In August 2010, just past the waxing quarter moon, I attended a retreat on Celtic spirituality and peacemaking in Northern Ireland. The hosts of the retreat asked us to respect the safe and sacred space created by the community, and refrain from attributing direct quotes to any of the attendants or speakers. With that in mind, the following are excerpts from the journal I kept.
Day Three — Telling Our Stories
I find that I very much want to tell my story and that as I rehearse it in my head, new aspects come out, come into focus, in the narrative of my journey towards peacemaking. I want to share this.
Perhaps I want to share this more than I want to listen to others — and I wonder why this is. I'm trying to sit with that and not come down too hard on myself. There is a process of articulation that I am longing for, not even to be heard, but to hear myself telling the story again. Yet I do want to hear the stories of others as well, and as I listen (sometimes through thick accents) I can hear resonating ideas that I have experienced, too. The violence and sense of silent invasion of both illness and Western medicine, for instance. The lessons of dealing with abuse and creating and defending that safe space into which even the violent cannot and will not come. The experiences of war and the implications of being part of the culture of aggression, being implicated and a part of that violence against our own individual will — and how we resist, in all the little ways.
I'm surprised that so few people have spoken about 9/11 — this is a very important part of my story that I want to share — the realization that these ideas of peace and love that I had been playing with since my childhood suddenly became real, and I could see their importance, how vital a difference they made, as those around me grieved and their grief was bent to anger and fear — and then to war. How big a difference it made, to be able to see the beauty and hope within the sorrow and grief. How it sustained me.
Over dinner, I had the chance to talk extensively with C. about Paganism and Catholicism. It was basically a getting-to-know-you conversation, and nothing much stands out (besides the fantastic rice and veggie dish), though it could just be that I'm still tired.
As a "cradle Catholic" perhaps in some ways I was able to be more vocal in my protests right up until the point when I made my official break with the Church. Now I'm struggling and working with a lot of the pitfalls and flaws within Paganism that led C. to leave in the first place — in that way, our stories are very similar. It's almost as though we're helping to make each of these communities more welcoming and truly loving, and doing the work — the same work — each in the places that we feel most called and most comfortable. This is very heartening.
I'm so glad to be here, meeting people in person. The experience of C. in person, for instance, is different from my experiences of his writing online — I have a greater sense of his enthusiasm, a kind of gentle eagerness about these subjects. Authorship in some ways had given him an authority in my mind which I found myself pushing back against and filling with my own projections, in my typical anti-authoritarian way, about the kind of self-assurance and even presumption that goes along with that. Part of that is, I think, that his is not a confessional kind of writing. And if you'd asked me before if I preferred confessional writing, I probably would have said no. Now I wonder if this is true or not — I wonder if the blogging medium is particularly amenable to confessional writing. And after all, confessional writing doesn't have to be bad and full of sins and guilt and shame. Sometimes we can confess our love and awe of the world.
It's raining so peacefully and gently outside right now.
Something that struck me as so important and relevant, especially to the project of Pagan peacemaking — "seasons of conflict." Conflict has its own seasons, its own processes that it moves through, and sometimes it cannot merely be resolved and ended, but must first be managed. Other places of healing must begin first before the heart of the conflict can be approached safely in a way that will bring real and lasting resolution and peace. I want to think more about this later on.
Something that just occurred to me is how the Pagan approach to Christianity, when it's not blatantly prejudiced and sweeping in its accusations, often downplays or dismisses the types of Christianity I've been seeing at this retreat so far. Pagans want to pretend that these kinds of Christians don't exist, or that they are merely borrowing (or usurping or stealing) aspects of Paganism to fill out or supplement their Christianity — and that this is a losing battle or lost cause. I know some Pagans have posited the idea that Christianity has a "fail state" that is naturally prone to hierarchy and patriarchy, to monopoly and empire. These are not issues that can be too easily dismissed, I think, but require some honest reflection on behalf of Christians — and perhaps I'll get a chance to ask some of the folks here about it. I mean, it's obvious that Christians as individuals can seek peace and equality and diversity — to what extent are they fighting against the currents of their own religion is really the key question. And it's vital to know this — or at least to ask this kind of question — because it might also give us insight into the Pagan limits and natural tendencies, and where we must always be watching and working to guard against "fundamentalism" in all its forms.
So much to contemplate. And through it all this notion of storytelling, and how being present to people and learning to tell your story to them in a way that is meaningful, evocative and beautiful is not only an act of sharing, but a movement towards clarity. There is just no time for that "diarrhea of the mouth/mind" in times of storytelling. Even those folks who would probably apologize for rambling — it is clear that even they are only managing to articulate a small part of what is in their hearts and minds, so clear how much runs deeply below the surface of words. This is an experience hard to replicate with blogging, where the assumption is that everything is on the surface to be read and responded to immediately. Here, in person, you can watch the process of articulation happening in the faces and gestures of the people speaking, in their pausing and their breath. To be present to this — to recognize the depths and its ineffableness in the end — is so vital, so essential. It makes every spoken word so very sacred.
