I've been writing a lot. But none of it feels presentable. It's difficult these days to focus. I've been reading up on human rights violations in ICE detention centers, losing faith in humanity, and then trying to find my way back to somewhere safe and stable.
I've been thinking about the Old Testament question: "Am I my brother's keeper?" I've been reminded of the Jesus who picked up a whip to cleanse the temple. Somehow I missed the whip on my last meditation. God with a weapon. I've been comparing Jesus with a whip and Jesus in Gethsemane, trying to instruct my heart on the complexity of God on earth, God surrounded on all sides by injustice. God who defended the poor, the sinner, the unclean...but who didn't defend himself. And I've been thinking about how badly I want to be understood, how dangerous it feels for those in authority to misunderstand me, how I really should be looking to God to understand me and worrying less about other folks. How I shouldn't pick up a sword to defend myself, but the precedent is definitely there to fight injustice by cleansing the temple, defending the poor and oppressed wherever we find them.
There's a surprisingly large amount of overlap between being misunderstood and fighting for justice. I've been struggling to remember what I'm fighting for. My ego gets hurt and I retreat. Someone I'm close to advocates for complacency and I feel anger simmering in my skin. Sometimes, injustice happens to us and things muddle even further. Which Jesus am I supposed to emulate when I am attacked? Can I choose both? Am I choosing the Jesus in the garden because I'm afraid of standing up for myself and suffering seems holier? Am I choosing Jesus with a whip to fill my desire for vengeance?
Vengeance is always what people, especially church people, will accuse you of when you seek justice. When I see Jesus with a whip, I don't see vengeance. I see a glimmer of what John will prophesy about in Revelation. I know that it must be possible to pick up the whip and seek justice without getting mixed up in self-righteousness, self-protection and vengeance. But the path is narrow and it is easy to fall off.
I am, however, comforted by a God who disagreed frequently with Synagogue leaders, taking up a whip to defend those who came to the temple to find God. I am comforted by a God who enters his own temple as a stranger and is angered by the greed that taints worship, by the way access to God is restricted, by those who profit off of those who would draw near to God. I am comforted by a God who would defend the poor and unworthy worshiper so thoroughly. For once, there are no parables or teachings or prayers. No miracles--except that of an angry God cleaning house. For once, you cannot mistake him as buddha-serene, detached and aloof and whatever we think holiness is. God with us. God who sees us. God who loves the unworthy. God who defends those whose oppression is normalized, commercialized.
And I know there is more to this. I know I'm supposed to bring this full circle. God with a whip and God in the garden of Gethsemane, teach me the meaning of, "Am I my brother's keeper?" Teach me what the answer to that question is as I continue to learn about Black Lives Matter, the abuses of ICE, and all of the other weights the world has. For now, I think the answer to that question is, "Don't look away." So I'm looking. I'm learning. I will not close my eyes to the suffering of others just because it hurts. I will see the stranger as my brother.
