Carrying the Weight of Another Person
Good Friday – April 3, 2015
AN OLDER MONK AND A YOUNGER MONK were in Cellia. The older suggested that they live together. The younger refused, saying, “I am a sinner, Abba. I must not live with you.” But the older monk insisted. The old man was pure in heart, and the younger monk did not want him to discover that he sometimes had sexual cravings.
The older monk said, “I will go away for a week. When I return, we can talk about this again.”
Seven days later, the younger decided to test the older by saying, “While you were gone, I was strongly tempted. I went into town on an errand, and I ended up in bed with a woman.”
The older monk asked, “Are you penitent?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will carry half the burden of this sin with you.”
The younger man responded, “Now I know we can stay together.”
[Bernard Bangley, By Way of the Desert, pp. 146 – 147]
Most people feel that their own sin is so unique, so dark, so despicable, that no one else would understand it, much less stand with them in it. I suppose this is part of the self that lives in perpetual shame, that feels “I am bad, I am a mistake” . . . never able to be freed from that compulsive, shaming lie.
But what a gift it is when, in the context of community-life or relationship, we can be in the presence of those who do not shame us, those who do not insist on keeping us locked in our shame. Instead, these persons know themselves and know the human condition well enough that they are not overcome by their own darkness, nor by our darkness. They love themselves and they love others with such expansiveness that their love can only be said to have come from God. In fact, their love IS love of God.
The wise and stable elder monk said to the novice, “I will carry half of the burden with you.”
In other words, “I’m not frightened by your sin. I’m not afraid to hold your lust and desires within me. Your darkness will not scare me away.”
A handful of times in life, I’ve felt that someone was walking alongside me who loved me deeply and unreservedly enough, that if I confessed my darkest self to them, they would say, “Let me have some of the burden. I will carry it with you.”
Of course, today is Good Friday, and on this day we are reminded of another, whose life and death said, “Here, I will carry your darkness for you . . .”
AN OLDER MONK AND A YOUNGER MONK were in Cellia. The older suggested that they live together. The younger refused, saying, “I am a sinner, Abba. I must not live with you.” But the older monk insisted. The old man was pure in heart, and the younger monk did not want him to discover that he sometimes had sexual cravings.
The older monk said, “I will go away for a week. When I return, we can talk about this again.”
Seven days later, the younger decided to test the older by saying, “While you were gone, I was strongly tempted. I went into town on an errand, and I ended up in bed with a woman.”
The older monk asked, “Are you penitent?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will carry half the burden of this sin with you.”
The younger man responded, “Now I know we can stay together.”
[Bernard Bangley, By Way of the Desert, pp. 146 – 147]
Most people feel that their own sin is so unique, so dark, so despicable, that no one else would understand it, much less stand with them in it. I suppose this is part of the self that lives in perpetual shame, that feels “I am bad, I am a mistake” . . . never able to be freed from that compulsive, shaming lie.
But what a gift it is when, in the context of community-life or relationship, we can be in the presence of those who do not shame us, those who do not insist on keeping us locked in our shame. Instead, these persons know themselves and know the human condition well enough that they are not overcome by their own darkness, nor by our darkness. They love themselves and they love others with such expansiveness that their love can only be said to have come from God. In fact, their love IS love of God.
The wise and stable elder monk said to the novice, “I will carry half of the burden with you.”
In other words, “I’m not frightened by your sin. I’m not afraid to hold your lust and desires within me. Your darkness will not scare me away.”
A handful of times in life, I’ve felt that someone was walking alongside me who loved me deeply and unreservedly enough, that if I confessed my darkest self to them, they would say, “Let me have some of the burden. I will carry it with you.”
Of course, today is Good Friday, and on this day we are reminded of another, whose life and death said, “Here, I will carry your darkness for you . . .”
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