some other data about differences, this belief was reinforced. This individual didn't change religious identity, though. He remained convinced that his religion's understanding of God was more correct than the views held by practitioners of other religions. The similarities of beliefs were held up as proof that his opinion of God was right, and that other religions had a glimmer of truth. His beliefs were still the measuring stick by which truth was measured. Where there were differences, the other religions (and other denominations) were obviously the ones that had gotten it wrong.
At a certain level, we can't help this sort of thing. Being aware of it, though, might help us to take in a little bit more information and maybe even be a little more honest with ourselves about what we take in. Of course, I write this from my own perspective that seems to be confirmed by my experience. No one else can force me to evaluate data in a particular way. I am the only person who can ultimately assess whether my perspective is working for me or not, but when my experience of life is not going the way I would prefer, chances are good that something is amiss with my perspective. Knowing that may help me to grow and change when I need to.
At the end of John 3, Jesus and John the Baptist are in geographic proximity, and some of John's followers interpret this as a turf war. They had a particular mental model about authority and popularity that suggested that if John lost followers to Jesus, then it would mean that John was somehow less of a leader, less capable, less trustworthy. In this passage, John pretty much agrees with them. In rather Highlander-esque fashion, John suggests that "there can be only one." From the Christian perspective, this passage legitimizes the uniqueness of Jesus and the necessity of being obedient. Without assuming anything more about the ancient writers, and without forcing any Christians into a different label, we might draw a different message if we look through a different set of lenses.
To be clear, we start off with some assumptions about reality. Everyone brings their own assumptions to the text, particularly to a text that is held by some to be sacred. Sometimes it seems strange that I am still commenting on a text that holds one perspective when my (conflicting) perspective holds that there is no supernatural and that the closest thing to divinity with which we can connect is within us, not external to us. Part of the reason this seems strange is because Christian privilege in the United States means that the Bible is rarely used to promote another belief system. People who are not Jewish or Christian typically don't try to derive any value from biblical texts. Another aspect of Christian privilege, though, is that the Bible and its supposed contents are constantly present in American life, particularly in political debates and matters of public policy. It seems worthwhile to approach the text with a set of assumptions that might broaden its potential message.
Delving into the text itself, then, it is obvious that some of the nomenclature is derived from a particular view of reality. Spiritual things are not "above," but we might consider them to be "within." The "one from above," then, is the person who is connected with a deepest, most noble self -- a person who has identified a set of deep values and guiding principles and who lives more intentionally by those things. "Obedience" and "disobedience" in this context would equate with authenticity and inauthenticity. The more authentic person lives with less anxiety and greater purpose, or intentionality. Less authentic people are more anxious, less thoughtful, and more prone to blame others or circumstances for their experience of life. Lacking integrity between our values and our actions creates more suffering and robs us of well-being.
It bears repeating that well-being doesn't equate with wealth. This is not about some kind of strange trickle-down economic formula. Well-being is holistic, and it is primarily tied with being less anxious and more empowered to create a better life and a better world. Certainly, having a certain threshold of financial well-being helps to meet basic needs and reduces anxiety. As we are able to help break the cycle of poverty and provide for healthy food, clean water, and safe shelter for the people with whom we share this planet, we do indeed create greater well-being. After a certain point, however, greater wealth does not bring greater happiness or alleviate anxiety. Some wealthy people are profoundly reactive and anxious. Well-being is about our experience of life, not wealth in and of itself.
Perhaps connection with our deepest, most noble selves helps us be more curious about other beliefs, rather than feeling threatened by them. Perhaps clarifying our values and guiding principles also helps us have clarity about whatever amount of privilege we might have because of our skin color, beliefs, or sexuality. Certainly, living with greater intentionality and integrity can help us dismantle some self-sabotaging behaviors that keep us in a state of habitual reactivity. We can be more authentically ourselves, and thus potentially make it seem safe for others to be more authentically themselves as well. We might also begin to recognize that when others act with intention and integrity and create greater well-being in their lives and in the lives of people around them, they aren't acting "like us" -- they are acting like themselves. If we are going to put labels on people's behavior, maybe it's best for us to label them as human, and acknowledge how much we all have in common based on just that one category.
A Little Experiment: Consider your privilege. There are lots of things that can give people a privileged status in society. Skin color, sexuality, and religious identity are three of the most commonly acknowledged facets of privilege. What is one thing that you take for granted about how you are accepted in society that people of a different skin color, or sexuality, or religion are not automatically granted?
(If you're having trouble with the idea of religious privilege, you can see a list about Christian privilege in the U.S. here. Peggy McIntosh also has an insightful list of white privilege here. A quick list about heterosexual privilege can be found here.)
Another Little Experiment: Celebrate. Are there any people you know who has accomplished something or has created greater well-being for themselves and the people around them? Acknowledge them. Celebrate them. And let it be sincere. Let your joy for them be complete.
One More Little Experiment: Be curious. The next time someone does something or says something you find admirable, ask them why. Don't assume that they are guided by the same things as you, or that your perspective is the only valid one. They might have the same beliefs as you, but let them express that rather than assuming agreement.
On the one hand, this is generous of the Christian in question. Assuming that people are like you is much more connecting than assuming that people are so different that they are dangerous. This other extreme is still an unfortunate reality throughout the world -- the Other seems so dangerous that some people justify violent reaction. On the other hand, assuming that people are like you -- for instance, saying things like, "That's a very Christian thing to do," when someone engages in an act of kindness or compassion -- forces an identity onto another person. Perhaps in that person's mind it is a very Buddhist thing to do, or a very Muslim thing to do, or a very Wiccan thing to do, or a very human thing to do. To equate everything good with one's own identity and incorporate all good acts under the umbrella of one's own subculture robs other people of their identity and ignores the diversity of humanity. It's also very difficult to learn anything new when you assume that you already know why people do the things they do.
