A ramble about boundaries, inner darkness, and listening...

        I had been taught in my counseling courses at Seminary that, generally speaking, men and women listen differently and share differently. When men listen to someone sharing about a problem, they generally want to fix that problem.  This is at least in part because men tend to share what is bothering them when they are wanting advice themselves, we were taught.  So they expect that when women are sharing, it is because they are wanting advice as well.  In contrast, women share for support.  So women know that when another woman is sharing something with them, they are wanting to be heard, to be understood. If a woman wants advice, she usually will state that, "I am wanting your advice", or she will ask a man.  Until men and women figure out this difference in the way we communicate and the way we listen, it can create real problems between the genders.  Women often feel insulted by the advice or the obvious statements that men make in response to their sharing because they feel the advice or common sense statements belittle them.  We hear the advice as a commentary on our ability to make our own decisions, to see things clearly or to be able to work through a problem.  We talk because we are processing out loud, not because we are children who need help.  In contrast, men can sometimes misread the fact that women don't offer advice as women not having insight or opinions as to what should be done in a certain situation.  We have opinions, I can assure you, but we trust you to make your own choices and feel it would be insulting to try to tell you what you should do.
       This is what I was taught.  And my own experience has been that this is accurate.  I definitely need to process out loud.  But when my expressions of struggle, hurt, or pain are met with advice, or worse, with a "just don't feel that way", or worst of all, stating the obvious, "well, you just need to make a decision", my response is usually further hurt and anger.  I wasn't asking advice, thank you very much.  Telling me to "get over it" is not going to make the feelings just go away.  And stating the obvious makes me feel like you see me as completely incapable of seeing the nose on my face.
       However, yesterday, as I found myself in several different conversations about listening, I heard all of this differently.  I'm no longer convinced that the differences in the way people listen is as simple as "some want advice and therefore give advice while others want to be heard so they hear."  I realized that sometimes our boundaries, or lack of boundaries are the deeper issue.  Sometimes when we have poor boundaries, we give advice as a way of shutting people down because their pain hurts us.  If I tell you what to do, I no longer need to listen.  If I can sum it up in a few words, there is nothing more that needs to be said.  I can then move on from the pain that you are experiencing which is also hurting me.  I can dismiss the problem as "solved."  I can make an artificial boundary of "I've solved this problem therefore it no longer exists" rather than working to build an appropriate boundary of "This is you, and I am me.  I can love you and care for you without being torn apart by the pain that you are experiencing.  I can be with you in your pain and I can walk this journey with you without needing to shut it down, end the feelings, or withdraw."
        A personal example: It is part of my job to listen to folk.  That is a part of my work that I really enjoy.  I like hearing how people are, I enjoy being with people as they live their lives and go through their lives.  I feel truly blessed and honored by being able to provide the pastoral care and counseling that is a large part of my work. It is not only easy for me to listen, but a real joy for me to do so.  I can reflect back, ask questions that I hope will help them think differently about their situation, and sometimes offer a different way of looking at a situation.  I am never tempted to offer advice.  But my boundaries feel very clear in that situation.  In contrast, when my children share with me their pain, I often find myself jumping into "fix it" mode.  Their pain physically hurts me.  I want it to stop. I find it difficult to tolerate their hurting. So I shove it away by trying to tell them what to do so they won't hurt anymore (so I won't hurt anymore for them).  Sometimes I have stepped in where I shouldn't.  Often I have given advice when it was not wanted, sought or needed.  I don't have the same good emotional boundaries with my children, and as a result, I often react differently, in unhelpful, and occasionally hurtful ways.   My lack of good boundaries with my kids cause me to fail to hear well when I am listening to them.  Instead, I try to "fix" it.  It doesn't help.  It makes it worse for my kids who want someone to hear them.  But it is because they are hurting, and because I am therefore also hurting, that I don't handle their sharing well.
