Invitation to See
Some days, I just feel invisible. It's almost as if I've somehow accidentally acquired the superpower to disappear. Or I am standing in a room full of people, with the people moving, laughing, engaging, conversing at a rate of 100 miles an hour but I am just standing there, still--alone.
As if that is not enough, men who tell me to my face that the sexist comments they make are often intentional, and they don't care to change. So me standing there-- a woman, a woman of color at that, hearing those words, I wondered how it is possible for any type of justice to reign. In those moments, surrounded by people yet shoved further into isolation, I question if I truly am invisible.
As if that is not enough, men who tell me to my face that the sexist comments they make are often intentional, and they don't care to change. So me standing there-- a woman, a woman of color at that, hearing those words, I wondered how it is possible for any type of justice to reign. In those moments, surrounded by people yet shoved further into isolation, I question if I truly am invisible.
Does anyone see me? Does anyone want to see me?
Being seen--truly seen is not a longing that started with myself. In fact, the innate normalcy in which being seen is wired into our very beings seems to have been evident in the garden of eden, amidst shalom. In the wholeness of that place, amidst the presence of Lord the Creator and Adam and Eve with one another, being seen was a piece of unity, of community. Adam and Eve existed in a state of nakedness--no clothing, no secrets, nothing to hide, no shame. Truth was accessible, vulnerability was a state of flourishing and normalcy. It was a state in which love for the other was evident in unconditional positive regard.
I see you, I want to see you the way you are, raw and exposed and I love seeing you, no matter what.
I love this vision of shalom. I've been receiving so much, being so aware of this word "shalom" and so aware of the deficit of shalom within my world and the world around me.
When I think of shalom, I think of wholeness, integration, connectedness, peace, authenticity. More than that, I think of a deep sense of at-oneness with the self, with creation, with one another and with God, that is practically unable to grasp fully.
Shalom takes consideration of "the other"--it sees, and loves. It's not that shalom takes no note of another's rawness, for those things are not invisible. Instead, seeing is an act of wholeness. It is an act where one acknowledges the hurt, pain, struggle, or simply the presence of those outside of oneself. For isn't the very nature in which God created us to be in community? To exist in relationship? To see one another as extensions of ourselves?
I admit that my feelings of invisibility are truly out of the need for a desire for someone to want to simply enter into my story. For barriers to be broken, and the privileged (myself included) to be conscious of what ignorance means for those who remain invisible. I've known what it is like to be visible in that way, and long for that in this place in my life. But I am convicted to ask... what about those who we allow to remain invisible? What about those outside of our social spheres, outside of the walls of the seminary, the Holland city limits, the Michigan state lines, the United States border?
Many people don't experience being seen... ever. Their stories remain invisible, we remain ignorant. I've been convicted this semester to pay more attention to the ways I contribute to the invisibility of those who live much of their lives in the minority metanarrative. Those that have spent their lives fighting to remain alive, those who don't get to receive the benefits of hard-working parents, those who live in fear because at any minute, a given number of their rights could be revoked. I also am convicted to notice those who are too afraid to speak up in class, or those who I come across at work who bring the weight of the world on their shoulders, overwhelmed, stressed and waiting to have someone see them instead of their struggles.
I contribute to their invisibility by turning a blind eye, for refusing to change. My own desire to remain comfortable in my social sphere, maintain the status quo and focus on my own spirituality all gets protected at the expense of those who simply need to be seen, to be affirmed that their presence is not a burden to this world.
A book I am reading called "Prophetic Lament" declares it perfectly:
“We have a deficient theology that trumpets the triumphalistic successes of evangelicalism while failing to hear from the stories of suffering that often tell us more about who we are as a community” (63)
Maybe we're forgetting to see "the other" as extensions of ourselves. Maybe we need to practice our awareness of the people around us and acknowledge that maybe seeing ourselves in light of an entire system can provide us with a holistic vision of the purposes God intended for our community. When you think about it, individual sin and ignorance starts with one person and transpires into entire communities. When one decides to remain ignorant, it is likely others will do. Sin is systemic.
but...
-The Soul of Shame: Retelling the Stories We Believe about Ourselves,
-Prophetic Lament: A Challenge to the Western Church, Soong-Chan Rah, 2015.
I love this vision of shalom. I've been receiving so much, being so aware of this word "shalom" and so aware of the deficit of shalom within my world and the world around me.
When I think of shalom, I think of wholeness, integration, connectedness, peace, authenticity. More than that, I think of a deep sense of at-oneness with the self, with creation, with one another and with God, that is practically unable to grasp fully.
"To be okay as a human is first and foremost about being connected to God and others."
The Soul of Shame, Curt Thompson
The Soul of Shame, Curt Thompson
Shalom takes consideration of "the other"--it sees, and loves. It's not that shalom takes no note of another's rawness, for those things are not invisible. Instead, seeing is an act of wholeness. It is an act where one acknowledges the hurt, pain, struggle, or simply the presence of those outside of oneself. For isn't the very nature in which God created us to be in community? To exist in relationship? To see one another as extensions of ourselves?
If so, are we doing a good job?
I admit that my feelings of invisibility are truly out of the need for a desire for someone to want to simply enter into my story. For barriers to be broken, and the privileged (myself included) to be conscious of what ignorance means for those who remain invisible. I've known what it is like to be visible in that way, and long for that in this place in my life. But I am convicted to ask... what about those who we allow to remain invisible? What about those outside of our social spheres, outside of the walls of the seminary, the Holland city limits, the Michigan state lines, the United States border?
Many people don't experience being seen... ever. Their stories remain invisible, we remain ignorant. I've been convicted this semester to pay more attention to the ways I contribute to the invisibility of those who live much of their lives in the minority metanarrative. Those that have spent their lives fighting to remain alive, those who don't get to receive the benefits of hard-working parents, those who live in fear because at any minute, a given number of their rights could be revoked. I also am convicted to notice those who are too afraid to speak up in class, or those who I come across at work who bring the weight of the world on their shoulders, overwhelmed, stressed and waiting to have someone see them instead of their struggles.
I contribute to their invisibility by turning a blind eye, for refusing to change. My own desire to remain comfortable in my social sphere, maintain the status quo and focus on my own spirituality all gets protected at the expense of those who simply need to be seen, to be affirmed that their presence is not a burden to this world.
A book I am reading called "Prophetic Lament" declares it perfectly:
“We have a deficient theology that trumpets the triumphalistic successes of evangelicalism while failing to hear from the stories of suffering that often tell us more about who we are as a community” (63)
Maybe we're forgetting to see "the other" as extensions of ourselves. Maybe we need to practice our awareness of the people around us and acknowledge that maybe seeing ourselves in light of an entire system can provide us with a holistic vision of the purposes God intended for our community. When you think about it, individual sin and ignorance starts with one person and transpires into entire communities. When one decides to remain ignorant, it is likely others will do. Sin is systemic.
but...
Reconciliation is systemic too. I encourage you, brothers and sisters to have eyes to see the invisible. To see, to love and to be willing to embrace even if that means change. Be reconciled to one another, for we are our best when we flourish as a whole.
-The Soul of Shame: Retelling the Stories We Believe about Ourselves,
-Prophetic Lament: A Challenge to the Western Church, Soong-Chan Rah, 2015.
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