You say 'defending that safe space into which even the violent cannot and will not come'.
ReplyDeleteI wonder what you mean by that. It suggests to me that you want to be inside a 'magic circle', and everything inside the circle to be nice and rosey.
There's a fatal flaw in that idea. It's assuming that 'violence' emanates from 'other people', the wicked people outside the circle.
It doesn't want to consider the possiblity that violence emanates from within ourselves.
Here's a good article about the psychological origins of conflict, which was actually written with 9/11 in mind. It's called 'Shadow Projection - the Fuel of War':
http://www.awakeninthedream.com/artis/shadow%20projection%20fuel%20of%20war.html
It's just a viewpoint, that I happen to agree with, personally.
Thanks for your response, Robur. I can see that you've thought a lot about this particular topic, as your words go much more deeply than my passing note.
ReplyDeleteThe context of that particular statement that you quote was in reference to the stories that attendants of the retreat were sharing about their own experiences with violence. One woman who was present shared about her life-long career as a social worker, and her current work with abused women seeking shelter from unhealthy or violent relationships. She shared with us her experience in learning to confront violent boyfriends or husbands who came looking for these women, and how by confronting them calmly and peacefully but with a grounded authority, she was often able to stall or entirely prevent their aggressive violation of the safe space of the woman's shelter. Rather than responding angrily to their violence, she was able to dissipate and calm the situation, breaking the cycle of violence and protecting the safe space in which these women could find a sense of respite and recovery.
Her story is very much one about facing external violence in a very literal sense, but it is also a story about learning to confront and conquer our own internal violence so that we are able to present a calming and protective face to the world, grounded in a center of peace. That story resonated with me deeply, as I have had to face my own experiences of abuse and violation, and have learned similar lessons about the source of violence (and thus, of peace) in my own heart and center.
I hope that helps to clarify things for you. I definitely agree that it can be foolish, or even fatal, to assume that the source of violence is always external from us, coming from some "Other" to be hated or feared. On the other hand, when coping with violence, sometimes it is necessary or helpful to cast a kind of "magic circle" - literally or emotionally - to give ourselves a quiet, safe space. This space can itself become a place in which we confront our own internal violence; just as ceremonial magicians draw magical circles into which they can invoke their "inner demons," in order to begin a process of dialogue and healing. (T. Thorn Coyle talks about this in her recent book Kissing the Limitless - you may find her discussion interesting!)
I am also very interested in the idea of 'seasons of conflict'. I think the metaphor shows clearly that conflict is a natural thing -- it has its germination, its growth, its decay and its death, like everything else in the world. This doesn't mean that it's a natural state of humanity, or that we're required to sow its seeds. It cannot be elevated to worshipful honors, nor should it be ignored or suppressed. It has to be engaged, recognized and treated with the respect it deserves.
ReplyDeleteJeff,
ReplyDeleteYes, I want to think more (and more carefully) about this idea. For instance, my first instinct is to begin to distinguish between "conflict" and "violence" in the same way I would distinguish violence from (mere) destruction. To what extent each of these exists within "peace" depends on how we understand peace, whether we understand it as a kind of contract or pact, or a state of wholeness, or a particular form of dynamic engagement.... How we want to think and talk about peace will greatly influence our understanding of and responses to "seasons of conflict." Certainly, much to think about...
Wow. Thank you so much for this. Especially your comments about the Christian "fail state." There are movements within the body of Christ to deconstruct imperial Christianity, to dismantle the Greco-Romanization of God, of salvation, of ecclesiology. Creative voices within Christianity are merrily re-visioning monotheism, a/theism, the spirit/matter split, and the gendering of deity. Yes, all this is a minority position, for now. But hopefully such work will have long-term benefits, not only for Christians but for the entire human community. Yesterday I learned of the death of one of my heroes, the Spanish-Indian mystic Raimon Panikkar. He wrote about the need to liberate Christ from "tribal Christology." And he was 91 years old! There is a lot of work to be done — and it's encouraging when gatherings like Rostrevor happen, to give us all a much needed short in the arm.
ReplyDeleteA bit of encouragement from my experience: regardless of our spiritual "home," when we allow ourselves to enter into contemplative silence together, and adopt a position of open-ended and undefended shared inquiry, it seems to me that our differences often become far less interesting than the nexus points where we can connect, work together, identify points of common interest and concern, and see our disagreements as evidence of diversity rather than opposition. Sure, there are Pagans who have nothing good to say about Christianity, and plenty of Christians return the favor. But thankfully, neither of those groups have the last word on defining their community's identity.