        As I thought about this, I found myself reflecting on other similar situations.  When I was giving birth to my second child, I was in so much pain (yes, the reality of childbirth) that it was almost unbearable.  Despite what the experts say about forgetting the pain once the baby is born, it was bad enough that I do remember it.  What I remember even more, however, was that my husband became overwhelmed with my pain.  He was not able to have a good boundary around my pain, and he broke down.  The midwife who was working with us shut that down fast, however.  She said to him, "You have to get a grip!  She has to go through this. She has to.  The end result will be beautiful but she has to go through this to get there. There is nothing you can do about that.  But if you start focusing on the pain that her hurting is causing you, you are no longer with her to support her.  You become your own needy island and no one is helping anyone else.  She needs your support right now!  You have to get out of yourself and how much her pain hurts you and you need to be the support person she needs in this moment!  Get a grip!"
        When I was studying anthropology in college, one of the classes I took required us to read a book about a tribal culture in which the boundaries between people were not so confused as they sometimes are here. People in this tribe were incredibly happy, they didn't complain but laughed a great deal and focused on the good rather than problems. The author described a man who had a serious cut in his leg that needed stitches.  There was no anesthesia so each stitch was painful.  His wife held his hand throughout the process and supported him with her love, with her smiles, with her care.  But the anthropologist who wrote about it noted that if a similar situation had happened in the United States, the wife would have flinched and probably cried out herself every time her husband was gripped with the pain of a stitch.  She might even have excused herself, unable to stand watching her husband suffer in this way.  She would not have been able to stay present and strong with him without being traumatized by his pain.  But in this tribal culture, where boundaries are clearer, she was able to be a support without experiencing the pain herself.  As a result, her presence was a huge help to him and carried him through the experience.  
         I recently saw a youtube video in which a couple fathers were in a grocery store with a couple children who were having temper tantrums because they wanted candy that the fathers would not give to them.  Again, with our lack of boundaries, the normal reaction when our children act up in the grocery store is to grab at them, sometimes harshly, because we are embarrassed.  We try to get them to stop the tantrum because our lack of boundaries tells us that this reflects badly on US.  What is interesting is that our attempts to shut them up usually increase the length of the tantrum, the severity of the tantrum, and their inclination to repeat it when they don't get what they want again; after all, it successfully upset us.  But in this video, the fathers really remained calm.  They clearly stated "no" and stood watching the kids throwing the tantrums, but they didn't allow themselves to get upset or embarrassed or even angry with the kids. They didn't abuse the kids, they didn't walk away from the kids, they didn't threaten the kids, but they also were clear that they weren't giving in.  There was a clear sense of boundary: the fathers did not take on the embarrassment or shame of the kids' behavior.  It wasn't the fathers' bad behavior after all, it was the kids' behavior and they understood that.  And what was interesting is that the kids themselves became quickly embarrassed about their own behaviors and ended the tantrums, again with very little time, themselves.
