Bishop Gerald Wiesner, O.M.I.
Vancouver
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid” (John 14:27). These words of Jesus’ Farewell Discourse to his disciples, to us, express the goal of what God wants for God’s people: a situation of peace, a situation of non-violence. Violence of any kind destroys peace.
Jesus’ words of assurance to his disciples contain a new promise: peace. In the Old Testament peace (shalom) was a conventional leave-taking address, but Jesus is not simply saying farewell to his disciples with this promise of peace. In the context of Jesus’ death, the expression “to leave” (peace I leave with you) takes on the meaning of a bequest. Jesus had promised not to leave the disciples “orphans”, and now his promise of peace supports that earlier promise.
The disciples will not be orphans – that is, they will not be alone – because they will live in the peace of Jesus. The peace that Jesus offers is not the world’s peace – neither the false promise of security, nor the end of conflict. The peace that Jesus gives is his peace, a peace that derives from the heart of Jesus’ life. The peace of Jesus is “the all-embracing sphere of his life, his love, his joy”. The gift of peace rests at the centre of Israel’s final hopes, and is now available in Jesus.
The promise of Jesus’ peace is not an occasion for complacency, as is seen by Jesus’ repetition of the exhortation, “do not let your hearts be troubled”. This reinforces the fact that these are not sentimental comments, simply telling the disciples not to worry. Rather they call the disciples – they call us – to find strength to face this new situation, and to make the contribution we are able to assure the removal of violence in order that peace may prevail. It is in this light that we need to see the spirituality of non-violence.
When we look at violence we can examine it on different levels. We can speak of international violence, a violence that manifests itself in the area of war. We can speak of the violence of international trade, where rich countries violate poor countries by literally robbing them of raw materials or inducing a quality of slave labor.
One can speak of the violence of the social classes, the rich and the poor, the haves and the haves not. According to Worldwatch Institute (2002) the United States and Europe alone spend $18 billion dollars on cosmetics, $17 billion on pet food, $15 billion on perfumes, $14 billion on ocean cruises and $11 billion on ice cream just in Europe. That is a total of $75 billion.
But to eliminate hunger and malnutrition around the world would cost $19 billion, accessible clean water could be provided for $10 billion, universal literacy could be achieved for $5 billion, and every child in the Third World could be immunized for just over $1 billion dollars. That is a total of $35 billion dollars, less than half of the rich billion.
Over 1 billion people, 20 percent of the world’s population, lack reasonable access to safe drinking water, 40 percent of the people of the world lack basic sanitation facilities and, as drought brought on by greenhouse gasses increase, many millions die from starvation.
Indeed there is something immoral about all of this; there is violence in all of this, there is lack of peace.
One can speak of violence on the national level. Much of what has been said of violence on the international level is reflected on the national level. Further, we have cultural violence, racial violence and there is growing evidence of religious violence.
Then one can come even closer to home and speak of the violence that exists on the domestic level, the level of the home, the family, between individuals.
Viewing violence with a telescope or a good set of binoculars reveals that violence never begins on the international or national levels without it first having its beginning on the domestic level, in the heart of the human person.
When we are close to home it is domestic violence that confronts us most. Domestic violence is that which occurs in the family that results in physical, sexual or psychological harm or suffering to women and children. Wife abuse involves physical and sexual assault, emotional intimidation, degradation, deprivation, financial and other forms of exploitation of women. This abuse is often by their intimate partners. Some studies/surveys suggest that around the world one in every three women has been beaten, forced into sex or otherwise abused in her time.
Kofi Annan, Secretary General of the United Nations, has said: “Violence against women is the most shameful human rights violation and also the most pervasive. It knows no boundaries of geography, culture or wealth.
The fear of violence, including harassment, is a constraint on women’s mobility and limits their access to resources and activities. Terror, depression, suicidal tendencies, severe anxiety, loss of self-esteem and feelings of hopelessness and shame are some of the effects of violence in the family.
Children who witness abusive behavior or are victims themselves are deeply affected and these scars last a lifetime. I have been told by social workers that in some of our communities 95 percent of the little girls are abused. Sexual abuse, especially, scars deeply and lastingly. The reason for this being that sexuality is much more than particular organs and specific actions. Sexuality is something that permeates our very person.
