Participation

 

Matthew 13:53-58 (CJB)

 

⁵³ When Yeshua had finished these parables, he left

⁵⁴ and went to his home town. There he taught them in their synagogue in a way that astounded them, so that they asked, “Where do this man’s wisdom and miracles come from?

⁵⁵ Isn’t he the carpenter’s son? Isn’t his mother called Miryam? and his brothers Ya‘akov, Yosef, Shim‘on and Y’hudah?

⁵⁶ And his sisters, aren’t they all with us? So where does he get all this?”

⁵⁷ And they took offense at him. But Yeshua said to them, “The only place people don’t respect a prophet is in his home town and in his own house.”

⁵⁸ And he did few miracles there because of their lack of trust.

 

I lack inspiration today. I’ve been around and around the readings, venturing into the online wormhole that research into Revelations leads to, and struggling with Nehemiah’s ranting about renting out rooms in the temple and neglecting the sabbath. I gave up.

Just as I decided to go with the Gospel reading (which is usually my default when nothing emerges) I had a tiny glimmer of insight. I had recently been impressed by a snippet of philosophy written by a theologian named Erna Kim Hackett: “Secondly, white Christianity suffers from a bad case of Disney Princess theology. As each individual reads Scripture, they see themselves as the princess in every story. They are Esther, never Xerxes or Haman. They are Peter, but never Judas. They are the woman anointing Jesus, never the Pharisees. They are the Jews escaping slavery, never Egypt. For citizens of the most powerful country in the world, who enslaved both Native and Black people, to see itself as Israel and not Egypt when studying Scripture is a perfect example of Disney princess theology. And it means that as people in power, they have no lens for locating themselves rightly in Scripture or society — and it has made them blind and utterly ill-equipped to engage issues of power and injustice. It is some very weak Bible work.” (It’s from a longer piece that she wrote in Inheritance magazine.)

Anyhow, as I started to copy and paste the gospel reading, it suddenly occurred to me that I could put myself in the place of one of those good old hometown folks, shaking my head over just how far that Jesus boy had gotten above his raising.

All of a sudden, I started hearing dissonant echoes of “Where does he get all this?”

All these faint, outraged whispers began to spin around my ears:

“Who do you think you are?”—“You’ve got to be kidding!”—“Give me a break!”—“What a know-it-all!”—“How dare you?”—“Get off your high horse!”—“You’re such a jerk!”—“Well, excu-u-use me!”

But, I also noticed that it wasn’t just that I was remembering all the times that I got offended, I was also hearing those whispers as if they were being said to me.

It was as though, from this point onward, I would never again be able to shake my head in disgust, or take offense at some obnoxious behavior, without hearing that little home-town critic hiss at me: “Who do you think you are?”

It’s weird— I know there’s a point to all this, but it keeps just barely eluding me.

It seems to have something to do with the observation of how hard it is for me to hold on to the point of view of the one who rejects, and scorns, and takes offense.

Why is that?

In order to figure that out, I think I have to get out of my analytical brain, and go with my gut—

and my gut is telling me that it’s impossible for me to hold the point of view of the one who’s offended unless it’s held in tension with the opposite point of view, which sees myself as the offender.

That’s really pretty cool! That means that it’s quite simple to understand why Jesus couldn’t do many miracles there. There’s this elemental connection between all human beings. We participate in each other. It doesn’t matter who’s the offender, or who’s offended— it’s all one event.

 

If we are participating in offense, there’s no room for trust.

If we are participating in assumptions, there’s no room for discovery.

If we are participating in hostility, there’s no room for healing.

 

But it works just as well the other way:

 

If we are participating in trust, there’s no room for offense.

If we are participating in discovery, there’s no room for assumptions.

If we are participating in healing, there’s no room for hostility.