       One final example.  I know two couples who have this boundary issue in another way.  When one person in the couple says something that the other feels is wrong or stupid, the one hearing the comment responds with embarrassment and sharp critique of their spouse.  They are unable to remember that their spouse is not a reflection on themselves.  And, as with the other examples, their lack of boundaries and the subsequent harsh critique of their spouse then leads to others seeing them as unkind. They are treating their partner meanly and everyone sees that.  While they are trying to avoid the judgment they believe will come their way from the comments made by their spouses, they are instead incurring judgment for their attempts to "correct" their partners, especially in this public way. While trying to avoid embarrassment, they are bringing shame on themselves as those around them watch this painful interaction.
         What is ironic about all of this is that those with stronger boundaries, and a clearer sense of what is mine and what is yours are often also the people who see more fully how interconnected we all are.   Those are the very people who often really understand that we must care for all people in all things if any of us hope to be okay as individuals.  Somehow that clear sense of boundaries, of where I start and end also allows people to be more open to the understanding that under all of it, we are still one.
        All of this leads back to where I began, with the way we talk and listen to one another.  I think we would be better at hearing and supporting those we love if we were able to step back a little and be okay with witnessing (and experiencing) pain.  As with my story about childbirth, most pain must be gone through in order to come out to the gifts on the other side.  Shoving pain down does not get rid of it, it does not end it, it does not solve it.  We have to deepen into those hard feelings in order to come through to the other side.  Even if we cannot set up a boundary that allows us to be with others without experiencing their pain, perhaps we can find ways to go through it with them rather than trying to just make it go away.
            In my spirituality circles, there has been a great deal of focus lately on our desire to avoid the darkness, to avoid the unpleasant and uncomfortable, rather than facing it, feeling it and dealing with it.  But everytime we do that, the darkness has a way of making itself bigger until it finally has our attention.  I'm reminded of J.K. Rowling's Fantastical Beasts.  The magic that is repressed became an evil force.  Our feelings, when repressed, do damage.  Our dark sides, when avoided rather than faced, grow into monsters within us.  We see this again and again as those people who condemn something in others are caught in those actions themselves (our politicians who speak so harshly against LGBTQ folk being caught in homosexual liaisons, for example).  When we cannot face within us what we do not value, do not like, what we condemn: when we cannot look with honesty at all of who we are, those parts of us we try to squish or stomp down tend to reappear in frightening and destructive ways.  Scott Peck, in his book, People of the Lie, says that we do evil when we cannot face something in ourselves so we put it out there onto others and work to destroy it in the other.  If we want to be people of light, people of love, people of hope, we have to be willing to look hard at those parts of ourselves we condemn and to work with them and through them.
         We can start by listening to others, really listening, rather than trying to 'fix' what others are going through.  We do them no favors by failing to truly support them.  Nor do we aid in their recovery by encouraging them to suppress and stomp out their feelings.  We also do great damage to ourselves by denying the reality of unwanted feelings, unwanted thoughts and unwanted pain.  We have to step through.  There is no other way.  "Can't go under it, can't go around it, guess I'll have to go through it" as the children's song tells us.  The pain we and our loved ones experience is not pleasant, but it is an opportunity to grow, to work through problems in a different way, to move forward in our journeys towards wholeness.  The journeys are easier if we travel them together.  But that starts with a commitment to listening and being present, even with those things we would rather not know, rather not hear, and especially, rather not feel.