As human beings, we learn to look at the world through a preferred set of lenses, and we have a tendency to focus on the things that affirm that perspective and dismiss the things that challenge it. When we encounter data, our first impulse is often to find a way to neatly fit that into our "mental model" of the world so that we don't have to change in any significant way. A believer recently told me that the similarities between the basic teachings of world religions convinced him that there was a God. Aside from ignoring some vast differences between world religions in order to arrive at this conclusion, this individual had a belief in God before learning about some similarities between world religions. Seeing some data about similar teachings and ignoring some other data about differences, this belief was reinforced. This individual didn't change religious identity, though. He remained convinced that his religion's understanding of God was more correct than the views held by practitioners of other religions. The similarities of beliefs were held up as proof that his opinion of God was right, and that other religions had a glimmer of truth. His beliefs were still the measuring stick by which truth was measured. Where there were differences, the other religions (and other denominations) were obviously the ones that had gotten it wrong.
At a certain level, we can't help this sort of thing. Being aware of it, though, might help us to take in a little bit more information and maybe even be a little more honest with ourselves about what we take in. Of course, I write this from my own perspective that seems to be confirmed by my experience. No one else can force me to evaluate data in a particular way. I am the only person who can ultimately assess whether my perspective is working for me or not, but when my experience of life is not going the way I would prefer, chances are good that something is amiss with my perspective. Knowing that may help me to grow and change when I need to.
At the end of John 3, Jesus and John the Baptist are in geographic proximity, and some of John's followers interpret this as a turf war. They had a particular mental model about authority and popularity that suggested that if John lost followers to Jesus, then it would mean that John was somehow less of a leader, less capable, less trustworthy. In this passage, John pretty much agrees with them. In rather Highlander-esque fashion, John suggests that "there can be only one." From the Christian perspective, this passage legitimizes the uniqueness of Jesus and the necessity of being obedient. Without assuming anything more about the ancient writers, and without forcing any Christians into a different label, we might draw a different message if we look through a different set of lenses.
To be clear, we start off with some assumptions about reality. Everyone brings their own assumptions to the text, particularly to a text that is held by some to be sacred. Sometimes it seems strange that I am still commenting on a text that holds one perspective when my (conflicting) perspective holds that there is no supernatural and that the closest thing to divinity with which we can connect is within us, not external to us. Part of the reason this seems strange is because Christian privilege in the United States means that the Bible is rarely used to promote another belief system. People who are not Jewish or Christian typically don't try to derive any value from biblical texts. Another aspect of Christian privilege, though, is that the Bible and its supposed contents are constantly present in American life, particularly in political debates and matters of public policy. It seems worthwhile to approach the text with a set of assumptions that might broaden its potential message.
Delving into the text itself, then, it is obvious that some of the nomenclature is derived from a particular view of reality. Spiritual things are not "above," but we might consider them to be "within." The "one from above," then, is the person who is connected with a deepest, most noble self -- a person who has identified a set of deep values and guiding principles and who lives more intentionally by those things. "Obedience" and "disobedience" in this context would equate with authenticity and inauthenticity. The more authentic person lives with less anxiety and greater purpose, or intentionality. Less authentic people are more anxious, less thoughtful, and more prone to blame others or circumstances for their experience of life. Lacking integrity between our values and our actions creates more suffering and robs us of well-being.
The one whose decisions and behaviors are derived from within -- from a set of deep values and clear guiding principles -- is better able to resist being reactive and can influence others toward greater well-being. The one who habitually reacts based on a set of default behaviors is less able to contribute to a better world, and is less able to recognize the value of acting from a set of deep values and clear guiding principles. The very idea will seem foreign and misguided.
Whoever accepts the premise that it is better to act from a set of deep values and clear guiding principles, also recognizes connection to a deepest, most noble self -- an integral aspect of being human that is more stable than the irrational fears that often prompt our habitual reactivity. Connection with one's deepest, most noble self yields a more full and satisfying experience of life. Living out of habitual reactivity yields a life of experiencing the same misery over and over again (John 3:31-36).Considering this, the sentiment of the John the Baptist character in John 3:29-30 becomes significant. When we are connected to our deepest, most noble selves, and when we are living with integrity to a set of deep values and clear guiding principles, we don't want other people to suffer. We don't revel in feeling superior. We don't think of ourselves as "better than" others. When other people get it, we can celebrate that. When other people start living out of their own deep values and clear guiding principles, our joy can be more complete. This may mean that other people accomplish things in their lives that we don't get to accomplish, that they have access to arenas that we do not. Life is not a competition against one another. Life is a collaboration. When one person experiences greater well-being, others experience greater well-being, too.
It bears repeating that well-being doesn't equate with wealth. This is not about some kind of strange trickle-down economic formula. Well-being is holistic, and it is primarily tied with being less anxious and more empowered to create a better life and a better world. Certainly, having a certain threshold of financial well-being helps to meet basic needs and reduces anxiety. As we are able to help break the cycle of poverty and provide for healthy food, clean water, and safe shelter for the people with whom we share this planet, we do indeed create greater well-being. After a certain point, however, greater wealth does not bring greater happiness or alleviate anxiety. Some wealthy people are profoundly reactive and anxious. Well-being is about our experience of life, not wealth in and of itself.
