from rooted (IN): Thriving in Connection with God, Yourself, and Others
CHAPTER 13: (IN) Body
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.—Teresa of Avila1
My husband and I joined the Undivided journey to be part of a new racial reconciliation movement in the already very diverse megachurch we’d been attending. We knew our hearts needed to be challenged, healed, and expanded. We knew our mostly white suburban world, our circle of friends needed to be more diverse. We didn’t yet know what we didn’t know.
The first night, we were assigned to intentionally diverse groups of ten to twelve people. We introduced ourselves by telling why we’d chosen to be part of Undivided. I loved Keana (not her real name) right away for her honesty. She told us she didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to have to try to help white people understand the black experience. She’d tried before, multiple times, and it hadn’t gone well. She shared stories of fear and prejudice from life in her mostly white suburb. She was angry and tired of all of it. But she felt compelled by God to come, to be part of this. I was grateful.
Through the six-week experience, our group shared stories, fears, judgments. We learned about social, economic, and educational constructs that keep us divided. We sat around a table, drank wine, and broke bread together. We became friends.
In our last session, we were asked to consider with God where we held attitudes and judgments against people who were different from us. Then we were asked to get into groups of two, to look into another other’s eyes, and confess our sin. Gulp. For a second or two I considered going light on this. Taking an easier way. Then I caught Keana’s eye and went all in. I asked if she would do this exercise with me.
As I looked into her eyes, I felt my heart breaking. I’d been horrified to find so much privilege there, so much that wanted to keep me separate. Through my tears, I tried to offer some words, to confess my sin. But I didn’t even know how to name it. Keana knew. She looked at me with tender understanding. “You are afraid. It is fear.” She knew me better than I knew myself. Her words cut kindly to bring healing. Yes, it was fear. Fear that someone having more might mean I have less. Fear that love would cost me something. And here’s the thing: Love always costs us something. In the end, if we love well, it will cost us everything.
Keana received my confession and ministered forgiveness to my soul that night with gentleness and mercy. I offered the same to her in return. I think she gave the greater gift. In that moment, in the sacred, naked space, we were one. We were undivided.
Rooted Together
God took on body, that we each might become his body--individual hands, feet, hearts embodying the love of Jesus. Embodying Jesus is a worthy, lifelong pursuit, no doubt. Our bodies carry Holy Spirit as temples of the presence of God. This is a big freaking deal.
But just in case you’ve been thinking the journey (IN) is about you, let’s be clear. We are meant to live rooted together. In fact, this is the point of our life in Christ. And in the end, it is the fulfillment of all things.
In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us. With all wisdom and understanding, he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times reach their fulfillment—to bring unity to all things in heaven and on earth under Christ.2
Our (IN)-ness is about oneness—not just with God, but ultimately with others. Our journey (IN) is the joining together of a body, connected to a head, which is Christ. I can only be fully me with you. I need to be rooted with you. We need to be rooted together.
This truth is seen even in the life of trees. Scientists like Dr. Nalini Nadkarni explain how seemingly dead tree stumps find a way to produce new living tissue. The secret is in the roots:
“Down there, hidden under the surface, lies a vast network of tree roots. These networks are often called neighborhoods. Tree roots can leak out sugars and other compounds into the soil. Those sugars are then sucked up by neighboring roots.
Tree roots can also share nutrients with far-away neighbors by transporting them across thin threads of fungi. These threads spread through the soil like giant underground spider webs. They penetrate the roots of neighboring trees, creating pathways that exchange hormones and other material.”
Beyond this, Dr. Nadkarni points to something called root grafting. “It happens when tree roots rub against each other and physically fuse together. When this occurs, neighboring trees—even different species—share one big circulatory system. It’s like connecting blood vessels of two different people. One tree gives the other tree a permanent transfusion.”3
The connection of root systems is life and healing. It’s true for trees. It’s true for us, too. Individuals living rooted together, grafted together, rubbing up against each other, sharing resources, giving life. This union is essential. We will not survive alone. We simply won’t make it. Frodo had a fellowship. So did Jesus. We are meant to live connected. This is not a solo gig.
You can trust us to stick to you through thick and thin—to the bitter end. And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours—closer than you yourself keep it. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo. Anyway: there it is. We know most of what Gandalf has told you. We know a good deal about the ring. We are horribly afraid—but we are coming with you; or following you like hounds.4
I need the voices of others speaking into my life, following me like hounds, protecting, defending, encouraging, adventuring, celebrating. Together we become something vibrant and alive and transformative. All by myself, it can get pretty weird. Without this kind of connection, I think I might spend most of my days in bed with a bag of chocolate sandwich cookies.
This is the beauty of a fellowship. A cohort. A body. People around us who can do what we can’t do, what we’re not made to do. A hand needs a foot. An arm needs a leg. Each part is uniquely crafted to fit together, to work together. So it is with us as we live in God. “Just as a body, though one, has many parts, but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ.”5
God is making two (or more) one all the time. His purpose has always been peace. The death of our hostility toward one another. He tears down the dividing walls between Jew and Greek, male and female, slave and free. He makes us one new humanity.
