“Wait!” she said as she studied me. “You’ve got something on your cheek.”
My friend pointed to where the leftover breakfast could be found. I brushed my face with my hands but she shook her head. “No, there’s still a stain.” She pointed at her own face to show me approximately where I should be wiping. “You missed it. Hang on!” She leaned across the table, licked her finger and rubbed my cheek fervently. “There you are! All gone!” She beamed happily before stopping dead in her tracks. As she spoke her voice was unusually deflated with a certain squeaky tone to it: “Did I just rub spit in your face?”
Yes, she did. Like an obedient child I had stood quietly waiting for her to clean my face with her saliva. I couldn’t stop laughing, knowing full well that I could have done the same to her. She did not laugh at all. “You know I’m so used to cleaning my kids with whatever I have at hand that I didn’t even think it over. I’m so sorry!” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Don’t worry about it, it could have been worse.” I giggled. “You could have mixed it with dirt and smeared it all over my eyes!” Somehow she was not consoled, but we ended up agreeing that if it was good enough for Jesus then we would be fine with it, too!
There’s a drop of pure magic in such moments.
No, I don’t mean that I like getting other people’s spit in my face (because I don’t, in case you wondered). But something wonderful happens when we step out of our daily routines to do something so totally off-script that it causes us to lose our bearing if only for a few seconds. We are thrown into a hypervigilant state that allows us to observe ourselves and others from afar. All of a sudden, we see more clearly. For a brief moment in time, every emotion becomes overwhelmingly tangible, allowing happiness, peace, and love to swaddle us in bliss. That is, if you don’t allow yourself to get stuck in shame first. Then you miss out on the magic.
It’s funny how small and seemingly unimportant situations can catapult you into huge emotions.
The unexpected situation gives way to insecurity. The lack of control leads to embarrassment. The unattended humiliation can easily grow into shame.
Shame is the uninvited thief that slouches on your couch with his feet resting on the table, dirty shoes on and all. He’s worked his way through your fridge, leaving only week old leftovers, garlic and leek for you to snack on. Somehow he managed to use all the hot water but still has a foul stink surrounding him. Shame is the co-habitant from hell. Literally.
Some would argue that shame is an important factor to correct unwarranted behavior. I disagree, a sense of guilt might lead to repentance followed by change, but there’s nothing constructive about shame. Guilt will remind you that you did something bad and that you need to make it right. Shame leads you to believe that you are bad and that you always will be. Shame has a self-fulfilling aspect to it: when I am ashamed I expect others to see me as I see myself. They most likely will, too, as I teach them how I expect to be treated.
I am aware of the deep-rooted shame that may have been inflicted upon children as they grew up – this heavy, all-consuming darkness that they find themselves trapped in. Some people go through therapy for years to deal with their trauma and crippling shame. These unsung heroes are determined to finding a healing way to freedom. They have my respect and admiration.
But it doesn’t take a trauma or tragedy to make us feel small and unwanted.
Sometimes even insignificant episodes can make us fling ourselves into the uncomfortable grip of shame.
Whenever I do some really stupid things (Yeah, I know! Hard to believe, right?) I usually blurt out to my husband: “Don’t tell anyone! No-one can ever know this!” My wonderful husband of 24 years knows when to argue and when to let things rest. He calmly nods and says “No, I won’t, ‘cause you’ll tell everybody. You always do. Knowing you, you’ll probably include it when you preach to make sure everyone knows about it. So, don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul.”
He’s right. No matter how mad he makes me by saying that, he’s right. I’ve found that whenever I feel shame settling in I tell someone. Sometimes people will console me or tell me not to worry, but that’s not the reason why I’m telling them. I have found that shame thrives in the dark corners, but shrinks and disappears when brought into the light.
Healing light can be found in the coffee bar, in the cathedrals and on your walk by the sea, and it flows in the heartfelt conversations between good friends.
It dwells in the recital of Psalms and in the whispering of prayers. Light is patiently waiting for you to join it in the worship. It lives in the unrestricted outpouring of spirit, both His and mine.
The splendor light of heaven’s glorious sunrise
Is about to break upon us in holy visitation,
All because the mercy of our God is so very tender.
The manifestation from heaven will come to us
With dazzling light to shine upon those
Who live in darkness, near death’s dark shadow.
And he will illuminate the path that leads to the way of peace.
Luke 1, 78-79 (Passion)