Perhaps connection with our deepest, most noble selves helps us be more curious about other beliefs, rather than feeling threatened by them. Perhaps clarifying our values and guiding principles also helps us have clarity about whatever amount of privilege we might have because of our skin color, beliefs, or sexuality. Certainly, living with greater intentionality and integrity can help us dismantle some self-sabotaging behaviors that keep us in a state of habitual reactivity. We can be more authentically ourselves, and thus potentially make it seem safe for others to be more authentically themselves as well. We might also begin to recognize that when others act with intention and integrity and create greater well-being in their lives and in the lives of people around them, they aren't acting "like us" -- they are acting like themselves. If we are going to put labels on people's behavior, maybe it's best for us to label them as human, and acknowledge how much we all have in common based on just that one category.
A Little Experiment: Consider your privilege. There are lots of things that can give people a privileged status in society. Skin color, sexuality, and religious identity are three of the most commonly acknowledged facets of privilege. What is one thing that you take for granted about how you are accepted in society that people of a different skin color, or sexuality, or religion are not automatically granted?
(If you're having trouble with the idea of religious privilege, you can see a list about Christian privilege in the U.S. here. Peggy McIntosh also has an insightful list of white privilege here. A quick list about heterosexual privilege can be found here.)
Another Little Experiment: Celebrate. Are there any people you know who has accomplished something or has created greater well-being for themselves and the people around them? Acknowledge them. Celebrate them. And let it be sincere. Let your joy for them be complete.
One More Little Experiment: Be curious. The next time someone does something or says something you find admirable, ask them why. Don't assume that they are guided by the same things as you, or that your perspective is the only valid one. They might have the same beliefs as you, but let them express that rather than assuming agreement.
Monday, August 18, 2014
Isaiah 38-39: Living in the Present Responsibly
Isaiah 38 and 39 contain two more stories about Hezekiah, both of which are also recorded in 2 Kings, although the version in Isaiah includes a song that does not appear in 2 Kings. Although 2 Chronicles also contains a version of the siege of Jerusalem by Sennacherib (which we explored last week), including some of the strategic preparations Hezekiah made as the Assyrian army advanced, the Chronicler records only a summary of the story of Hezekiah's illness and leaves out the story about the envoys from Babylon altogether. Perhaps the Chronicler didn't want to record anything that made the Judean king look bad, or perhaps the stories evolved and circulated in such a fashion that the Chronicler didn't have the same information as the authors of Isaiah and 2 Kings. Historically, it looks like Hezekiah fell ill and then recovered at a certain point in his reign. What is more interesting is what the stories about the king might help us see in our own lives.
Out of the varied versions of Hezekiah's illness, Isaiah is the only one that suggests a glimpse at what Hezekiah was thinking. 2 Chronicles suggests that Hezekiah was too proud after recovering from his illness, and that his pride brought suffering on himself and his kingdom; only his humility spared them. Without any details, we can only derive that pride can be dangerous, especially for those in positions of power. More details about applying figs to the king's boils and the shadow on a sundial miraculously moving backward appears in 2 Kings, as it does in Isaiah. There is nothing explicit in 2 Kings to accuse Hezekiah of pride, however. Only in Isaiah does the author include a poem or song that reflects Hezekiah's grief that he would die "in the noontide of [his] days," and his subsequent exuberance about regaining his life.
The poet of Isaiah 38:10-20 observes a few things worth acknowledging. First, there are some things we can't control. There are some illnesses no amount of medicine will cure, and yet sometimes people recover through no conscious or intentional action on their part. There are some decisions that we cannot influence, and yet sometimes we are the unexpected beneficiaries of other people's decisions. Second, when we are miserable -- even if we are not so sick that we aren't likely to survive -- we often wallow in our misery and act as though that misery completely fills our future. We are sometimes overwhelmed with hopelessness in the midst of temporary hardship. Third, we can't celebrate once we're dead, so if we have reason for celebration, we should express it while we are alive. The dead are not grateful or hopeful, and they aren't selfish or hopeless either. If there's something that matters to us, we have to tend to it while we are alive.
To the first observation, there are some who will point out that Hezekiah's illness in the story actually was cured because of something he did; he was in control of his own well-being. Surely, this is often the case in our own lives. Our own habits are often the causes of our misery. If we are willing to change what we do, we might create greater well-being in our lives. In Hezekiah's case, perhaps figs have a curative property that alleviates certain deadly boils, but we know that prayer in and of itself doesn't have any effect on reality. As has been pointed out, wishing for something and asking a supernatural to accomplish it for you is no different from magic. In the absence of any supernatural, we must conclude that we have to do something different if we want our reality to be different. It is this practice of acting in accord with our prayers or wishes that actually changes things. When we are willing to act in accordance with what we want, we change our lives. If prayer or some other religious practice prepares us for acting in accord, then so be it, but in this case it is still human action that makes the difference.
Even then, there are limits to what we can control. When we accurately recognize the limits of our control, we are less likely to be miserable. When we accurately assess the magnitude of our hardship, we are potentially less likely to wallow in our misery. Sometimes, our feelings of hopelessness are completely justified, and our emotions are always true, whether they are actually warranted or not. The more we are able to step back from our own circumstances and see a larger picture of our lives and of the world, though, the more we are able to place our own experience in perspective. This surely takes a bit of practice.