I echo Carl in saying that there is a movement of Christians who are questioning the status quo (if for no other reason than because it simply doesn't make sense for some of us at this point in time) and personally, had I not encountered this minority group of Christians and their writings, I would have fled Christianity a while ago. So I'm grateful for their incredibly courage and keen spiritual sense and humble listening ears.
ReplyDeleteAs to Carl's last statement: Amen and blessed be!
Carl,
ReplyDeleteGreat minds really do think alike! ;) So much of what you said in your second paragraph above echoes some of the thoughts I've been turning over in my mind today... specifically about the role of silent presence and listening in interfaith dialogue.
There is much discussion in the Pagan community about getting "a seat at the table" of interfaith conversation... and of course, then there arises the question of "once we have a seat, what is it we plan on saying?" But one thing this retreat experience has made plain to me is that simply being present and listening can help to shape the conversation. (I think I write more about this in the excerpts from Day Four or Five... anyway, it's a subject that came up for me briefly during the retreat and occurred to me again today.) Sitting together in that "contemplative silence" and letting go, at least for the time being, our need to pin down and precisely articulate all of our differences and disagreements... as you say, I think this is important work, and probably undervalued.
Right now in academia, it's becoming quite fashionable to proclaim things like "God is not one" and "not all religions lead up the same mountain." My fellow Pagans relish such pronouncements for their apparent support of pluralism and diversity (and the implied suggestion that monotheism doesn't have a final or superior claim on capital-T-Truth), but I think the line-drawing and demarcation can sometimes obscure some very important places of overlap and connection. The postmodern appreciation of meta-narrative doesn't always make for inspiring or meaningful storytelling, so to speak (though sometimes it can!).
I'm rambling again... I think my point is that we can have an appreciation for the myriad diverse expressions that arise out of silence without trying to reject or deny the shared silence itself. And sometimes, when all that diversity seems to be clashing and making so much noise, sitting in contemplative attending to the quiet can be a much needed source of connection and refreshment. Yes?
Brazenbird, I'm so glad you've been enjoying these posts, and thanks for your comments! I know what you mean - I've often joked that I might still be a Christian today if I'd found some company out on the liberal edges. ;) On the other hand, I am very thankful for the experiences and explorations that Druidry has inspired in me, and as I wrote just now to Carl, I think there is a great deal of value in that diversity and difference, too. :) Like you, I am also very grateful for the courage of those Christians who are doing the difficult work within the tradition to challenge some of the hierarchical and patriarchal legacies passed down by the Church. I consider them allies and friends in this work that we are all trying to do together. :)
ReplyDeleteAli, as I read your insights on storytelling, I think what a potent difference that art seems to be taking in Northern Ireland. Of all the initiatives we heard of, the healing stories that both sides were telling each other through HTR was the most impressive to me. Telling one's story is both so intimate/revealing and universal, and active listening to them is such a big part of the process.
ReplyDeleteTo echo Carl's statements about Christian re-visioning, programs like the Emergent Church are involved in nondualist, nonjudgmental ways of imagining a post-Christian world. But there is so much "pushback" from traditionalists ("tribal Christians") that I wonder if it's too little, too late.
Most revealing for me is that intersection of faith approaches Carl mentions. The differences are so much less important than the commonalities, if we can just decide to suspend criticism and just listen with "new ears" as Jesus said.
Kevin - Yes! The storytelling really left an impression on me as well! I'm working at the moment to write up an essay on that aspect of the Northern Ireland peace process for the other blog I write for (Pagan+Politics), and I'll definitely share a link when I'm finally finished with that. :) Right now, I'm still reeling a bit just from all of the experiences and memories and things to ponder. I think I need a vacation from my vacation!
ReplyDeleteKevin, yes, there's plenty of pushback, but I think it's important not to lose heart. Miracles happen. I was so discouraged by how conservative Christianity was when I left the ECUSA in the 90s (that says something, that I thought the Episcopalians were too conservative!) and yet, "while I was gone" the Emergent conversation happened, the ECUSA started ordaining openly LGB folks, and nondualist teachers like Cynthia Bourgeault and Richard Rohr became more prominent. So I have hope. There's still so much to be done, and yes, there are powerful social, political and financial forces within Christendom that want to keep things "the way they were." But still I hope. I have hope in young activists like Shane Claiborne; I have hope in sages like the late great Raimon Panikkar; I have hope in the revival of old wisdoms like the Celtic tradition. The Grateful Dead sang "There ain't no time to hate," and I think we can amend that to include "And there's no time to be pessimistic, either!"
ReplyDelete