Practicing Your Image of God

I've come to realize that people probably 'live out' their theology--or for a quick explanation, their real image of God. I think this may be particularly true when you are in a position of power or authority over others. If you are cruel or vindictive; if you lord your power over others according to whim; if you are never available--I think this could be you reflecting your own perceived imago Dei. Especially in a seminary context. In three years as a seminarian, having significant experience with authority systems in three seminaries, this has really become clear to me.

I've given some of the more negative examples. Now I'm going to give two just kind of interesting and pretty good examples. They're different from each other even, but still pretty good. These are the two professors that extend me the most encouragement and 'mentoring,' who I tend to trust a lot--even though their styles are different. I don't think I really made the connection with these two, though, until we started studying Mircea Eliade:

Imago Dei I:
The wise old man lives in the tower seemingly above it all. It takes some time to get hold of him when you try to contact him, and sometimes you wonder if he's around or remembered. But he does descend at odd times, and will collar you, with interest, and tell you what you need to be doing with your life. It doesn't last very long, and really it is usually pretty good, and then he goes back up again. But it sure makes you think...

Imago Dei II:
You're afraid to bother him, but you find he's almost always there when you get up and go to him. He always offers you a chair, even if you don't intend to stay long. He always seems to listen well. He doesn't overreact when you confess things that seem terrible to you. He may have different ideas than you for how to get out of a present fix, but you get the sense his intentions are good. And even if you are making a mess of things, his patience endures.

It's kind of interesting how I think of God...honestly, both of these, but at different times. And despite knowing so many images of God and knowing I should probably be more 'liberated,' I still have to say I usually think of God with white hair and a beard. Hmm...

Ritual Containment, 2

Another thought I had today, which begins with preaching (which is sort of really mainly pastoral care) and ends with psychology (which is also sort of really also pastoral care), is that I wonder how many therapists use good 'ritual containment' in their work, and the consequences of not doing so.

For example, I have a dear friend who experienced incest during childhood and has since for years been in regular therapy. She tells me that afterwards, she's really 'out of commission' for quite a while before being able to resume her usual daily life activity. But, she also really relies on this therapist and goes back again and again.

I love my friend, and I'm not entirely convinced she's being helped by this therapist.

Therapy, I think, is tricky. In fifty minutes, you have to create the safe space in which a person can completely open up their deepest hurts and probe them--and then get 'put back together again' before walking out the door.

I think the first part usually happens, but I'm not so sure the second part does--generally speaking and having done a reasonable amount of therapy myself in life (as do we all, or most, especially in seminary). I think more often it's, 'Oh, look at the time. When shall we schedule the next appointment? See you then.'

And you walk out the door with your guts still leaking out. Or perhaps even wondering what that other, relative stranger of a person, even thought. (So often therapy is done on the 'blank slate' model, which I'm not convinced is consistently helpful either).

I'm cynical enough in general to think that this is the 'perfect' financially secure therapist-client relationship: if I open you up and leave you hanging, you might get a little better, but not much. And the big, dark world will feel even more scary perhaps--so you'll come running back to me. And I can keep billing.

I think this is another example of what Dr. Moore and Dr. Edgerton so frequently refer to as 'pseudo-therapy:' I pretend to be a therapist, and you pretend to get better.'

Restoration after revelation, especially of the deep wounds, I think is so critical to pastoral care. Even moreso perhaps than in regular one-on-one therapy. The therapist is a 'stranger' in a different world; the pastor is part of the spiritual community in which you participate intimately. If the pastor doesn't restore before the end of the visit, how can that person be restored to the community? Will that person see themselves, and communicate themselves (perhaps unconsciously, or in anxiety) as 'the sick one?' And once you're labeled as sick, it's hard to be given room to be transformed into the role of 'healed and whole one.' I see it all the time, whether physical, mental, or emotional, and so on.

Maybe that is pseudo-ministry...

Ritual Containment

One of the terms that we hear around here a lot is 'ritual containment.' One of its meanings is that if you are going to take people into an emotionally profound or intense place, you need to have a 'container,' or process, by which you lead them into it _and_ lead them out of it. This can be done through words, music, or even physical space or elements. It happens, or at least needs to happen a lot in worship. It is the creation of a space of trust, really.

If it doesn't happen, and you do want to get people into that emotionally deep well or space, either of two things may happen: it will 'explode,' and/or drown the people involved, leaking over and overwhelming lives and communities; or it will simply convince people to stay safely on the surface and 'not go there with you.'

After preaching class today, I remembered back to times when I've heard male preachers preach on domestic violence or abuse. I think they thought it was the progressive ministerial male thing to do. However, one ought not preach on something they don't want to be involved in later. I saw that when women would take their preaching seriously and approach them later, thinking 'this is a pastor who might actually understand and try to help me,' those preachers didn't help. They didn't even respond. They really could not have cared less, it seemed.

This was poor ritual containment.

It also occurred to me that I have a 'ritual containment' flow to my week, for which I am grateful. I love preaching class and laugh reasonably often, but I also usually leave kind of emotionally raw. We talk about hard things in there, not least of which is the text of the rape of Tamar a classmate is doing (she also works as a crisis counselor downtown). It can be for me the feeling of having my insides scraped out. So, in and of itself, it would be hard for me to leave this class and er, go forth in joy. But, afterwards, I have storytelling workshop, run by David Reese, and this can be a little cathartic--more laughter, more space to emote in whichever way we are led that particular session. It's been fun, although also a little roller-coaster-ish. Then I have a few hours before Theories of Change. This is good, because by that time in the day, I could use a little psychological technical talk about the bigger picture understanding how we respond to events in life. At the same time though, it is also rather cerebral--moreso than my beloved Psychopathology and Theology class last term (we got more real-life discussion crammed in then). Wednesday daytime is a pretty cerebral/detached day too, not much time to apply and process things, although with a break for Chapel and Community Lunch--both of which I find I really need. But, if I ended the day (and the school-week), I'd be kind of hurting.

So, I have found that the Systematics class I sit in on,(I had a year of systematics already, which I also enjoyed, at the Lutheran seminary) primary texts being the 'Institutes of the Christian Faith,' by John Calvin, to be absolutely essential for bringing the week to a close and pulling everything (and my own self) back together. We laugh a lot, despite/because of Calvin; and we also talk about big picture things that really matter, in ways that really connect. And I desperately need that. I sleep better afterwards. I feel less unhinged by the deadly seriousness of the topics at hand and their real implications for life. And sometimes I think it's even Calvin's own insanity that makes me put my own into better perspective.

This 'weekly crisis' resolved, several of us head over to the university pub afterwards. It's like the shabbat; peace and rest at the end of the work of the faithful.