Having some perspective could also help us find things to celebrate. The poet of Isaiah 38:10-20 suggests that just being alive is something worth celebrating, and I'm inclined to agree, even though I haven't just recovered from a deadly illness. It might even be that every moment of our lives is ripe with things that are worthy of celebration, if we are just willing to look for those sources of joy rather than the ubiquitous reasons to feel miserable. There is something to be said for living in the present moment with gratitude for what we have.
Being fully present in the moment cuts both ways, then. If we dwell in the past or focus entirely on the future, we miss our opportunities to act and to create. We often hear that we should strive to be awake to the present. Yet, without any perspective at all, we could lose sight of a larger context. We could get overwhelmed by our temporary misery. We could make foolish or naive decisions that don't contribute to the kind of lives we want or the kind of world we want. In order to be fully present in each moment, we have to understand something about what matters to us -- we have to know our general trajectory at least. Otherwise, we might keep making the same mistakes over and over again, or we might keep veering off course from the things we care about most deeply. Balance and perspective are important.
As an example, we have one last story about Hezekiah, told almost exactly the same in 2 Kings 20 and Isaiah 39. Some Babylonian envoys pay Hezekiah a visit, and the king shows them around to all his treasures. After they leave, Isaiah warns the king that Babylon will one day be a great empire that will abscond with all of those treasures as well as Hezekiah's own descendants. (This is an indication that the story originated after Hezekiah's death during or after the time of the Babylonian exile.) Hezekiah, thinking only of the present moment and his personal experience, is grateful that there will be peace during the rest of his lifetime.
Living in the present could have some negative long-term consequences if we are not conscious of a larger context. Our lives are like threads in an enormous tapestry, and our actions determine our connection to all the other threads. Littering might make sense to someone living in the present, and yet it creates a less habitable world for other people. Large scale pollution from industry would follow the same logic, except that its effects on future generations is exponentially greater than a litterbug tossing a fast food bag out of a car window at a stoplight. Being fully present in the moment without any sense of the interconnectedness of our our lives and actions can be profoundly irresponsible. While we cannot predict the future well enough to know the eventual results of every action we take, we can at least consider some of the obvious consequences of our actions. We cannot consider the long-term well-being of ourselves and the people around us, however, without some sense of perspective. We might be much more prone to seek out quick fixes to our anxiety if we are just attuned to the present moment. Thus, while we strive to be fully present in each moment so that we can most effectively act in accord with what we want for our lives, the lives of others, and the world we all share, we have to spend some time thinking about how our actions in the moment fit into a bigger picture.
One way that we can do this is by connecting with other people, particularly people in different circumstances from us. We might do this just by walking around our neighborhoods and introducing ourselves, or we might get involved in an organized effort to improve the well-being of a certain group of people. For instance, through tutoring primarily Latino students in a local GED program, I was able to connect with people who are taking steps to improve their lives -- and the lives of their descendants. I gained a greater appreciation for the sorts of sacrifices some people make in order to provide for the basic needs of their families, and I became more aware of how challenging the current system of bureaucracy can be for some of those people. They have to confront challenges I have never had to confront. I have a different set of challenges in my life, and a different set of sacrifices that make sense in the context of the kind of person I want to be and the kind of life I want to live. Connecting with people who seem different from you on the surface can help provide a more informed sense of perspective. It's easier to be aware of how your actions affect the lives and well-being of the people around you when you are more deeply connected to those people.
Another advantage of our time is the ease with which we can gain information about the world. It's also true that we can get lost in internet rabbit trails, and we must be ever more discerning about the biases of the information we find. Still, we have the potential to understand a great deal about how the patterns and habits of our lives affect our own well being, and how our actions impact the lives of people on the other side of the world. We don't have to learn all that there is to know, and we don't have to learn it all at once. The willingness to continually place a little bit of new information into our worldview can keep us conscious of a larger context in the midst of our moment-by-moment decisions. It bears repeating that this willingness to take in new information also comes with the responsibility to make sure that information is valid, to the best of our ability. Since everyone has biases, all of the information we find has been influenced by someone's biases, and our interpretation of that information will be influenced by our own biases. Even so, being aware of a larger global perspective can help us live in the moment more responsibly.
There are probably dozens of ways that people could maintain a larger perspective while striving to be more fully present in each moment. I'll mention one final way, since it so clearly connects to topics from previous chapters. When we know our guiding principles, it's easier to make decisions. When we are conscious of our values, it's easier to know what to do in the moment. Our values and guiding principles are necessarily big-picture kinds of ideas. They automatically connect us with a larger perspective. They are tapestry-sized concepts. When we spend a little time each day reminding ourselves of our values, the principles we want to guide us, or what we envision as a best possible version of ourselves, moments of anxiety have less potential to send us into a tailspin. Our temporary misery is less likely to overwhelm us when we know what we stand for. We are less likely to sabotage our ability to express our deepest most noble selves when we regularly spend time being aware of how we want to show up in life. Once we have identified our values and our guiding principles, a few minutes is all that it takes to tune in to ourselves and be reminded of those deep truths about who we are.
Our lives are threads in an enormous tapestry, and our moment-by-moment decisions determine how we connect with all the other threads and the tapestry as a whole. In order to make the most of our opportunities, we strive to be more fully present in the moment, and yet our sense of integrity suggests that we maintain a broader perspective. We can do this by building connection with the people around us, developing our knowledge about the larger world we inhabit, and being more deeply aware of the values and principles upon which we want to base our lives. In this way, we might recognize our limits and boundaries with greater clarity, more often prevent momentary misery from overwhelming us, and more frequently recognize all that we have to celebrate.
