Transcript: Episode 311
311. Molly the Samaritan
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[Short piano piece is played, lasting about 20 seconds]
I want to share today about a story I read, or a talk I heard really. But I know that it may be triggering for some people because it has references to a story from church. I'm not going to be preachy at all, but I respect if you don't want to hear this episode, and it's okay to skip it. But the story that this talk I read, or this article I read, the story it references is the Good Samaritan story from the New Testament. So in that context I want to share this article and some insights I had while I was studying it. But I don't at all mean to trigger anyone. And it's not preachy, that's not what I mean. I just want to clarify upfront for those who need to skip this episode, or for those who need to be reassured before they listen.
The article I read was by Gerrit Gong, who was a man who spoke at my church. And so I got the article from what he talked about. Because there were some things that felt really big and really important. And that's what I wanted to share.
One of our issues from the past has to do with religious abuse, meaning we were abused in the context of our religion. So I absolutely understand how that can be a really triggering topic, or how anything to do with church at all can be really rough.
I have a very deep faith, and even I'm a chaplain. But that means I work with everyone, of all religions or even no religion. And it's important to me that even our spiritual lives, whatever that looks like to you or to me or to us, that there's healing in that part of our lives too. It feels important, even sacred, because our spirits are the deepest part of us, the part that lives inside of us, the part of who we are on the inside, the part of who we were before we came here, the part of us that has always been and always will be, the part of us that's eternal. And that matters to me. I don't want those parts overlooked. Healing gets to go there too. But I know it's really hard. And there are some littles inside that I help sometimes that it's really hard for them too, sorting out who we might think some version of God might be, and who people were that harmed us in God's name. That was not okay.
But I took a class in learning how to help people with that because I wanted to help them. And one of the things that they talked about that I felt was really true is how often we tell scripture stories, and only try to be one part of it--that's the good part. And how, in this case, it talked about Americans specifically, but how we overidentify with the good pieces and ignore the shadows. That got my attention because our therapist right now is Jungian. And so recognizing all the different parts of the story, all are a part of us, is really important in that approach. And I think it's important in real life and as we apply that approach to real life.
So for an example, using things we've already talked about on the podcast in the past. In the Old Testament story of Esther, we so often want to be the queen “here for such a time as this” with something to offer, or that somehow saves the world. But also we are Haman. But we're the bad guys too. Letting down our friends or even betraying them. Or causing harm in ways that are reckless and we don't even understand. And if we really want to heal, we have to own up to those parts of ourselves too, and offer grace to those parts of ourselves too. Even if it's not malicious, it's still hurt. And being present in that hurt, whether we've caused it or whether we've received it, is the only way to actually acknowledge it. And it can't heal until it's acknowledged.
So this April, we heard this talk and I was so excited when it came in the mail so that I could read it again. Because it talked about the Good Samaritan story, the one from the New Testament where there's the man who's attacked, and no one will stop to help him. And then finally, the Good Samaritan—who would have been the reject, right?—he's the one who stops to help and takes care of them, and make sure that they're okay. So when we apply that to ourselves, there's so many layers to it.
It's like the way our therapist has been tending dreams. I tend to the stories the same way. Where we play all the roles. We play all the parts. So even just thinking about the dusty road to Jericho. How is that me? How am I that dusty road? Going somewhere, but not there yet. And alone, and dirty, and messed up on the way. It's not a comfortable road. And it's hot and dry. And dusty. So it's dirty. Maybe I'm thirsty. What is it I'm thirsty for? When we play all the parts of a story, we have to be attention to these things.
What is my dusty road? Maybe it's waiting inside while others are fronting outside. Managing things that have been hard and scary, trying to keep us safe. Maybe they think they're going through a storm, and find themselves fronting or hosting. And we ourselves find ourselves banished. But maybe it really is for our own safety, the same way we would take the outside kids to the bathroom and pile them into the big tub and throwing a mattress over them while there's a tornado outside. So sometimes there are scary parts, scary others inside that feel frightening because we don't understand what they're doing or why they're doing it or why it's getting so scary, or why we're so isolated from those we thought were caring for us. But maybe those parts are the only thing standing between us and a tornado. I don't know it's just a thought I had.
And this talk, this guy said “The Good Samaritan puts us on his own donkey, or in some stained glass accounts, carries us on his shoulders. He brings us to the end which can represent his church. At the inn the Good Samaritan says ‘Take care of him. When I come again. I will repay the.” The Good Samaritan, a symbol of our Savior, promises to return this time in majesty and glory. We are invited to become like Him a Good Samaritan. To make His inn his church, a refuge from all of life's bruises and storms.”
When I read that, I first got stuck on the donkey part. How am I the donkey? Minding my own business. Not wanting to be on the dusty road. Wanting to get to Jericho already so that I can have what I needed to be unburdened from what I've been carrying. Maybe I'm thirsty. Maybe I'm hungry. Why does that keep coming up? It feels like a pattern. Maybe I'm tired from having walked so far already. And just when I think I can't take another step, he throws a whole person on me to carry them to safety. Sometimes that's what fostering felt like. Sometimes that's what it feels like helping littles inside. Could things be any harder? Could things be any more heartbreaking? Oh, here's another one. And they're in crisis too. It's a lot to carry. It's a lot to be the donkey.
Sometimes I feel like the Good Samaritan in a selfish way. That I have my own plans, and my own agenda, and my own schedule for the day. I know the others are trying to get through the day to function, to care for the outside children, to work, maybe do some therapy. Much less play outside or care for the house or the yard. All the things that are in our plans for a day. Professional work or working on talks, trying to edit podcasts, wanting to enjoy the community. But instead, we're interrupted by someone inside crying. Or someone inside in crisis. Or the whole world gets turned upside down by a trigger, or worse, an emotional flashback. We think, “Oh, I'll see my friends when we get to Jericho. Everything will be okay when we get to Jericho.” But it turns out, we don't even get to go to Jericho. We're stopping here at the inn to care for someone else instead. And so maybe we're heartbroken again because we're not where we thought we would be. But also, maybe it's true at the same time that we are in exactly the right place.