Belonging
This new humanity is captured in the African value and practice of ubuntu, derived from a Nguni word meaning “the quality of being human.” According to sociolinguist Buntu Mfenyana, it “runs through the veins of all Africans, is embodied in the oft-repeated Ubuntu ngumtu ngabanye abantu (‘A person is a person through other people’).”6 In a world where we are increasingly divided by color and nationality and sexuality and politics and poverty, ubuntu shows us the way to live in our shared humanity, honoring, affirming, belonging.
“A person with ubuntu,” writes Desmond Tutu, “is open and available to others, affirming of others, does not feel threatened that others are able and good, for he or she has a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that he or she belongs in a greater whole and is diminished when others are humiliated or diminished, when others are tortured or oppressed.”7
This ubuntu sense that we belong to a greater whole—this is the essence of (IN). In his letter to the Roman church, the apostle Paul writes, “For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others”8.
I’m not really a fan of this belonging thing. I mean, I like the idea of being a part of something, part of the fellowship for sure. But I also like my distance, my rights, my ability to choose what I want when I want it. And belonging, as in actually belonging to one another, pretty much annihilates all that. There’s no room for special privilege here, and as an “enneagram 4” I like special a lot. Belonging requires submission, all the parts laying aside their individual rights to be right, so the body can move and live and thrive.
Submission. Also a word I’m not fond of. Because it’s often abused and misused, particularly when it’s directed at women. But the invitation to submission is relational, not hierarchical. Submission is not permission for a top-down power play. It does not place one above the other. It places us side by side, inviting us to make room for one another. Submission is the choice love makes to value the other, to set aside our differences and offenses, to honor, to prefer.
“Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ”9. This directive from Paul follows the prayer of Ephesians 3, that we would know the expanse of God’s love. And it follows his words in Ephesians 4: “Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope when you were called; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.”10 This mutual submission assumes a knowing of love and oneness. Only from this place can we choose the other over self. Here, in submission, the dying of self leads to the resurrection of the body. In the words of Martin Luther King:
And whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly. For some strange reason, I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. And you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be. This is the way God’s universe is made; this is the way it is structured.11
Teach Us to Pray
I’m beginning to think that it’s not fully possible to embody Jesus individually. That we can only fully embody Jesus corporately. As a body of believers. A fellowship. Maybe this is why Jesus teaches the disciples to pray in the plural. Our Father. Give us. Lead us. Deliver us. There’s nothing individual or singular here. His prayer is undivided. This is how Jesus teaches us to pray. And this is how his prayer is answered. In the words of Thomas Merton:
After all, transformation into Christ is not just an individual affair: there is only one Christ, not many. He is not divided. And for me to become Christ is to enter into the Life of the Whole Christ, the Mystical Body made up of the Head and its members, Christ and all who are incorporated in Him by His Spirit.
Christ forms Himself by grace and faith in the souls of all who love Him, and at the same time He draws them all together in Himself to make them One in Him. . . . And the Holy Ghost, Who is the life of this One Body dwells in the whole Body and in every one of the members so that the whole Christ is Christ and each individual is Christ.12
After Jesus talks about abiding and pruning and the promise of the coming of Holy Spirit—the last things he shares with his friends before his death--he prays. This is his last prayer on earth. And it’s all about (IN). Our oneness is the point.
I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one—I in them and you in me—so that they may be brought to complete unity. Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.13
Jesus prays this amazing, confounding prayer. A seemingly unanswerable prayer that communicates the deepest intention of his life and death and resurrection. He prays that we would be one with him as he is one with the Father, that we would be one with each other. In a world increasingly fragmented, fearful, and partisan, the answer to this prayer seems impossible. But the truth is, God has already made the way, and the way is (IN). In Jesus, he invites us to live connected with God, with ourselves and with others in truth and in grace, rooted and grounded in love.
Jesus, in essence, prays that we would fulfill the greatest commandment: that we would love God and love our neighbors as ourselves. And we are the answer to that prayer, as we submit to one another in love.
Listening to Heal the Body
Healing this mystical body, becoming fully human together and embodying Jesus on the planet, loving our neighbor, living undivided—it all begins with connection. Sitting together, face to face, hearing one another’s stories. Looking into one another’s eyes and finding ourselves. Allowing our lives to touch, to rub up against each other. Maybe at the most basic level, all this begins with listening. Simply being present with others. Submitting and setting aside my need to be heard, to advise, to assert my opinion, to be right, to be the center. Listening—really listening to the heart, simply to understand—this is where healing begins.
Theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, author of the classic The Cost of Discipleship, wrote about the importance of listening:
There is a kind of listening with half an ear that presumes already to know what the other person has to say. It is an impatient, inattentive listening, that despises the brother and is only waiting for a chance to speak and thus get rid of the other person. This is no fulfillment of our obligation, and it is certain that here too our attitude toward our brother only reflects our relationship to God. It is little wonder that we are no longer capable of the greatest service of listening that God has committed to us, that of hearing our brother's confession, if we refuse to give ear to our brother on lesser subjects. Secular education today is aware that often a person can be helped merely by having someone who will listen to him seriously, and upon this insight it has constructed its own soul therapy, which has attracted great numbers of people, including Christians. But Christians have forgotten that the ministry of listening has been committed to them by Him who is Himself the great listener and whose work they should share. We should listen with the ears of God that we may speak the Word of God.14
This kind of listening is experienced as love. In the words of Mr. Rogers, “Listening is where love begins: listening to ourselves and then to our neighbors.”15
When my daughter is sharing something in her life that’s painful or isn’t going well, maybe a relationship that’s challenging, my first instinct always is to advise—to share all my knowing, help set things right, make the pain stop. (I have the very best intentions; really, I do.) And when I do this (which is almost always), it never goes well. I should know better by now, right? But I can’t seem to help myself. Until she looks at me and says, with a definite edge to her voice, “You’re not listening.” Right. OK, listening expert, just listen.
And in a moment, the whole dynamic changes. She feels heard. She feels understood. She feels loved. And in this connected place, she finds a way through that’s better than anything I had to offer. It’s beautiful. And humbling. And so, so good.
While there’s never a magic formula in life, for listening . . . there kind of is. Reflective listening combines the thought the person is sharing with the emotion that goes with it, and offers these back with a tentative opening: “It sounds like you’re worried about meeting the deadline for your project.” “It seems like you’re angry with your mom because she’s critical.” You get the idea.
And here’s the best news: You don’t even have to get these right. You can miss the thought or emotion or both, and it still works. Because in listening and offering your statements tentatively, you are opening safe space to react and refine. “No, I’m not angry at my mom. I’m sad because I’d really like to have a better relationship with her.” Score. You’ve created space for them to express and explore and continue the conversation. And in this space, the healing power of connection happens.
Brené Brown writes, “If we can share our story with someone who responds with empathy and understanding, shame can't survive.”16 Shame is the sense that I am wrong, that there is something wrong with me at the very core. Empathy takes “wrong” out of the equation. When I listen and respond with empathy, I communicate that I can identify with and understand your emotions and perspectives. You are not alone in your experience. Empathy levels the playing field. It submits to the other, and it places us side by side in our shared human experience. From Henri Nouwen:
To listen is very hard, because it asks of us so much interior stability that we no longer need to prove ourselves by speeches, arguments, statements, or declarations. True listeners no longer have an inner need to make their presence known. They are free to receive, to welcome, to accept.
Listening is much more than allowing another to talk while waiting for a chance to respond. Listening is paying full attention to others and welcoming them into our very beings. The beauty of listening is that, those who are listened to start feeling accepted, start taking their words more seriously and discovering their own true selves.
Listening is a form of spiritual hospitality by which you invite strangers to become friends, to get to know their inner selves more fully, and even to dare to be silent with you.17
Healing the Body
Life, healing, and our ultimate becoming happen only in union. Only as we journey (IN) together. As we do the work of honoring the sacred and holy in each of us, as we lean in close enough to hear the heartbeat of Jesus in one another, as we practice ubuntu, the body begins to heal. Rooted together, sharing nutrients, rubbing up against one another, we find what we need to heal the broken body of Jesus.
This healing, the removing of the things that divide us, can only happen in safe, listening, honoring spaces. Spaces of belonging. Where it’s OK to be honest and real and in process. To bring our pain and shame and disappointments into the light together. Listening and praying and breaking bread together, submitting our lives to one another, we find the way to union.
In Christ, we are body together. Jesus enfleshed. His hands, feet, eyes, ears, and heart walking around the planet, doing what he did. Rescuing. Saving. Healing. And inviting everyone to the party. I cannot be fully me without you. I am yours. You are mine. We are messy and marvelous. We are brave and bruised and beautiful. We are Christ’s. We are one. And when people find a place like this, there will be a line out the door.
Deeper (IN)
Living Undivided
Set aside some time in a quiet space where you won’t be disturbed. Sit silently for a few moments. Recognize Holy Spirit’s presence with you and in you. Breath. Release distractions as they come.
As you feel centered, read this prayer from Jesus slowly three times: “I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me.”
Ask Holy Spirit how he’s inviting you to live in a more unified way with others. How are your beliefs about others distorted? What attitudes or judgments divide you from others? Where do these beliefs, attitudes, judgments come from? Listen.
How does God want to restore connection and bring healing today? Do you feel prompted to turn from particular attitudes or judgments? To ask for forgiveness from him or from someone you’ve wronged? To forgive someone who’s hurt you? Respond as you feel led.
Consider if there’s someone you might want to reach out to—perhaps to repair broken relationship, or to initiate relationship with someone who’s different from you. Spend time with that person listening to their story.