Sunday's Sermon - Continuing Matthew 25: visiting the sick

John 9:1-7

Luke 9:1-6

Matthew 25:31-46

Today we continue our study of Matthew 25, focusing on caring for or visiting the sick.  We, as a community, are very good at this. Through our Deacons and through others do a wonderful job of visiting the sick.  Others in our congregation are constant care-givers for family, for friends.  Others volunteer and work in care-giving professions.  We visit people at home, we visit people in the hospital, we visit people going through rehab.  And we do more than visit.  We pray with people, we care for people, we spend time with them, we give them rides, we listen.  We genuinely care about our people who are struggling, and we offer our presence and anything else we know how to offer.  As much as if not more than any of the other things on Matthew’s list, we do this caring for the sick and we do it well.  That is something you should feel really proud of.  Even if you can’t or don’t do this as an individual, as a community we are amazing in our care for others. 

But we know that others don’t always do this well: I’ve shared this story before, but think it is especially relevant for today: At one of the churches where I served, the congregants were intimately involved with a program that served the homeless.  Through our work and through our time with the homeless people in our community, we developed a very close relationship with one homeless man in particular.  This man was very loving, very giving, very caring.  He began attending our church and when he did so, he offered to run our sound system, he helped with the gardening, and he was always on hand to help us in any way.  He was not unintelligent, but he was a severe alcoholic who could not seem to get through the disease to a place where he could give up drinking.  He would give it up for a week or two and then something would happen and he would be drinking again.  We saw him fight for his life against this disease and we saw him losing the battle.  At one point in our relationship with George, his drinking led him to fall and to hit his head very seriously on the street.  The police found him hours later and took him to the local hospital.  His injuries, especially to his brain, were very serious and he was admitted for long term hospitalization and rehabilitation.  However, when the nurses and doctors at the hospital came to understand that he was a homeless, income-less, resource-less man, they gave up caring for him.  He remained at the hospital for quite a while, because he was unable to walk a straight line, he could not speak clearly and had very little control over his movements.  But in large part he was at the hospital for so long because they would not provide the care to get him to a place where they could discharge him.  The only time that George really received any attention – the only time he would be brought his meals even – was when one of us was there to insist on it.  This was a “Christian” hospital, and the doctors and nurses who were hired to work there were, we were told, people of faith.  But they did not see the contradiction in their faith when they served their charges according to their resources, rather than according to their needs. 

This is NOT how Jesus acted.  And it is not what Jesus calls us to do.  Despite the reaction of those around him, including his disciples, Jesus found time to be present with “the least of these” every time.  He gave of his healing, of his energy, of his attention, even to those who didn’t somehow “rank” or “deserve” it. 

We brought George food.  We sat with him.  We fought for him with the medical personnel.  We cared for him.   Five years ago I learned that he had died.  He was in his 50s, and while he remained a homeless man struggling with alcohol addiction until the end, his funeral was well attended by those of that congregation who had loved him, visited him, provided care for him.  And again, while he did not heal from his struggle with alcoholism, we were helped in our service towards him.

I think the hardest sick people to visit with, using this understanding of “sickness” as simply people who are hurting, broken, injured in body, spirit, mind or soul, are those who are struggling with mental illness or with any other kind of emotional pain.  When people are in emotional pain, we often try to fix it and if we can’t, we struggle to be around it. We don’t know what to say to people in emotional pain.  We want it to go away.  I hope this is improving, but I remember all too well going to the memorial service for a friend whose husband had just died and having another friend say to me, “Well, we need to just tell her to get over it.  Maybe we should ignore it and try to set her up with someone else right away.”  This not only showed a total lack of understanding about grief, I think more importantly, it showed the speaker’s discomfort with another person’s pain when he couldn’t fix it. 

I’m reminded of a Joan of Arcadia episode in which a young man who had been paralyzed through a car accident was being protected by his parents from having to discuss what he had been through.  They kept shielding him from ever needing to talk about it.  At one point he came in on them in a heated discussion about the accident.  They immediately grew quiet and said, ““Kevin, you shouldn’t have to go through this again.”

His response though was wise, brilliant and insightful for all of us.  He said, “But I have to.  Don’t take this away from me.” 

Going through healing is necessary for all of us, whether we are struggling with physical problems, with emotional issues, with a crisis, with whatever it is that we face.  Standing with others going through those experiences, visiting those who are sick or struggling or in pain, just being with others in their hard times… these do not only bring healing for the ones we stand with, these actions bring us healing as well.

This morning I found myself reflecting on a conversation I had had with a member of my previous congregation.  It was over the question of whether or not God ever gives us more than we can handle.  I don’t think God hands us the tragedies and traumas of life.  And I do think that LIFE does sometimes give us more than we can handle.  We know this by the rate of suicides in this country.  But also, we’ve all meant shell people – people who are so bitter, so worn down by life that there is no compassion left within them.  These are the people we are most called to care for, to try to be God’s hands and feet, moving them through and beyond their pain.  But in this particular conversation, I said, “wounds always heal with scars.” To which my parishioner responded, “yes, but scar sites are much stronger than the flesh around them”.  Okay, if healing is done well this is true.  Bones heal much stronger, scars on our skin are made of tougher material.  But when they don’t heal correctly, when scabs are picked at and allowed to fester, healing does not happen.  Again, we have a call to help one another through those times of bad injuries to our body, to our soul.  But we are also called to remember that it is we who are healed through the process of caring for one another.