Out of the varied versions of Hezekiah's illness, Isaiah is the only one that suggests a glimpse at what Hezekiah was thinking. 2 Chronicles suggests that Hezekiah was too proud after recovering from his illness, and that his pride brought suffering on himself and his kingdom; only his humility spared them. Without any details, we can only derive that pride can be dangerous, especially for those in positions of power. More details about applying figs to the king's boils and the shadow on a sundial miraculously moving backward appears in 2 Kings, as it does in Isaiah. There is nothing explicit in 2 Kings to accuse Hezekiah of pride, however. Only in Isaiah does the author include a poem or song that reflects Hezekiah's grief that he would die "in the noontide of [his] days," and his subsequent exuberance about regaining his life.
The poet of Isaiah 38:10-20 observes a few things worth acknowledging. First, there are some things we can't control. There are some illnesses no amount of medicine will cure, and yet sometimes people recover through no conscious or intentional action on their part. There are some decisions that we cannot influence, and yet sometimes we are the unexpected beneficiaries of other people's decisions. Second, when we are miserable -- even if we are not so sick that we aren't likely to survive -- we often wallow in our misery and act as though that misery completely fills our future. We are sometimes overwhelmed with hopelessness in the midst of temporary hardship. Third, we can't celebrate once we're dead, so if we have reason for celebration, we should express it while we are alive. The dead are not grateful or hopeful, and they aren't selfish or hopeless either. If there's something that matters to us, we have to tend to it while we are alive.
To the first observation, there are some who will point out that Hezekiah's illness in the story actually was cured because of something he did; he was in control of his own well-being. Surely, this is often the case in our own lives. Our own habits are often the causes of our misery. If we are willing to change what we do, we might create greater well-being in our lives. In Hezekiah's case, perhaps figs have a curative property that alleviates certain deadly boils, but we know that prayer in and of itself doesn't have any effect on reality. As has been pointed out, wishing for something and asking a supernatural to accomplish it for you is no different from magic. In the absence of any supernatural, we must conclude that we have to do something different if we want our reality to be different. It is this practice of acting in accord with our prayers or wishes that actually changes things. When we are willing to act in accordance with what we want, we change our lives. If prayer or some other religious practice prepares us for acting in accord, then so be it, but in this case it is still human action that makes the difference.
Even then, there are limits to what we can control. When we accurately recognize the limits of our control, we are less likely to be miserable. When we accurately assess the magnitude of our hardship, we are potentially less likely to wallow in our misery. Sometimes, our feelings of hopelessness are completely justified, and our emotions are always true, whether they are actually warranted or not. The more we are able to step back from our own circumstances and see a larger picture of our lives and of the world, though, the more we are able to place our own experience in perspective. This surely takes a bit of practice.
Having some perspective could also help us find things to celebrate. The poet of Isaiah 38:10-20 suggests that just being alive is something worth celebrating, and I'm inclined to agree, even though I haven't just recovered from a deadly illness. It might even be that every moment of our lives is ripe with things that are worthy of celebration, if we are just willing to look for those sources of joy rather than the ubiquitous reasons to feel miserable. There is something to be said for living in the present moment with gratitude for what we have.
Being fully present in the moment cuts both ways, then. If we dwell in the past or focus entirely on the future, we miss our opportunities to act and to create. We often hear that we should strive to be awake to the present. Yet, without any perspective at all, we could lose sight of a larger context. We could get overwhelmed by our temporary misery. We could make foolish or naive decisions that don't contribute to the kind of lives we want or the kind of world we want. In order to be fully present in each moment, we have to understand something about what matters to us -- we have to know our general trajectory at least. Otherwise, we might keep making the same mistakes over and over again, or we might keep veering off course from the things we care about most deeply. Balance and perspective are important.
As an example, we have one last story about Hezekiah, told almost exactly the same in 2 Kings 20 and Isaiah 39. Some Babylonian envoys pay Hezekiah a visit, and the king shows them around to all his treasures. After they leave, Isaiah warns the king that Babylon will one day be a great empire that will abscond with all of those treasures as well as Hezekiah's own descendants. (This is an indication that the story originated after Hezekiah's death during or after the time of the Babylonian exile.) Hezekiah, thinking only of the present moment and his personal experience, is grateful that there will be peace during the rest of his lifetime.
Living in the present could have some negative long-term consequences if we are not conscious of a larger context. Our lives are like threads in an enormous tapestry, and our actions determine our connection to all the other threads. Littering might make sense to someone living in the present, and yet it creates a less habitable world for other people. Large scale pollution from industry would follow the same logic, except that its effects on future generations is exponentially greater than a litterbug tossing a fast food bag out of a car window at a stoplight. Being fully present in the moment without any sense of the interconnectedness of our our lives and actions can be profoundly irresponsible. While we cannot predict the future well enough to know the eventual results of every action we take, we can at least consider some of the obvious consequences of our actions. We cannot consider the long-term well-being of ourselves and the people around us, however, without some sense of perspective. We might be much more prone to seek out quick fixes to our anxiety if we are just attuned to the present moment. Thus, while we strive to be fully present in each moment so that we can most effectively act in accord with what we want for our lives, the lives of others, and the world we all share, we have to spend some time thinking about how our actions in the moment fit into a bigger picture.
