She plopped her luggage down on my
foot while asking, “is this seat free?” She had managed to get the gate agent
to open the door, and she took the first available seat—next to me. I had been
upgraded to business class, and clearly she did not belong. She was wearing sweat
pants and a smelly jacket, and I sniffed my superiority. Besides, she had unloaded her heavy bag on my
sore right foot. I dreaded the two hour
flight from Atlanta to San Antonio.
Thankfully I got over myself and inquired why
she had been forced to dash to make the connection. The flights left late, she said, which I
understood as I had been delayed by the storms strafing the Southeast. Then, she murmured quietly, “I am returning
from burying my mother.”
My irritation
evaporated as I began to inquire about the circumstances of her mother’s death
and how she was doing. A sacred space
opened up as I listened to her narrative of her relationship with her mother
and the depth of the loss she was experiencing.
My arched eyebrows relaxed as we built a bridge of common humanity,
understanding together what it means to bury your mother.
On my way
to speak about empowering women and being attentive, I almost missed a
meaningful encounter with this hurting sister.
I recognized the grace of the Spirit’s nudge to create space for her to
share her grief, and the moments were holy as we discussed faith and hope.
As we move
forward in the Season after Epiphany, I am drawn to the ways Jesus recognizes
the wounds and longings of his fellow humans. He has identified with them in baptism, and as
he begins his public ministry he welcomes the searching, questioning early
followers.
The fourth
Gospel recounts his encounter with two of John the Baptizer’s disciples. John has pointed him out by saying: “There is
the Lamb of God.” They abruptly left
their first teacher to follow Jesus.
A most
remarkable conversation ensues. Jesus
does not presume their intent, but rather asks: “What are you looking for?”
(John 1:38) This may well be the key
question for us all. My fellow traveler
was simply looking for an empathetic ear, which is what we all desire when we
are hurting.
This past
week in a lectureship at Georgetown College, Miroslav Volf posed the question:
“What is a well lived life?” It is life
given to a significant vocation and lived in meaningful relationships, in my
judgment. It is a life of compassion, as
we become stewards of our own wounds. It
is learning to follow Jesus so that we might really understand what we are
looking for.
Molly T.
Marshall
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