But today I want to take this a little bit deeper:

Frederick Buechner says this about healing:

The Gospels depict Jesus as having spent a surprising amount of time healing people.  Although, like the author of Job before him, he specifically rejected the theory that sickness was God’s way of getting even with sinners, he nonetheless seems to have suggested a connection between sickness and sin, almost to have seen sin as a kind of sickness.  Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick,” he said.  “I came not to call the righteous but sinners.” … It is significant also that the Greek verb sozo was used in Jesus’ day to mean both to save and to heal, and soter could signify either savior or physician.”

So I want to take a slightly different look at it and instead spend some time focusing on the truth that the sick we care for, when we care for the sick, are, once again, ourselves.  We are the ones in need of healing, we are the ones in need of growth and healing, all of us, and the prescription that we are given for those challenges, for our scars and scabs that won’t heal on their own, for our human illness is to follow Jesus. 

               We see this clearly in today’s passage, but perhaps we see it even more clearly in other passages.  The passage we read from John that talks about Jesus healing the blind man ends with the following chastisement of the Pharisees:  Jesus said, “I have come into the world to exercise judgment so that those who don’t see can see and those who see will become blind.”  Some Pharisees who were with him heard what he said and asked, “Surely we aren’t blind, are we?”  Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you wouldn’t have any sin, but now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.

               A similar thing happens with the man Jesus heals who is deaf and mute.  In the book of Mark, Jesus cures this man and those around him prove themselves instead to be the ones who fail to really hear and fail to speak truth or wisdom.  We all know of people who won’t or can’t see.  Of course, they probably accuse us of the same thing.  And the reality is that because there are always layers and layers of truth, and because we always understand, interpret and see truth from our own perspectives, not one of us has the whole picture.  Not one.  All of us have areas of blindness, areas of deafness.  We all do.  Together we have a much better picture of the truth, but even then, people lie, people hide things.  There will always be areas of blindness.  But the problem is, those areas of blindness create illness within us, as a people, as well as as individuals.  We lose understanding and compassion for the other when we cannot see their perspective.  We lose unity and our ability to grow and work together when we cannot see from their point of view. It creates in our culture, in our world, illness, dis-ease.  But I would say that is true within us as individuals too.  When we are angry, it is we ourselves we are harming (remember – anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other to die).  We are injured and made ill by our refusal or inability to see or hear.

Who are the sick?  Who are the blind?  Who are the deaf?  It is shown again and again through scripture that the blind are often those who will not see.  The deaf are those who refuse to hear.  Our scriptures show us in these passages and others that the sick are often those who physically appear the healthiest, but who live lives that are not godly.  The passage from Matthew, as we read it today, gives us the cure, invites us into the health that Jesus offers.  We find that health by doing what Jesus asks – by caring for one another, by understanding at the deepest level that we are all connected, all one, all so intimately united by God’s love that we literally are healing ourselves and feeding ourselves and caring for ourselves when we care for others.  When we come to understand another person’s point of view, our blindness is listened.  When we can hear other people’s fears, hopes, thoughts and feelings, our deafness is lessened.  As a country we need to hear each other better and see each other more fully.  But this starts with individuals.  Can we hear and see one another?  Can we work on our own healing, by visiting others who are just as blind but who need to be heard, who need to be loved, through that blindness? 

Our challenge, then, is this: to remember we all have areas of blindness, we all are in need of healing.  Not one of us sees or hears with completeness.  Not one of us therefore are completely well.  And so when we care for each other, even those who may not appear to need our care, but need it just as much, we are also doing it for Jesus. 

My prayer for all of you is that as you care and love others, you feel God’s healing hand caring for you as well.  That you experience God’s touch on your heart as you touch the hands and minds of those who are sick.  That you know Jesus love for you, as a person struggling with the human illness, even as you offer love to those who struggle with human diseases around you.  In the name of the one who loves you into being and into wholeness and into healing we pray.  Amen.