Something, which we learn from the early church, can help us understand this better. In the early years of Christianity it was judged that the best way one could give oneself to God was physical martyrdom. This involved total giving. After the age of the great persecutions it was judged that the best way one could give oneself totally to God was by a celibate way of life. The reason for this understanding was the belief that one’s sexuality was so much an integral part of one’s being that by offering it to God one was as close as one could come to the total gift of oneself in physical martyrdom.
When one closely examines the scene of violence, it is that of domestic violence which comes closest to home. In a culture where peace and justice and communion are threatened by violence, only a change of consciousness and conversion of heart produce the response to violence preached and practised by Jesus.
There practice of non-violence, the spirituality of non-violence, is not, as one might suppose, a sign of indifference or timidity. It is linked to faith and hospitality, believing in the power of God to support the innocent, and identifying with the merciful Father who forgives the aggressor and welcomes them to a new relationship. Non-violence is not the aim of the truly spiritual justice. Important as it is, non-violence remains a negative – the absence of violence. Non-violence is a step towards the gift of peace, which transforms the person in all their relationships and is the gift “the world cannot give”. Because of the gift of peace, in the presence of non-violence it becomes possible to let go of all the rationalization of violence along with the long-held grudges and resentments. Because of the gift of peace it becomes possible to be healed or at least well salved of deep scars and hurts. This does not happen overnight, but as the non-violence is emptied out it is replaced by the gift of peace, which spreads and changes our violent world little by little.
The peace of which we speak is a gift, God’s gift in Jesus. In order for a gift to be gift three things must happen: It must be received, it must be developed and it must be shared.
With the gift of peace, it needs to be received. I must recognize need for that gift in my life. I must make space, suitable space, for the gift in my life. I must welcome the gift with gratitude.
Then the gift needs to be developed. I must unwrap the gift, open the box in which it is contained. I need to examine the gift, study its nature and purpose; see how it is to be used.
Finally, the gift must be shared. The gift must be offered, given to others in their need.
As agents of the gift of peace, as instruments involved in the spirituality of non-violence, we can best learn how to be good agents, good instruments, by studying the example of the maker and distributor of the gift, our Lord himself. I would like to reflect on two scenes in the gospel from which I feel we can learn.
The first scene is Jesus raising the widow’s son at Nain (Luke 7:11 ff).
As we listen to the description of this scene we can visualize two processions making their way to the town gate. One is a procession of death; we are burying the only son of a mother, and she is a widow. The other is a procession of life. Jesus has just healed a centurion’s servant and now his disciples and a large crowd are with him. The two processions meet.
Looking at the procession of death we see the real violence that is present there. Death is always violent. It is so shocking, sudden, complete. The mother is a widow; she has already suffered the loss of her husband.
As a widow in that society she has basically no rights and little support. The dead person is her only son. She has no other children; she is all alone. Besides, it is not normal for parents to bury their children. Parents are not wired to bury their children. As children we bury our parents. This mother is violated; she experiences severe pain; she is devastated.
From the procession of life we have a strong reaction. “When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, ‘Do not weep’”. Jesus had compassion for her.
The word “compassion” generally evokes positive feelings. We like to think of ourselves as compassionate people. But, if being human and being compassionate are the same, then why is humankind torn by conflict, war, hatred, oppression and abuse? This causes us to take a critical look at our understanding of compassion.
The word compassion is derived from the Latin words “pati” and “cum”, which together mean, “to suffer with”. Compassion asks us to go where it hurts, to enter into places of pain, to share in brokenness, fear, confusion and anguish. Compassion challenges us to cry out with those in misery, to mourn with those who are lonely, to weep with those in tears. Compassion requires us to be weak with the weak, vulnerable with the vulnerable and powerless with the powerless.
In the gospel scene that we are reflecting on we meet the expression “to be moved with compassion”, an expression that appears only a few times and is used exclusively in reference to Jesus or his Father. The Greek verb that is used reveals the deep and powerful meaning of the expression, it refers to the entrails of the body, or as we might say today, the guts. They are the place where our most intimate and intense emotions are located. They are the centre from which both passionate love and passionate hate grow.
