Friends

Years ago, I studied Critical Theory. I remember being first frustrated, and then exhilarated by books that seemed to be written in a complex and truthfully, somewhat elitist code. Once I cracked it, I ceased to be resentful and soon became intoxicated. My job, as a student, was to read and write papers on books that were able to analyse and make sense of the deeper human condition. Inverse to mystics, these profound thinkers were plumbing the depths of humanity in ways I found fascinating. They seemed to me to achieve the oneness of the spiritual realm through the mental plane. The theorists I read were sociologists, philosophers, literary critics, poets. They employed economic theory, psychology, art and literature, linguistics and social and cultural practices to see both the macro and the micro of humanity. Reading these books gave me access to our souls and our method of organising that helped me to become the person I am today. 

I say all of this to say, that as I sat down to write for you this week, I was holding in my mind three things. First, I recently watched the film Becoming, a documentary following the book tour of Michelle Obama’s book of the same name. A line from the film has stayed with me and I have been turning it over in my mind like a smooth stone in a pocket. She spoke of a particularly difficult period, saying [these are the kind of things in life] “that change the shape of a person’s soul”. She was speaking of things outside of her control, thrust upon her by the viciousness of the political realm. Misunderstanding and deliberate mischaracterizations that flew around the world at the speed of the internet. (Terrorist fist bump. Anyone remember that chestnut?) These stories threatened her ability to be vulnerable and show up in the world as herself. While none of us reading this will be able to relate to being one of the most recognisable people on the planet; I am sure we can all relate to having been misunderstood and the distinct pain of another defining who we are against our will. Some of us grew up in families where our parents wished we were other than we are. Maybe we were a girl when they wanted a boy. Maybe we were gay when they wished for straight. Some parents were so preoccupied by their own pain and trauma, that we barely existed at all, except as a nuisance or a scapegoat. For some of us, society at large has miscast us. We are Indigenous and therefore subject to stereotypes that begin in unworthiness. We are Black and deemed criminal and threatening from the outset. We are conservative in our politics and therefore judged, callous and selfish. We are liberal whiners. These are not accidental markers. There is something at stake for people to be rendered less powerful and siloed by labels. There are powers that win when we are separated and estranged from our God-given fullness and authenticity. While an erupting, churning inner turmoil is the result of having this done to us, something more sinister festers when we do it to others. We can align ourselves with a feeling of power when we think we have the read on “the other”. We can be so easily seduced by illusion. 

That brings me to the second thing on my mind today. There was a sociologist named Pierre Bourdieu who presented a theory about something called symbolic power. Without boring you to tears, I will say this: out of this theory, one can conclude that there is a significant power in defining ourselves. (If you want to read more, here is this: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Symbolic_power) The world, as Paul the Apostle might have meant it, understands power as “power over”. This is the kind of absolute power that corrupts absolutely. Understanding the power of Christ, I think, can run parallel to this idea of Bourdieu’s which implies within it, that by redefining ourselves anew, we reject notions of power over and draw closer to power within. To throw off the shackles of how we have been miscast and to notice how miscasting others has impeded our true freedom, is to begin to live into the Gospel of transformation. Christian people follow a God who incarnated into a man. Not just any man, but a Palestinian Jew who was lynched by the powers of the state and then defeated death to be resurrected. This is a big deal. This reorders the entire cosmos. This is a giant blinking arrow that begs us to reconsider the nature, origin, and position of power and how it is exercised. I ask you to consider where the world has attempted to miscast you and where you have miscast another. The truth of who we are is multifaceted and complex and also patently simple. We belong to God. All of us made in God’s own image. “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, she is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” 2 Corinthians 5:17 

Now, I mustn’t forget the third thing. It is a poem. A poem that speaks to a new creation, to dreaming, to power. It was the glue between disparate thoughts for me today. The bond between the mental plane and the spiritual. Tangible on paper, from a book I haven’t touched in years; it called to me with a crinkled up post-it note marking the page and handwritten notes in the margins from a younger me. One word, “praxis” warms my heart a little. Praxis, is defined as practice as distinguished from theory. The younger me could have never known in her intellectualising of the world, that an older me would find love in God and have a place to do work that combined the work of my mind and my soul in equal measure. Tears of gratitude for the journey well up, and for this week, I bid you well.

Blessings,
Amy 

 

Sing on: somewhere, at some new moon, 

We’ll learn that sleeping is not death, 

Hearing the whole earth change its tune. 

-W.B. Yeats