Sherlock Holmes And The Institutional Church

IMDB

Last night I watched the 2015 movie, Mr Holmes. It's a beautiful film which recounts the poignant story of the last years of the life of the world-famous (fictional) detective, Sherlock Holmes. At the age of 93, with his memory failing, he is desperately trying to remember the details of his last case. As the story unfolds, we learn that it was this case which caused him to retire from public life, and withdraw from London to settle in a quiet village on the Sussex coast, where he tends the bees in his apiary.

Eventually, it becomes clear that his handling of that final investigation resulted in the suicide of his client's wife, and he is driven to acknowledge that his intellectual genius is not enough for life. For all his amazing powers of observation and his near miraculous deductive reasoning, he lacks compassion - connection with the humanity of the lives around him.

But it is only when he faces the possible loss of his housekeeper's son - a young boy with whom he has formed a deep bond - that his life finally comes into focus for him and he reaches out to another human soul.

As I reflected on the way the film exposed the incapacity of Holmes' emotional life, I saw a parallel with my experience of the institutional church. Where the detective had his intellect and reasoning, the institution had its cold morality and ceaseless performance. Holmes' raison d'être was solving mysteries in life, but he failed to ever experience the mystery of life. The church's driving passion of compliance and rule-keeping was seen as proof of devotion to God, yet it failed to comprehend the mystical, transformation wrought by the Spirit of God.

Both were concerned with a dispassionate observation of human life - the way things presented to the eye - while maintaining a safe distance from the messy reality of the human heart. Both held at bay any danger of intimate connection or the exposure of their own vulnerability.

And in doing so, both have damaged the lives of those around them - sometimes leading to the death, whether physical or metaphorical, of those lives. For Holmes, the crisis leads to an acknowledgement of his 'sins' and failings. He 'confesses' to his housekeeper:

"There was a woman, once. I knew her less than a day. A quarter of an hour's conversation. She needed my help. She needed so desperately to be understood by someone... Me. So, I laid out the particulars of her case as I saw them... To her satisfaction, I thought. I watched her walk away. And within hours she'd ended her life. By identifying the cause of her despair with such clarity, I'd given her carte blanche to do just as she intended. I should've done whatever it took to save her. Lie to her, make up a story. Take her by the hand and hold her as she wept, and said, "Come live with me. "Let us be alone together." But I was fearful. Selfish. She's the reason I came here to my bees, so that I couldn't harm anyone ever again."

While it was not his intention to harm this woman, his choice to remain detached and dispassionate - to stick to "the facts" - nevertheless contributed to her despair-driven death. Likewise, the church has been culpable in harming countless souls who were offered "the truth" instead of love and connection in the midst of their desperation.

But unlike the church that I have encountered, Holmes does own his failure. He does care that he simply watched this woman walk away to her death. He does acknowledge that his "help" was worthless in the face of her distress. He does, in fact, repent.

The illustrious Sherlock Holmes humbles himself and acknowledges that facts, even when "true", will never meet the very real need for compassion and care in our lives. His eyes are opened to a greater necessity than "the truth" in life, and he allows this understanding to change him. 

In the closing scene, we glimpse his developing relationship with one who he had previously viewed as simply an employee. He has finally started to see the human behind the role; comprehending her capacity to feel and connect, despite the loss and pain she has known. We also witness his homage to the ghosts of his past - people with whom he failed to connect, but whose unacknowledged (and unreciprocated) love and care for him were vital to his well-being. And he finally recognises and honours the worth of their imperfect, irrational love for him.

And as I ponder this transformation in the great detective, I can't help but wonder if the 'church' will ever use a crisis in its own life to such good effect.

My Healing Continues

In recent years, I've become accustomed to certain people pretending that I don't exist. If I won't shut up and go away or roll over and play dead, the only option left, apparently, is for them to refuse to acknowledge my existence.

There was a time when it used to upset me. Eventually, I got to a place where it mostly amused me.

But today, after another 'non-encounter' with one particular couple, I realised that it didn't really touch me any more - except for the genuine pity I felt for these people. And then I realised that this was something new for me. I felt no anger or resentment. I had no desire to even smile at the charade. I actually felt real compassion for those who had inflicted such deep wounding on me in the past.

This wasn't something I was manufacturing to prove that I was a "good christian". It wasn't because I felt guilt or shame or that I should feel this way. It was simply what was flowing naturally from my heart.

And for me, it was evidence that the heart-breaking deconstruction of my faith, and the letting go of past 'certainty' has actually been worth it. Proof that the agonising process of reconstruction which has cost me the 'approval' and relationship of many I once counted as close friends has not been in vain.

It was a beautiful confirmation to me of how deeply my healing has penetrated - testimony to the power of embracing my brokenness and admitting my need for help beyond myself.