When the gospels speak about Jesus’ compassion as his being moved in the entrails, they are expressing something very deep and mysterious. The compassion that Jesus felt was obviously quite different from superficial or passing feelings of sorrow or sympathy. Rather, it extended to the most vulnerable part of his being. It is related to the Hebrew word from compassion, rachamin, which refers to the womb of God. Indeed, compassion is such a deep, central and powerful emotion in Jesus that it can be described as a movement of the womb of God. There, all the divine tenderness and gentleness lies hidden. There, God is father and mother, brother and sister, son and daughter. There, all feelings, emotions and passions are one in divine love. When Jesus was moved to compassion, the source of all life trembled, the ground of all love burst open and the abyss of God’s immense, inexhaustible and unfathomable tenderness revealed itself.
The end of the scene in the gospel says, “The dead man sat up and began to speak and Jesus gave him to his mother”. This gospel scene, in its fullest meaning, shows us the real meaning of the spirituality of non-violence.
The second gospel scene that I would like to ponder is that of the woman caught in adultery (John 8:1-11). Jesus has spent the night on the Mount of Olives – a favorite resting place – and probably in prayer. He has come to the Temple and is teaching. Many come to listen to him, including some scribes and Pharisees who bring a woman caught committing adultery. They are rough, brutal, cruel, insensitive, judgmental. They are certainly inconsiderate of the person (where is the man?), they are using her to catch Jesus; they want him to choose between the law and a person.
Jesus refuses to deal with the case as merely a legal matter and deals with it practically. In a capital case the witnesses against the accused were to take the initiative in carrying out the execution. Jesus asks them to think first, whether their own consciences proclaim them worthy to sit in judgment. They are aware of the effectiveness of Jesus’ answer. His answer is one that they didn’t expect, they didn’t come to hear, one they really can’t accept. Perhaps ashamed of using a woman’s humiliation to ensnare a man, they leave, one by one, beginning with the eldest.
Now Jesus is alone with the woman. This woman, too, has come to Jesus; likely not with the same motivation as the others. She has sinned; but she has remained, stayed with him. In last Sunday’s gospel the disciples of John followed Jesus; they went and saw and stayed. In this gospel scene Jesus has stayed with a disciple, a sinner perhaps, but Jesus treats her with compassion. Verbally the woman says very little, only three words: “No one, sir”. By remaining, by staying, standing there, she speaks volumes. She acknowledges, accepts and confesses her sinfulness. She professes her trust in Jesus.
In this encounter sinfulness meets sinlessness. St. Augustine said: “Two remained: the miserable and the merciful”. It seems that the crowds dispersed as well, for the text says Jesus is left alone with the woman. Only now does Jesus act directly. He treats her with the respect and compassion he has always shown those who are open to him and his message of salvation. As he has done in so many other situations, he disregards proper protocol and he speaks to this woman who is a stranger to him, a sinner, and he does this in a public place. He does not condemn her, but neither does he exonerate her. Acknowledging her obvious sinfulness, Jesus exhorts her to sin no more.
What has the woman seen? What has she experienced? An aspect of the mystery of God has come to her through the teaching of Jesus. Someone has listened to her being, her person, not just her words. Someone else has experienced her pain, her suffering, her alienation, loneliness, embarrassment. Someone else has seen that she too is “someone”, and because she is given this sense of value, of dignity and identity, she can go and live anew. This woman has experienced the mystery of God and God’s love; she has experienced the compassion of God in Jesus. Compassion and mercy have won out.
Abraham Lincoln reflected that he hoped it could be said of him that wherever he went in life he plucked a weed and planted a flower wherever he thought a flower would grow. Jesus teaches us the spirituality of non-violence by plucking weeds and planting flowers. We pluck weeds by approaching violence with compassion, the compassion of God demonstrated for us by Jesus. We plant flowers by paving the way for, and sowing the seed of, God’s peace, a peace the world cannot give.