One way that we can do this is by connecting with other people, particularly people in different circumstances from us. We might do this just by walking around our neighborhoods and introducing ourselves, or we might get involved in an organized effort to improve the well-being of a certain group of people. For instance, through tutoring primarily Latino students in a local GED program, I was able to connect with people who are taking steps to improve their lives -- and the lives of their descendants. I gained a greater appreciation for the sorts of sacrifices some people make in order to provide for the basic needs of their families, and I became more aware of how challenging the current system of bureaucracy can be for some of those people. They have to confront challenges I have never had to confront. I have a different set of challenges in my life, and a different set of sacrifices that make sense in the context of the kind of person I want to be and the kind of life I want to live. Connecting with people who seem different from you on the surface can help provide a more informed sense of perspective. It's easier to be aware of how your actions affect the lives and well-being of the people around you when you are more deeply connected to those people.
Another advantage of our time is the ease with which we can gain information about the world. It's also true that we can get lost in internet rabbit trails, and we must be ever more discerning about the biases of the information we find. Still, we have the potential to understand a great deal about how the patterns and habits of our lives affect our own well being, and how our actions impact the lives of people on the other side of the world. We don't have to learn all that there is to know, and we don't have to learn it all at once. The willingness to continually place a little bit of new information into our worldview can keep us conscious of a larger context in the midst of our moment-by-moment decisions. It bears repeating that this willingness to take in new information also comes with the responsibility to make sure that information is valid, to the best of our ability. Since everyone has biases, all of the information we find has been influenced by someone's biases, and our interpretation of that information will be influenced by our own biases. Even so, being aware of a larger global perspective can help us live in the moment more responsibly.
There are probably dozens of ways that people could maintain a larger perspective while striving to be more fully present in each moment. I'll mention one final way, since it so clearly connects to topics from previous chapters. When we know our guiding principles, it's easier to make decisions. When we are conscious of our values, it's easier to know what to do in the moment. Our values and guiding principles are necessarily big-picture kinds of ideas. They automatically connect us with a larger perspective. They are tapestry-sized concepts. When we spend a little time each day reminding ourselves of our values, the principles we want to guide us, or what we envision as a best possible version of ourselves, moments of anxiety have less potential to send us into a tailspin. Our temporary misery is less likely to overwhelm us when we know what we stand for. We are less likely to sabotage our ability to express our deepest most noble selves when we regularly spend time being aware of how we want to show up in life. Once we have identified our values and our guiding principles, a few minutes is all that it takes to tune in to ourselves and be reminded of those deep truths about who we are.
Our lives are threads in an enormous tapestry, and our moment-by-moment decisions determine how we connect with all the other threads and the tapestry as a whole. In order to make the most of our opportunities, we strive to be more fully present in the moment, and yet our sense of integrity suggests that we maintain a broader perspective. We can do this by building connection with the people around us, developing our knowledge about the larger world we inhabit, and being more deeply aware of the values and principles upon which we want to base our lives. In this way, we might recognize our limits and boundaries with greater clarity, more often prevent momentary misery from overwhelming us, and more frequently recognize all that we have to celebrate.
Monday, March 24, 2014
Mark 14: Giving and Receiving Authentic Hospitality and Celebration
An interesting legend appears at the beginning of Mark 14 that becomes transformed as the Jesus myth evolves in the first and second centuries. A woman approaches Jesus while he is staying in Bethany with Simon the leper, and she anoints Jesus with expensive perfumed oil. This is the kind of thing that must have implied extravagance, based on the incredulous reaction of others present, but within the context of the narrative, it is also interpreted as a harbinger of death. Corpses were anointed with perfumed oils (if the family could afford it) to keep the stench from overwhelming people who would perform burial ceremonies and rites of departure. The indignant people witnessing the extravagant display claim that a lot of poor people could have been helped if that perfumed oil had been sold, and Jesus reprimands them, saying that they would always have poor people to help. Between the lines, he may have been implying that they didn't really seem to be overflowing in compassion for the poor as a general characteristic, so their attitude was not only misplaced, but was also dishonest. In the story, Jesus makes the display of affection about his imminent death, and the reader is told that this is the straw that broke the camel's back for Judas, who determines to give Jesus up to the Pharisees (which is a bit odd in that everyone seemed to know where Jesus was, especially since he always had crowds pressing in on him).
The author(s) of Matthew copy the story fairly closely from Mark, but a few details get embellished. Here, instead of it just being "some people" getting indignant, it is the disciples themselves who are upset by the woman's action. This fits with the trend of how the disciples are often portrayed in Matthew, as never quite understanding what's going on. When Judas decides that he's had enough in this version, he asks what's in it for him, and the authors of Matthew give an exact payment: thirty pieces of silver. This is probably a misreading or flawed contextualization of an Old Testament passage, but this too is typical of Matthew.
In the gospel of Luke, the story of the woman is detached from the prelude to the passion narrative; the opening verse of Mark 14 flows right into Judas' decision to betray Jesus. Since there is now apparently nothing to prompt this sudden decision on the part of Judas, the authors of Luke attribute it to Satan. Some people still seem to prefer this explanation for harmful human behavior, and we've discussed at length how this compromises personal responsibility. Suffice to say that, if there was a historical Judas who committed a historical act of betrayal, he probably had very human fears that prompted him to do so, not some supernatural possession that overpowered his own will.
The story of the woman who anoints Jesus still appears in Luke, it's just much earlier. In the Luke version, Jesus is not at the home of Simon the leper, but at the home of a Pharisee. The author of Luke takes the opportunity to have the Jesus character offer a teaching about forgiveness and grace, and we'll explore that more when we properly make our way through Luke.
