FROM THE BOUNDARY

We’re here at the Jerusalem Golden Gate, the Gate of Mercy, just across from the Mount of Olives from whence we’re told the Holy One will come. There’s still time, just, to reflect on the troubled question of who we are, who we are “really”, and to search for the child within, the child who represents what’s most authentic about ourselves. Remember the onion? The child within is what’s left after we’ve peeled it. So while we wait, let’s do that. There are many layers.

The outer layer is our physical selves subject to all the stimuli of the world, positive and negative. We lost our sense of smell long ago. Moreover, whatever there is, all too often our eyes falsify it. We don’t look people in the eyes, as we should, and so miss half the story. And then we hear only what we want to hear, and so never really engage with anyone. Our senses are all too busy falsifying everything, inventing, projecting and manipulating. It’s said we only see two per cent of reality. Imagine a book of 100 pages and we saying that we’ve read it because of the two pages only we’ve actually read.

Then, next, the layer of our genetic make-up which we took from our parents. If they were excitable, or miserable, or prone to heart attacks, then we’re likely to be predisposed to those things. It’s the curse of the parents – but no-one’s fault. I wonder if it’s the origin of the idea that the sins of the parent are carried over for umpteen generations.

Now the layer of the instincts – and, boy, haven’t we done our best to repress them. All those horrendous, ungodly sexual instincts – imagine! Good job we don’t try repressing our breathing. The instincts can’t really be controlled by the mind, can they? St. Paul has a lot to say about that. But at least they’re natural and spontaneous, and may just keep us alive. Sad that religion has tried to poison them and, in doing so, created mountains of guilt for us.

Next, the layer of our intuitive powers associated with the right side of the brain. They’re our hidden powers – to understand, to create, to see beyond. But we’ve had those censored too. We’re required to go for facts, to seek knowledge, not understanding – to regurgitate, repeat, imitate and, in the process, to strangle our creative selves.

Yes, and here the layer of the emotions which so often dictate how we respond to people and the world – our anger, our self-importance, our fear. For God’s sake, don’t forget love then. Let it drive out the negative things.

Now the layer of experience – all the things which have brought us joy and hurt us. We’re crossed in love. It makes us wary, to doubt ourselves, unwilling to commit ourselves – all rooted in fear. We lose our job and become bitter and withdrawn. At school we were blamed for something we didn’t do. We become angry and seek revenge. We were molested as a child and end up hating all men, and destroying every beautiful possibility in every new relationship.

You see what we’re up against, you and me?

And then, finally, the most shocking layer of all, our belief systems, our conditioning from all the social structures of the world – from parents, school, the church, the media, from society, from interpretations of history we’re made to swallow. There are so many things. They’re prison walls. They destroy authentic communication. They breed smugness, a false certainty rooted in nothing but what we’ve read, or been told, or have inherited. They stifle mystery, exploration, originality, clarity, understanding. They straightjacket us. We’re DLP or BLP without discrimination. We’re Biblical literalists and vomit on scholarship. We’re Muslim or Christian and insist that defines us – so that if the Bible or Quran is attacked it’s we who are in danger. In believing what we’re told only one truth is possible for us – and it’s your truth which we spew out as if it’s authentically ours. We end up carrying a dead child inside us. Is that really how we were meant to be?

Peel it all away. There’s hope at the very heart of it – and it’s the discovery of the child who’s still there deep inside us: the child for whom there’s no second hand knowledge, only no-knowledge; the child of innocence whose eyes are clear; the child who has depth but no prejudices, no judgements; the child who refuses to indulge in cheap distinctions – not black, not white, not straight, not gay, not DLP, not BLP, not Jew, not gentile; the child who naturally questions and rebels; the child who, in the garden, doesn’t know he’s naked, who knows neither fear nor shame, but instinctively understands that clothing doesn’t give him life; the child whose first words are ‘ball’, ‘mummy’, ‘yes’ not ‘I am Bajan’, ‘I am Christian’; the child who naturally takes my hand in trust; the child who knows beyond his years that the rain falls on everyone and that the sun brings life to all.

Love this child. He speaks the intelligence of the heart not the head. His life is poetry, and music and dance punctuate all he does. He’s not a robot, not a spiritual cripple, not a recording on a tape. His life is simple enough. When he falls, he picks himself up and starts playing again. He’s not very serious about himself and he laughs a lot. He’s not power hungry nor money hungry. Life’s an adventure for him. He wears no masks. He’s not ashamed to cry. But then, he’s not yet been made to feel stupid, unworthy, unintelligent. He’s not chained by guilt and won’t run from danger. And because his little life hasn’t become mere repetition, he’s rarely bored. His gaze searches the moon with excitement and he readily understands that the horizon is only the limit of his eyes. Do you see yourself in any of this, I wonder? If you do, I dare to say you’re blessed.

But wait. He comes. Tell the daughter of Zion. This pale Galilean comes humbly on a donkey, the donkey we once rode as kids at the sea side. Do you notice that somehow with a glance his eyes fix on each of us? He comes in peace – Shalom – the peace of God. It’s the peace, the life, within us, the response of oneness with him, with the farthest stars, with all creation. How can we stop singing, stop clapping our hands? We don’t need the stones to help us. Now, with him we have the courage to be all that we can be – to be whom we are “really” – and in that to make the face of God visible to ourselves and the world. So yes, we’ll sing and dance as children do and banish fear from our journey. He led us here, didn’t he?

Go safely, then – until the next time.

Palm Sunday homily from the boundary: “With Christ, the heart never grows old!” (Pope Francis)