Because this morning I simply wanted to go over to them, look them in the eyes and say, "Please, won't you give up this fear and hatred. Can't you see what it's doing to you and your children?"

My heart shed silent tears for them, and in the midst of it I think I caught just a tiny glimpse into the heart of Jesus as he wept over Jerusalem:

"...you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing. Look, your house is left to you desolate." (Matthew 23: 37-38)

We All Need Help Sometimes

I'm not going to wait until the last day of the year to share that 2015 has been an "Annus horribilis" for me and my family.

My sister died suddenly and unexpectedly, and in the midst of that I was attacked for saying how I sick I was of christians who refused to deal with their own crap. (By a man who seems to have a lifetime of unresolved crap.)

Several weeks later, I lost my job because I stood up against bullying in the workplace. (And I'd do the same all over again.)

And then, just as I was taking time out to heal, I was hit by legal action from two religious leaders who happened to be ex-friends. (Thankfully that has now been resolved as there was no evidence against me.)

But in the midst of that, my health broke down and I found myself unable to function in a reasonable manner. 

And I ended up seeking professional help.

And it's the best thing I could have done.

And, in hindsight, I probably should have done it 3 years ago after being abused in the church.

But the point is that I've done it now. And it was a good and healthy choice. And my ex-friends have done me favour in that regard.

And I want to say, if you are struggling, or angry, or grieving, in this time when it feels like the whole world is celebrating, then you are not alone. And it's ok to admit it. And I want to encourage you to seek the help you might need.

There is no shame in admitting you are not a robot, or that there are no magic words, or that denying your emotional state is somehow godly.

Jesus wept.

And he was real and unashamed and honest.

So don't let anyone, or anything, hold you back from admitting that you are not ok - and reaching out for whatever help and support you need. 

You, and I, are not alone!

Jesus the Buddhist?

Jesus the Buddhist?

At one point in the hostilities we experienced at our last church, my husband and I agreed to a meeting with the elder who was at the centre of the leadership struggle, and with his wife, both of whom had been close friends of ours. We were still hoping that somehow we could find some sort of resolution to the conflict. We had asked one of the board members* to mediate for us, because our previous attempt at reconciliation had only exposed me to more abuse.

(* We didn't realise until later how partisan he actually was!)

Some way into the discussions, elder J's wife got angry and started articulating how she really felt towards me. I can only guess this caught her off guard because she suddenly clapped her hand over her mouth as if to dam the words, giggled, and then said, "Oh, look at me, I'm manifesting!"

Her smile was then firmly clamped back into place and she resumed saying 'the right things'.

Needless to say, the meeting finished with us all saying the magic words, and then love and peace abounded. NOT!

Nothing was ever owned or dealt with, and therefore nothing was resolved. We all pretended that everything was suddenly ok and made like the nice, little christians we were supposed to be. Om….

Why are christians so afraid of being honest!?

In this case, the couple needed to prove to the board member what 'good' (calm, loving, in control) christians they were - proving their claim to leadership, I surmise. In other words, they had something to lose by being honest.

All I managed to achieve from that meeting was prove in their minds what a 'bad' (angry, hurt, emotional) christian I was! In their world, my honesty made me a loser.

And at first I bought into this lie. Deny your feelings. Stay calm. Be nice. Say forgiveness.

Recite the mantra. Emotions are wrong, feelings are bad. Repeat the chant enough times and those things will just disappear. Believe, and your pain no longer exists. Then you'll have achieved christian enlightenment.

This is the lie I was sold. Except I wasn't really buying it. Something just didn't add up.

And eventually I realised the truth. I hadn't lost at all. I'd actually gained. My freedom and my integrity!

I had gained permission to be myself. I no longer needed to perform or pretend. To be measured by someone else's yardstick.

It is God's work to conform me to the image of his son. Not mine. Definitely not someone else's.

And I certainly won't make myself fit an image of Jesus that doesn't exist.

I don't buy the nice, calm, unemotional facade that some christians think they are supposed to present. Always peaceful, always serene. It makes me wonder if they believe Jesus was actually some kind of Zen Buddhist!

Is that the real Jesus? Or is that some kind of comfortable image we've been sold?

Nice Jesus.

Safe Jesus.

Gentle Jesus, meek and mild.

The Jesus some christians seem to follow would have made the money-changers a nice cup of tea and sat down to have a friendly chat with them, suggesting that perhaps they might like to reflect on their behaviour and possibly think about how they could maybe do things differently… but only if they felt like it.

Peace man! Chill!

Well the Jesus I see is thoroughly alive. Embraces life in all its messiness and complexity. Is the ultimate example of what it is to be fully human. Passionate, emotional, sometimes even overwhelmed by his feelings, his struggles. Real. Honest. Authentic.

That's the Jesus I want to look like.

Acquainted with grief… and other emotions!