It all began a couple of weeks ago, while driving to town and listening to my Ted's Place app. As I listened to various people telling stories of finding lost friends and the outcomes, a deep sense of contacting a fella whom I hadn’t spoken with, probably forty years, pulled alongside the curb of my thoughts and parked for several days. We had been pastor and friend in the same church, but our lives had gone in very different directions that took us far apart all these years. Despite that, I took a risk in seeking out information and called him. When introducing myself, an uncomfortable silence prevailed five or so seconds. Then, warmth came in pleasantries in our exchanging of the past personal lives. It was then that I thought of asking if something I had done had caused him offense or if I had been a cause for raw, negative, and/or unresolved hurt over these decades. His response took me immediately back to those days when we were close friends, worshiping God and leading a congregation with the Gospel, together.
I learned that, as explained, condemnation was following my friend around during those day and I had never recognized it. Not for a moment. I never saw that he was plagued by insecurity and compared himself to me and a host of others but always felt he came up short. By contrast, I had always given the impression of constantly being positively carefree and confident. Toward the middle of the conversation a sense of shame began rolling over me as my long lost friend described the inevitable squabbles that were never recognized by me as contributing to great hurt feelings because of his hidden insecurities. Not in an accusatory tone or manner. Yet, I was flabbergasted. I have never experienced such shame before. I had no idea of how to respond in those dreadful moments other than to ask his forgiveness and offered that I had never intended any offense, but my sense of shame was heightened in the thought: I, a pastor, was maturing in my calling but my good friend, clearly, was not and I could not have been more insensitive to him.
I've been thinking about the fact that, overall, I've never really given much thought to shame until I experienced it, poignantly, surfacing with my friend's help and the Holy Spirit's conviction. Looking at the subject, I understand that to suffer shame, so says Edward Teyber and Faith McClure, psychologist, is to feel that the true self—with all its defects—is exposed, naked and vulnerable before the watchful or superior gaze of others. Shame is the feeling that arises from the core of my being. It is the thought that I am not good enough, handsome enough, strong enough, smart enough, or talented enough. It is that horrible thought that I am not enough. No wonder I felt shame. I wasn't attentive enough to my friend's emotional need when he was drowning in insecurity.
I've noticed, mostly a cursory way, but now with an acute sense, my culture's focus is primarily on the individual—and on the internal world of the individual—so it stands to reason that my shame will often be completely self-focused. Through the conversation experience with my friend and with some intentional study, I understand this internal sense of worthlessness isn't necessarily referencing to, or repercussion of my closest relationships, let alone friends, or the everyday world I walk in. I suspect that more often than not, shame has always pointed its judgmental finger at my core identity and compelled those on the other end of its boney prodding to hide who they truly are. Perhaps, even from those who love them most.
Viewing the broader world, I understand, shame goes far beyond individual experience. The experience of shame includes dishonor to one’s family and one’s community. Shame, therefore, is not just an individual burden to bear, but a collective burden of responsibility for others. Honor killings are stark and sober examples of the consequences of bringing shame on the collective family or social unit; the victim is killed by members of the family or social group because the perpetrators’ believe that the victim has brought shame or dishonor upon the family or community.
The ancient world of the Roman Empire was an environment of honor and shame. For hundreds of years, Greek language and culture had dominated the area, bringing a common language as well as significant foundational cultural schemas. Hierarchy was one such foundational schema in the ancient world. It framed and structured both society and the universe so that clear lines of status and power were drawn. Within this system, one’s status was measured by adherence to one’s role in society. Violation of that cultural role brought collective shame on the group.
It's also interesting to know; within the Roman Empire, the Jewish world of the first century was strongly guided by an honor and shame code, as well. As a result, issues of honor and shame are recognizable throughout ancient writings, and in fact permeate the writings of the New Testament. Without the strict observance of religious and social norms the consequences were the same: separation from the community, including the worshipping community, which meant separation from God.
I've never thought of it before, but the story of the man born blind in St. John’s gospel is a fitting example of a more collective honor and shame culture: “Who sinned,” the disciples asked Jesus, “This man or his parents that he was born blind?” Here, the belief that someone else’s sins could be borne by another is striking. After Jesus healed this man’s blindness, the religious leaders question the blind man’s parents. His parents didn’t want to speak on his behalf “for fear of the Jews, for the Jews had already agreed that if anyone should confess Jesus as Messiah, he was to be put out of the synagogue.” To be put out of the synagogue was to be excommunicated from God, family, and society—and to bear the burden of collective shame and dishonor. The son was already in a dishonorable state because of his blindness. One false move by the parents and they would suffer the same fate.
Having been raised and shaped by the culture of that day, anyone curious about Jesus should be amazed by his challenge to these ideas of honor and shame, just as he challenged many other religious and cultural assumptions of his day. Jesus brought honor to those deemed dishonorable. He extended hospitality to tax collectors and sinners by dining with them. He welcomed ‘sinners’ to touch him, even allowing them to caress his feet with tears and hair, and he brought healing and restoration to those who had been ‘put out’ of their social groups as a result of their physical deformities and limitations. I think David Bentley Hart states it succinctly in Atheist Delusions: “Even Christianity’s most implacable modern critics should be willing to acknowledge that in these texts and others like them, we see something beginning to emerge from darkness into full visibility, arguably for the first time in our history; the human person as such, invested with an intrinsic and inviolable dignity, and possessed of an infinite value.”
Father, God, I thank You for putting this particular friend along with so many others, family and collogues who are Your loving gifts into my life. Thank You for my friend, after decades, risked introducing the emotion of shame and the part it has, is and will continue to play in my life. I confess I've been tragic and had reason to be most ashamed. Thank You for showing me that shame is something Jesus has erased. In its place, He has offered restoration and healing. Thank you, Holy Sprit for bring conviction, confirmation, and comfort in my giving attention to these important issues of emotional health. Amen
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