Ave Explores Series | Faith in Action | Week 3
Experience Faith as a Catapult, not a Cocoon
by Sr. Marilyn Lacey, R.S.M.
Theologians agree that John’s Gospel, having been written by the beloved disciple after decades of reflection, offers unique insight into what it means to follow Jesus. Curious, then, that John’s is the only Gospel which completely omits the institution of Eucharist in the manner cited by Matthew, Mark, and Luke: “This is my body. . .This is my blood.” Instead, John focuses on Jesus’ washing of the disciples’ feet (Jn 13). Jesus makes sure they don’t miss the point: “Do you see what I’ve done? Do you get it? I, your lord and master, have washed your feet . . .”
John situates this drama in the context of Jesus’ final meal yet emphasizes his’ servant work rather than his gift of body and blood. Or more accurately, he intimates that the raison d’etre of sacrament is self-emptying rather than adoration. John replaces the synoptics’ “Do this in remembrance of me” with the foot-washing mandate: “As I have done, so you must do.” The twelfth-century poet Rumi—an Islamic Sufi—summed up my understanding of the Last Supper:
Become the one who when you walk in
Luck shifts to the one who needs it most.
Even if you’ve not been fed,
Be bread. (Open Secret: Versions of Rumi, 1984)
What matters is not that we receive bread, but that we willingly become bread. God’s love enfolds us all, yes. God’s love remains as abundant as it is undeserved, yes. And that same love pushes us out of our comfort zone into the messy work of social justice.
Faith may start out as a cocoon for us, a safe place to experience being loved. But if it stays cocooned, it dies. The poet Rainer Maria Rilke expressed it in one simple sentence: “We are held close [by God] and then lavishly flung forth.”
Church exists, not as a club with standards for inclusion or exclusion, but as a community that confirms and inspires us all to reach beyond our borders. We celebrate Eucharist together precisely to experience God’s extravagant love which liberates us for laying down our lives for others. That is the impetus for true justice work.
The theologian Dorothee Soelle (The Silent Cry: Mysticism and Resistance, 2001) wrote that faith-full lives will mature from amazement to surrender to resistance.
- Amazement: We are stunned and enthused (en-theo) by a great Love that is unconditional, permanent, prodigal, certain, and utterly inclusive.
- Surrender: We abandon our certitudes, align ourselves to God’s ways beyond all division and dogma; allow God to purge us of small gods; and welcome both the pain and the promise of conversion.
- Resistance: Grounded in unshakable belovedness, we can stand against all that is not “of God.” Ministry becomes loving work for justice.
The cocoon is long gone. We begin to experience the tender fierceness of the catapult. Once God has captivated our hearts, we are ruined for anything less. We are flung forth into the world with newly-upside-down Beatitude values, a total reordering of who matters: the least among us. We resist what is not “of God” meaning, let’s face it, we choose to stand against much of what our society holds dear. This is the work of social justice.
We challenge all forms of injustice: violence, racism, militarism, consumerism, colonialism (are you old enough to have bought pagan babies?). We refuse to limit the growing circle of our concern. We find ourselves inexplicably drawn to the margins, where life is tenuous and fragile and people may feel unlovable. Why? Because that is where God dwells. We recognize kinship everywhere.
We wash feet. We take risks. We cross all sorts of borders: working for right relationships; welcoming strangers near and far; learning from someone else’s culture and worldview; sharing time and resources with those who are not of our tribe or persuasion; calling out and dismantling structural sins of inequality and oppression; and edging toward margins where we meet the homeless, the addicted, the ill, the trafficked, the migrant or refugee or displaced. In such encounters we discover, much to our astonishment, that we meet God, the ultimate Other.
My work with Mercy Beyond Borders constantly confronts me with such blessings. I say confronts, because blessings are not always easy or sweet. MBB works with destitute women and girls in rural South Sudan and Malawi, in the refugee camps of Uganda and Kenya, and in the mountains of Haiti. I am challenged to resist oppression without resorting to violence.
When I see girls aren’t in school because their families can’t afford tuition, I am tempted to despair at persistent global inequities. Instead, MBB offers scholarships to girls.
When I see cultures that force young girls into marriage even before puberty, I want to scream. Instead, MBB sets up radio programs in which the girls themselves promote gender equality and the benefits of educating all.
When I see elected leaders growing fat from corruption and armed conflict, I feel almost overwhelmed. Instead, MBB trains its university alumnae in advocacy, knowing that they will in time bring positive voices and fresh wisdom to governance.
When I see widows impoverished by Levirate traditions that strip them of home and possessions, I feel like attacking the male relatives who control them. Instead, MBB provides small-business training and loans so that these widows can rebuild their lives with dignity.
MBB’s work is difficult, dangerous, and not always successful. Never mind. As Martin Buber reminds us, “Success is not a name of God.” We follow the Crucified One who breaks down barriers and draws all things to himself. We believe in the day when “mercy and justice shall kiss” (Psalm 85:11). We work toward that day, singing with Rumi:
Let the beauty we love
Be what we do.
There are many ways to kneel
And kiss the ground.
Download this article as a PDF here.
Sr. Marilyn Lacey, R.S.M., is the founder and executive director of Mercy Beyond Borders and the author of This Flowing Toward Me.
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