An Interspiritual Perspective on facing darkness and moving forward on our spiritual paths from Mother Suzy
We are in a time of change and rebirth. It’s part of a cycle that repeats itself along with the journey of the earth around the sun and the moon around the earth. Cultures throughout history have noted this time of year as a reawakening of life and of hope.
It is spring.
Before spring arrives, there is a time of darkness, both literally and figuratively. For Christians, the forty days prior to Easter comprise a time of contemplation called Lent. For some, it is a time to sacrifice something that distracts them from their spiritual journey.
At the beginning of Lent, I always think of The Tower card in Tarot. You see, the symbolism of the card is about life changing: breaking down old ways of seeing things and interpreting events. It’s about realizing that something drastic has to happen sometimes before we can move on.
I think that the time people spend in prayer at Lent is about that very thing. As we look into ourselves and see how we can actually change the way we respond to the world physiologically because of the way we respond psychically (or emotionally or mentally or whatever other non-physical word you feel most comfortable with), we tear down our old walls.
We allow ourselves to flow out of the tumbling bricks. The Tower is surrounded by a moat of stagnant waters. When the bricks fall and the gate crashes down, the moat cracks and the waters return to the greater waters, becoming something alive again. We are all finding new ways of being alive.
I can’t help but think that this card is all about Lent. It’s all about sacrifice and resurrection — rebirth. Each of us, as we seek to learn about ourselves and how we can help others with the things that we learn in this life undergo a time of sacrifice, splaying open our hearts and laying them out for all to see.
After that, what can there be, but resurrection?
Is suffering necessary or is it simply inevitable?
In their book, Proverbs of Ashes, Rebecca Ann Parker and Rita Nakashima Brock argue that the theology of suffering which is so prevalent in Christianity is harmful. They contend that it has led to the mistreatment of others and the acceptance of mistreatment against the self to the detriment of humanity. They contend that suffering is not necessary for salvation.
There are entire denominations that hinge their theological standpoint on the understanding that suffering is necessary for salvation. From the Thursday before Easter, known as Maundy (from the Latin word mandatum, or commandment) Thursday until Easter Sunday morning, Christians worldwide gather to commemorate the betrayal and the suffering of Jesus. For many, it is a celebration of a sacrifice so great that it changed the world.
Like Parker and Brock, I question the necessity of suffering as a means of salvation.
Is it really necessary? Must we suffer in order to become authentically who God means for us to be? Is suffering necessary to reveal our true identity?
For many of those who consider Jesus to be the unique incarnation of the Divine, his true identity was not revealed until after his physical death. It was not even revealed during a short walk along the road to Emmaus with his own followers, who did not recognize him.
It has been suggested that had Jesus not been tortured, had he not suffered and died a horrible death, he might not be remembered today. But does this mean that it was necessary? Does this mean that our own suffering is necessary?
Or is the idea that we must suffer in order to transform a result of our own failure to accept responsibility for our own actions? Do we transform because we suffer, or do we transform because we respond to the call of the Divine to use our experiences for good, no matter how bad those experiences might be?
There is a saying that goes, “The Lord never gives us more than we can handle.” For many, this is a soothing platitude.
I say it’s a crock.
God does not give us suffering. God gives us our lives and our breath. God gives us creation. God gives us community. God gives us love. God gives us the potential for infinite beauty in a multivalent creation. God gives us a breathtaking song of Becoming that calls us toward our ultimate potential for good. It is an eternal call and response.
God calls, we respond. We call, God responds.
If we listen for our own song, the one that the Universe sings to our own soul, and respond in love, we can transform without suffering. We can transcend suffering.
In the real world, suffering happens. It is the nature of existence in a physical world. Suffering happens and when it does, we can justify it or we can rectify it.
We can listen for the song of the Divine even in the midst of the ugliness, and we can transform. Or, we can ignore it and continue to create a protective covering of inauthentic identity.
To believe that God sends us horrible experiences in order to force transformation upon us is to believe in a cruel, manipulative God. To believe that God knows the suffering we will endure and allows it “for our own good” is contrary to the belief in a God of love.
Maundy Thursday is a holy day in the Christian cycle of redemption. For many it is a day that commemorates the suffering of Christ. I prefer to see it as a commemoration of community. According to the story, Jesus gathered with his disciples for a Passover meal, in which he acknowledged his awareness that he was in a precarious position with the Roman authorities.
He knew that he would be betrayed; it is a human thing, betrayal. We betray those we love in order to save ourselves. He knew that he was likely going to die. He had just spent the previous week stirring up the people, promising them God’s “kingdom” and teaching them how to attain spiritual fulfillment by seeking beyond the law and beyond human understanding of the world.
He spoke out against injustice, he welcomed the disenfranchised, and he lived his life authentically. And at that last supper, he reminded them that they were a community. He gave them something to build that community around. He trusted them to remain in community after he was gone.
Did Jesus have to suffer and die to reveal his true self? Was he more authentic after the suffering than he was in his lifetime? Do we have to suffer to discover who we are? Are we more authentic after suffering?
I think that when we are in suffering, we often build walls to protect ourselves. We devise safe personae that we believe are more acceptable to those at whose hands we suffer. As long as we believe that suffering is necessary for transformation, we allow ourselves to be compromised.
The longer we are in suffering, the more inauthentic we become. It needn’t be physical suffering. It needn’t be blatant. As long as we are ostracized for being who we are, as long as we let others tell us who and what we need to be, we are in suffering.
Was I more authentically me before my first marriage? Or was the one who emerged from that time to struggle for years with my identity, my beliefs, and my relationships with others more authentic? Did I have to live in fear of my life every day for eight years in the marriage and with the residual baggage for another thirty-plus years in order to transform into the person I am today?