And there's the innkeeper who's just doing his job minding his own business. Like us on our little hill where there's no people around. And we can just focus on trying to survive our days. And then trouble comes. Someone with needs. Someone who's going to take time. Someone who needs looking after. Someone who needs to be cared for. And I wonder, do I have it in me? Do I have anything left to offer? Where can we find more spoons? How can we ever help them when we can't help ourselves? Sometimes I feel like the innkeeper.
But this is the first time I felt like the inn. Because of the community. And because of the beauty and peace and connection that we have found there. And with the bees in group therapy. That we have a refuge from life's bruises and storms, as he said. And that means something. It's where we get our spoons. It's how we heal. It's how we find the strength to be the innkeeper, or the Samaritan, or the donkey, or the dusty road. And it brought me joy to feel that there are safe places in life that we have found each other. That there is hope again. We have missed it.
In his talk, he said, “We come to the inn as we are, with foibles and imperfections we each have. Yet we all have something needed to contribute. Our journey is often found together. We belong as united community.” And I thought, “Oh, that's it.” And I replaced inn with community. So that it said, “We come to the community as we are, with foibles and imperfections we each have. Yet we all have something needed to contribute. Our journey is often found together. We belong as united community.” And I was in awe of it because we had felt that feeling now. Because we've seen glimpses of it. It's scary. Never before have we been able to hold on to it. There have been times we thought we found it, and thought we were safe, and it turned out not to be the case. So even feeling it now is frightening because what if? Or how long will it last before it's taken away like everything else has been? But for the moment, it's here. And we've needed it. We've needed you. We've needed that connection. And I wonder if healthy people who don't have trauma and dissociation, if maybe that's how they feel about friendship. We are not there yet.
He said in his talk, “We find cause to do good, reason to be good, and increasing capacity to become better. We discover abiding faith, liberating selflessness, caring change, and trust in God.” Or maybe I would say, “Hope.” “As we offer our talents and best efforts, His spiritual gifts also strengthen and bless.” And I see how we do that for each other, different people responding to different posts, or the emails you send in, or the things that we share, how all of us contributing together, build something, something new, something good.
And then he said, “Second, He entreats us to make His inn a place of grace and space, where each can gather with room for all. We see and acknowledge each person. We smile, sit with those who are sitting alone, learn their names, include them, and respond to them. We imagine ourselves in their place. We welcome them as friends and visitors. We understand all of us are busy and pulled in too many directions. But together, we mourn and rejoice, and we are there for each other. When we fall short of our ideals, and are rushed or unaware or judgmental or prejudice, we seek each other's forgiveness and learn together and do better.” I thought that was beautiful. And I think that's what I've seen in the community already. And it's maybe something that we need to practice more inside.
And that's when I realized in an unexpected way, what you and the community are teaching me—are teaching us—for how to navigate relationships internally, how to be kind to each other, how to offer space, as he said, to learn and grow, to just be who we are, to accept who we are, to accept each other, to accept myself as I am, to accept who we are becoming, that it's okay we're not finished yet, that perfect means whole not without mistake, that we are enough as we are—even a work in progress.
Then he said, “Third, in the inn, we learn perfection. Not in the perfectionism of the world, but we are invited to be a Good Samaritan, to be less judgmental and more forgiving of ourselves and each other, even as we strive more fully to do what is right and what is good. It gives us hope, and it prepares us for presence, and it unites us even as a family, as a community.” And I wonder what that looks like inside to be united together as a family or a community internally, and not just isolated from each other, or being cruel to each other, or judging each other. But instead giving grace and space, offering peace and letting be, trusting them as I'm asking them to trust me. What would that look like?
He said, in the middle of the article, almost out of the blue, he said, “Adults want to be seen as adults and responsible, and contribute as adults.” And I thought of all the ways that you in the community have contributed, and what a beautiful thing it's been. And what a gift you are to all of us. And what do I need to do to shift things so that I see others inside also as a gift, contributing something in their own way?
If we have learned our brain has done what it has done for a reason. And then our brain has worked exactly as it was designed to work. Then where does that leave us? And how do I embrace that? Embrace the others? Caring more about all of them?
He said, “They must not be met with pity, patronizing, or judgment, but instead was sacred honor. And in the meantime, we live now. What would that look like for me to consider my relationships with the others inside with sacred honor? What does that look like for anyone to be considered with sacred honor? To be in the honor of someone else's presence, whether that is internally or externally? To offer so much grace and so much space that you would be honored to be in their presence? That I am honored to be in your presence? That I am honored to be in the presence of others inside?
And he said, “Even while we're learning this, that we live now, not just waiting for life to begin later.” And what does that look like for us after 19 months of quarantine? What does that look like for us after six years of therapy? What is the difference between how we are waiting for life to begin, and moving forward with living our lives now?
He quoted the verse from Isaiah, that “They who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings as Eagles. They shall run and not be weary. And they shall walk and not faint.” He said that, “Miracles occur when we care for each other as He would. When we come with broken hearts and contrite spirits, we can find voice even in Jesus Christ, and be encircled in his understanding arms of safety. That it is belonging and kindness that offer connection and healing.” And what does that look like? What does that look like? I challenge all of us to consider, to stand in the presence of others—internally and externally—with honor and belonging, offering the grace and space for them to have honor and belonging too. How does that change things when there's dignity for us all, and compassion even for ourselves trying so hard to endure so much for so long?
[Break]
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