Even the gospel of John has a version of this legend, once more in the context of the approaching Passover celebration during which Jesus will be arrested and executed. However, in John, although he is back in Bethany, Jesus is not in the home of Simon the leper, but with Lazarus and his sisters, Mary and Martha. This story may be an amalgam of the story of the woman who anointed Jesus and another story of this Mary, sister of Martha, that is told in Luke. In John, the only disciple who seems upset by Mary's actions is Judas, and his character is directly maligned by John in a way that the synoptic gospels only imply. At least we see here that he isn't compelled by a supernatural agent.
Incidentally, the value of the perfume begins at over a typical worker's annual wages in Mark, is just "a large sum of money" in Matthew, is not even mentioned in Luke, and is reported again as worth almost a year's wages in John. Just a detail, perhaps of some significance in the transmission of the tale. The extravagance of the gesture is probably more useful to keep in mind.
This legend is often made to be about elevating the character of Jesus, and it is sometimes used as encouragement for making sacrifices that might seem extravagant, for the sake of religious service. If the word "God" is acknowledged as a way that we talk about a part of ourselves, then perhaps serving the values of our deepest most noble selves is worthy of a bit of extravagance. At least in the Marcan narrative, the major idea seems to be about generous hospitality and a willingness to celebrate and be celebrated.
The tendency to think of the Jesus character as a historical figure who was beyond the ken of mortal human beings has been one of the most damaging perspectives of Christianity. If Jesus were seen as an exemplar of genuine human characteristics, there might be something toward which people could aspire. When concentration is placed on mythical miracles and a deity-demanded god-man sacrifice, there is little in that portrayal of Jesus to emulate, which makes the gospel narratives only as useful or useless as any other mythical tale. If there is something to Jesus' behavior and attitudes that can be seen as characteristically human, though, this story tells us a few things about how we might examine our own lives, even as people who have no interest in supernaturalism. After all, this story just has people as characters.
First of all, there is a bit of hypocrisy in the reactions of the onlookers. They probably aren't spending extravagant amounts of money on the poor, yet they are willing to tell this woman how she should have used her resources. Thus, the lesson here is, clarify your values and bring your own actions into alignment with your values. Don't try to force other people to live by your values, especially if your own actions are incongruent with your beliefs. It's one thing to be righteously indignant about another person's driving on the road when you obey every traffic rule and keep other people's safety in mind; it's another thing to insult other drivers who are behaving exactly as you typically behave on the road. Except that this woman was even going above and beyond what the devoted followers of Jesus did.
Which is a second lesson. This woman acknowledged something praiseworthy in the Jesus character. She was generous in her display of affirmation, and honestly she was extravagant in her celebration of this admirable person. She didn't seem to be expecting anything from Jesus, and he was willing to be celebrated and appreciated. Certainly, there is a balance to be struck in our lives, but experiencing wholeness in life involves being willing to both served and to be served, to celebrate others and to be celebrated by others. We often err on one side or the other out of fear about what it might imply about ourselves or about other people. The woman in this story was fearless -- at least in her actions. No one really knows what she might have been feeling.
A third lesson in this story is about how we judge other people's behavior. When we see other people being completely authentic in their celebration and hospitality, or in their reception of other people's celebration and hospitality, sometimes we feel ashamed that we aren't that authentic. Maybe some of the other people at this gathering weren't wealthy enough to buy perfume that cost a year's wages. Yet, instead of being inspired or delighted by this person's authentic affirmation and affection, they were critical.
For whatever reason, fear sometimes causes us to hate it when other people succeed and to love it when they fall. We love to point out people's faults, but we are reluctant to praise their strengths. This has nothing to do with other people and everything to do with how we see ourselves. We cannot live authentically by our deep passions or intentionally by our guiding principles if we are caught up in lies about ourselves. When we feel shame, we often like to think other people should feel shame too. Shame is not useful, particularly when it is based on lies about who we are or who we are supposed to be. And it certainly isn't a useful means of helping others be the best possible versions of themselves.
Thus, if we are to put something from this legend into practice in our own lives, our goals might be to draw on something from each of the characters featured: the woman, Jesus, and the onlookers. From the woman, we learn that we can be extravagantly authentic in our celebration of other people and in our hospitality (service) toward others. From the response of the Jesus character, we learn that we can be celebrated by others and receive hospitality from others without getting caught up in shame or obligation. From the reaction of the onlookers, we learn that some of our habits in judging others and ourselves get in the way of our being the people we most want to be in the world. We can celebrate and serve alongside others, or we can genuinely appreciate their actions without participating in them, when we are more at peace with ourselves.
All of these goals of being require that we spend time with ourselves, recognizing what is really most important to us and growing in our capacity to dismantle the fears that keep us from living into those values. The more we are willing to keep these things in mind, the more we might notice opportunities to celebrate and serve, and the more we might gracefully receive celebration and service. When we are able to bring our actions and attitudes into alignment with our deep guiding principles, our experience of the world becomes altogether different.
The author(s) of Matthew copy the story fairly closely from Mark, but a few details get embellished. Here, instead of it just being "some people" getting indignant, it is the disciples themselves who are upset by the woman's action. This fits with the trend of how the disciples are often portrayed in Matthew, as never quite understanding what's going on. When Judas decides that he's had enough in this version, he asks what's in it for him, and the authors of Matthew give an exact payment: thirty pieces of silver. This is probably a misreading or flawed contextualization of an Old Testament passage, but this too is typical of Matthew.
In the gospel of Luke, the story of the woman is detached from the prelude to the passion narrative; the opening verse of Mark 14 flows right into Judas' decision to betray Jesus. Since there is now apparently nothing to prompt this sudden decision on the part of Judas, the authors of Luke attribute it to Satan. Some people still seem to prefer this explanation for harmful human behavior, and we've discussed at length how this compromises personal responsibility. Suffice to say that, if there was a historical Judas who committed a historical act of betrayal, he probably had very human fears that prompted him to do so, not some supernatural possession that overpowered his own will.