I don’t think so. I don’t think it was necessary. I do think, however, that in order to be authentic today, I must recognize and admit that I did experience those years. I must utilize the negative experiences and memories in a positive way.
In order to be truly authentic, I must reject the God-constructs and belief systems that reinforce the idea that suffering is not only necessary, but God-given. In order to be truly authentic, I must reveal those experiences.
In my pursuit of authenticity, I must take the chance that I will be rejected by those who would judge my behavior and my understanding of the Divine. As I seek authenticity, I must reject theologies and doctrines that continue to build and support walls that obstruct community, diversity, and the acceptance of the universal, enduring love of All That Is.
I must always seek to build community. No matter who or what Jesus was or is, it is his authentic life and his loving and trusting heart that are my example.
Throughout history, the song of the Divine has been heard by people in all cultures and all lifestyles. The most authentic of all the people who have walked the earth are those who have responded to their own song without regard to established norms and societal expectation.
Those who are authentically responding to that call seek nothing but the highest good. It does not matter what they call this goodness; it does not matter what religious or philosophical environment they operate in; it does not matter what cultural heritage they grow in. What matters is that they reach across boundaries to one another.
In seeking to be true to ourselves, we allow others to live into their own identities as well. In rejecting the belief that suffering is necessary for transformation, we no longer allow others to impose negative values upon us, and we facilitate the expansion of positive responses to one another and to All That Is.
The real transformation occurs, I think, when we allow our true identities to be revealed — flaws and all — so that we might be able to be of service to others.
Jesus lived his life authentically, revealing his disagreements with the socio-religious establishment of his time and reaching across cultural, religious, gender, and identity lines. By doing so, he risked losing his family support system, friends, religious leaders and even his very life. By doing so, he responded to God’s call and revealed himself as a perfect reflection of God’s identity as the very essence of love.
In the Christian context, the Saturday before Easter is known as Holy Saturday. It represents the dark before the dawn. It is the time when Jesus is said to have descended into the underworld to liberate the imprisoned souls of the righteous who had been imprisoned there since their deaths.
Taken literally or figuratively, the story of Christ is the story of triumph over spiritual death, over the attitudes of those who would destroy my happiness and my hope — even if that be me. It is the story of how to end the suffering that is inherent in being alive and how to remove the causes of that suffering.
Stories of dying and rising gods have given hope to people throughout history; the Egyptians had Osiris, the Sumerians had Innana, the Greeks had Persephone. Each of these stories reminds us that there is a time of darkness before dawn; the powers of death must be overcome that there might be new life. Every seed must be buried in the ground, living through silent darkness, before new life will spring forth.
The story of Jesus’ life shows us that there are things worth dying for. They are not the things of this world, but the restoration of the image of the Divine in our hearts and our souls. His life is an example of the life we are intended to live; a life of standing for what is right; a life of sharing Love with all Beings, building community, and supporting one another. His life reveals to us that though it is a simple life, it is not an easy life.
In the end, however, it is a life worth living.
Holy Saturday is a reminder that the darkness we face in life must be embraced and lived through before new life can break through into a new day. This is not the same as saying we must suffer or that the darkness is necessary.
The suffering and the darkness are simply natural parts of being alive in this world. Facing it head on, living through it consciously, and releasing ourselves from our fears is the only way we can emerge victorious.
On Easter morning, Christians remember that though Jesus died, the Risen Christ reveals the promise of new life at the end of our suffering, if we only but recognize it. There is more to life than the desires and the fears that inevitably block our paths to freedom and happiness.
When we know that, we find the strength to face those desires and fears and to deal with them. Holy Saturday is the darkness which hides the blocks in our path. Easter morning is the Light which reveals the obstacles so that we may remove them and go along our way.
Simplified, Buddhism puts it this way
Life is suffering (stressful, uncomfortable, dissatisfying)
Suffering is a result of desire (craving)
The cure for suffering is to remove the causes of suffering
The way to remove the causes of suffering is to follow the eight-fold path
The eight-fold path trains followers in three areas: Wisdom, Ethical Conduct, and Mental Discipline
The following breakdown comes from intellectuallyfit.com:
Wisdom: Helps us understand reality and see the world as it really is. This training is part of the first 2 precepts (Right View, Right Intention)
Ethical Conduct: Helps us attain mental purification and virtue. This training is part of the next 3 precepts (Right Speech, Right Action, Right Livelihood)
Mental Discipline: Helps in developing true wisdom. This training is part of the last 2 precepts (Right Mindfulness, Right Concentration)
I think if we look closely at the stories that we are told about the life of Jesus, we can see where he provided the lessons of Wisdom, Ethical Conduct, and Mental Discipline.
Easter is the culmination of those lessons. It is a story of Enlightenment. To truly “follow Jesus” it is important to understand the story arc as a pathway to spiritual wholeness rather than focusing on dogma, fundamentalist literalism, and legalism.
But that’s just my opinion.
This story is a comprised of three previously written blog posts that appeared on my LiveJournal in 2012. I have revised it and updated it to align more with my current perspective. As a Christopagan, I see the story of Jesus as metaphor; perhaps as a parable like the parables he uses as illustrations for his lessons. Whether he is a historic individual or a mythological figure makes no difference in my understanding of the New Testament Gospel writings. I also see figures in other cultural pantheons in a similar fashion. My understanding of “God” is both metaphysical and scientific. What I call “All That Is” fits into my understanding of quantum entanglement, though I admit that I don’t really understand it at all.
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