The story of the woman who anoints Jesus still appears in Luke, it's just much earlier. In the Luke version, Jesus is not at the home of Simon the leper, but at the home of a Pharisee. The author of Luke takes the opportunity to have the Jesus character offer a teaching about forgiveness and grace, and we'll explore that more when we properly make our way through Luke.
Even the gospel of John has a version of this legend, once more in the context of the approaching Passover celebration during which Jesus will be arrested and executed. However, in John, although he is back in Bethany, Jesus is not in the home of Simon the leper, but with Lazarus and his sisters, Mary and Martha. This story may be an amalgam of the story of the woman who anointed Jesus and another story of this Mary, sister of Martha, that is told in Luke. In John, the only disciple who seems upset by Mary's actions is Judas, and his character is directly maligned by John in a way that the synoptic gospels only imply. At least we see here that he isn't compelled by a supernatural agent.
Incidentally, the value of the perfume begins at over a typical worker's annual wages in Mark, is just "a large sum of money" in Matthew, is not even mentioned in Luke, and is reported again as worth almost a year's wages in John. Just a detail, perhaps of some significance in the transmission of the tale. The extravagance of the gesture is probably more useful to keep in mind.
This legend is often made to be about elevating the character of Jesus, and it is sometimes used as encouragement for making sacrifices that might seem extravagant, for the sake of religious service. If the word "God" is acknowledged as a way that we talk about a part of ourselves, then perhaps serving the values of our deepest most noble selves is worthy of a bit of extravagance. At least in the Marcan narrative, the major idea seems to be about generous hospitality and a willingness to celebrate and be celebrated.
The tendency to think of the Jesus character as a historical figure who was beyond the ken of mortal human beings has been one of the most damaging perspectives of Christianity. If Jesus were seen as an exemplar of genuine human characteristics, there might be something toward which people could aspire. When concentration is placed on mythical miracles and a deity-demanded god-man sacrifice, there is little in that portrayal of Jesus to emulate, which makes the gospel narratives only as useful or useless as any other mythical tale. If there is something to Jesus' behavior and attitudes that can be seen as characteristically human, though, this story tells us a few things about how we might examine our own lives, even as people who have no interest in supernaturalism. After all, this story just has people as characters.
First of all, there is a bit of hypocrisy in the reactions of the onlookers. They probably aren't spending extravagant amounts of money on the poor, yet they are willing to tell this woman how she should have used her resources. Thus, the lesson here is, clarify your values and bring your own actions into alignment with your values. Don't try to force other people to live by your values, especially if your own actions are incongruent with your beliefs. It's one thing to be righteously indignant about another person's driving on the road when you obey every traffic rule and keep other people's safety in mind; it's another thing to insult other drivers who are behaving exactly as you typically behave on the road. Except that this woman was even going above and beyond what the devoted followers of Jesus did.
Which is a second lesson. This woman acknowledged something praiseworthy in the Jesus character. She was generous in her display of affirmation, and honestly she was extravagant in her celebration of this admirable person. She didn't seem to be expecting anything from Jesus, and he was willing to be celebrated and appreciated. Certainly, there is a balance to be struck in our lives, but experiencing wholeness in life involves being willing to both served and to be served, to celebrate others and to be celebrated by others. We often err on one side or the other out of fear about what it might imply about ourselves or about other people. The woman in this story was fearless -- at least in her actions. No one really knows what she might have been feeling.
A third lesson in this story is about how we judge other people's behavior. When we see other people being completely authentic in their celebration and hospitality, or in their reception of other people's celebration and hospitality, sometimes we feel ashamed that we aren't that authentic. Maybe some of the other people at this gathering weren't wealthy enough to buy perfume that cost a year's wages. Yet, instead of being inspired or delighted by this person's authentic affirmation and affection, they were critical.
For whatever reason, fear sometimes causes us to hate it when other people succeed and to love it when they fall. We love to point out people's faults, but we are reluctant to praise their strengths. This has nothing to do with other people and everything to do with how we see ourselves. We cannot live authentically by our deep passions or intentionally by our guiding principles if we are caught up in lies about ourselves. When we feel shame, we often like to think other people should feel shame too. Shame is not useful, particularly when it is based on lies about who we are or who we are supposed to be. And it certainly isn't a useful means of helping others be the best possible versions of themselves.
Thus, if we are to put something from this legend into practice in our own lives, our goals might be to draw on something from each of the characters featured: the woman, Jesus, and the onlookers. From the woman, we learn that we can be extravagantly authentic in our celebration of other people and in our hospitality (service) toward others. From the response of the Jesus character, we learn that we can be celebrated by others and receive hospitality from others without getting caught up in shame or obligation. From the reaction of the onlookers, we learn that some of our habits in judging others and ourselves get in the way of our being the people we most want to be in the world. We can celebrate and serve alongside others, or we can genuinely appreciate their actions without participating in them, when we are more at peace with ourselves.
All of these goals of being require that we spend time with ourselves, recognizing what is really most important to us and growing in our capacity to dismantle the fears that keep us from living into those values. The more we are willing to keep these things in mind, the more we might notice opportunities to celebrate and serve, and the more we might gracefully receive celebration and service. When we are able to bring our actions and attitudes into alignment with our deep guiding principles, our experience of the world becomes altogether different.
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