On August 5, 2018, I (Olive) had the privilege of speaking at Heritage Mountain Community Church on the topic of “Embodied Faith: Meeting God in Our Bodies.” Below is the audio recording from that morning along with the written version of my message.
Speaking in public stresses me. How do I know? In the two weeks leading up to today, I experienced ear infections in both ears. Apparently, they don’t only happen in children! It wasn’t fun waking up one morning to my ears feeling clogged and both sides of my neck all sore and inflamed. At one point, my jaw was so tight that I could barely open my mouth wide enough to eat my lunch. In case you’re worried for me, my ears are much better now. And I’m hoping that after this morning, they’ll fully return to normal. On top of that, I also bit my lip which developed into a massive canker sore. I’ll spare you the details on that one!
My body does not lie. I have been stressed. I had to chuckle a little, however, because the topic I wanted to speak about was “Meeting God in our Bodies” or, “The Spiritual Practice of Listening to Our Bodies.” I suppose if I were going to preach about meeting God in my body, I better practice it first.
This morning, I’m inviting you to explore with me what it might mean for us to allow our bodies to lead us into encounters with God. Just like how some people go into nature to meet with God, or they have a special chair or prayer area of their house where they meet God, perhaps there are ways we can meet God simply by paying attention to our bodies? That listening to our bodies might be a spiritual practice as much as singing worship songs or reading scripture?
Taking inspiration from Jesus, who was God and chose to live in a human body, I’ll be covering a bit of my own story, a brief history of the church’s view of the body, how Jesus treated the body, and three ways I met God through my ear infection episode. I’ll finish with a practical illustration and exercise that I hope you can take with you.
Prayer
As we dive in, let’s take a moment to pray. Creator God who chose to live among us in a body, thank you for making us who we are. We invite you this morning to move us deeper into your transforming love as we spend time reflecting on what it means to live in a body and how we might meet you in our bodies. Amen.
Preface
A couple notes before we begin:
Each of us has a unique body history. Your growing up environment, your experiences, and your personal wiring all play a part in how you see and treat your body. This morning we will be spending some time thinking about our bodies as they relate to God. If you have had traumatic experiences in your body and this topic feels overwhelming or triggering, please know you’re free to leave the room if you need to. I do hope, however, that if you haven’t yet done so, that you’d reach out for professional help to move past the trauma because there is life, freedom, and wholeness waiting for you.
What I’ll be sharing this morning is from my particular experiences. Some of it you might resonate with, other parts might seem foreign to you. But what I hope to do is create a space in which we can begin to think about how we can meet God as embodied creatures.
Also, if, in the course of my talk, your body tells you it needs to sleep, feel free to take a nap. I won’t be offended. In fact, I’ll be glad that you’re listening to yourself. My husband, Tim, tells me I have a soothing voice that puts people to sleep. At least it puts him to sleep… I call it my superpower. Don’t worry about missing out, this message will be available in some form online afterward.
My Own History
I grew up in a home and church environment where we did not talk about our bodies, except to say, “they are a temple of God so don’t have sex before you get married” or, “Do not worry about what you will eat, drink, or wear.” What was emphasized was our souls. Bodies were the jars of clay that held the immeasurable treasure – our souls. Souls mattered. Bodies didn’t. Our bodies, or “flesh,” were sinful – things to endure and control until the resurrection when we got new, perfect bodies.
With this theology, I learned to see my body as a vehicle, a tool used to accomplish work for God. I wasn’t taught to listen to my body. I learned to ignore it. And ignore it very well. It never occurred to me that my frequent stomach aches could be my body telling me to slow down, or to take a look at my feelings of anxiety or anger.
Not only was my body a vehicle, it was a source of shame. As much as media and culture sent messages about my value being found in having an attractive body, in church, I was told to cover up, to not be vain, and to be careful about leading my brothers into temptation. I grew up feeling ashamed and fearful of my body and my sexuality. I wasn’t told that my body was good – despite the fact that God created it.
Even in ballet class, where I was affirmed for moving gracefully and building strength and flexibility, my body was treated as a project to perfect rather than an integral part of me as a human. My body was valued for what it could do and for what it looked like.
Then, ten years ago, I suffered burnout and found myself in a place where all I could do was sleep and eat. That made me re-think my beliefs about being valuable to God because of what I could accomplish.
Six and a half years ago when I became a mother, I was struck by the sheer physicality of being human. In the early months of motherhood, I wasn’t trying to teach my child through logic or reasoning, I was nursing her, burping her, bathing her, changing her diaper, and rocking her to sleep. All of which were physical acts. There must be value in this, I would think to myself as my back ached.
More recently, at Advent last year, I began reflecting on the Incarnation. In Spanish, if you ask for “chili con carne,” it means “chili with meat.” Carne is from the same root word that incarnation is from. So Jesus is “God with meat,” so to speak. In John 1:14, it says, “The Word became flesh.” What does it mean for God to put on flesh?
What does it mean for us that Jesus became a human? That Jesus sneezed, was hungry, dripped sweat, had achy muscles, burped, and needed to trim his toenails? That his nose got stuffed up from crying? That he savoured the flavours of his favourite dish? That Jesus had a heart that beat, lungs that breathed, eyes that blinked, skin that itched?
If Jesus was God choosing to be enfleshed, maybe that had something to say about the dignity and importance of having a body? Maybe it had something to say about the goodness of living in a body? Maybe our bodies are more than containers for our souls or transportation for our minds?
The Message translation has 1 Corinthians 6:19 as, “Didn’t you realize that your body is a sacred place, the place of the Holy Spirit?” Other translations call the body “a temple.” People go to temples because they believe they can meet God there. What if our bodies are not only places where God lives, but also places in which we can meet and notice God?
Author Christine Valters Paintner describes it well, “Embodiment can be terribly inconvenient: flesh, blood, sweat, mucus, saliva, muscles, ligaments, bones, organs, and hair can all feel like a burden at times or something you want to control. Sadly, the Christian tradition has sometimes depicted the body as a prison from which to escape rather than a sanctuary in which to dwell and flourish.”1
How our soul and body became disconnected
Maybe thinking about our bodies in such a whole and holy way makes you feel a little uncomfortable, especially if you’ve been taught, like I was, that the flesh is sinful. While it’s common teaching in many Christian circles, the concept of body-soul split comes from us from the Greek philosopher, Plato, who believed that “body and soul were incompatible enemies; matter and spirit were at deep odds with one another.”2
It was through this Greek philosophy lens that Christians started interpreting the Bible. Franciscan Father and author Richard Rohr explains that in the letters of Galatians and Romans, the word used by the Apostle Paul was sarx. This has been unfortunately translated as “flesh” but is actually closer in meaning to how we use the word “ego” or false self today.3 So flesh, or body, isn’t what we struggle against, it’s our egos or false selves. Sarx is the same word used by John when he wrote, “The Word became flesh.” In this instance, the flesh or body has redemptive tones.
The effect of this split between body and soul has been that either the body is shamed and shunned, like what I experienced growing up, or the body is overly glorified and obsessed about, as we can see in the abundance of gyms, diets, and health food stores around us. Because our views of our bodies are so disconnected from the rest of us, we do things such as drink caffeine when we actually need sleep, or take painkillers instead of treating the root of the pain. Disordered eating happens as a result of this disconnect with our bodies (often as a result of experiencing trauma). For those of us who were here last week and heard about sex trafficking and the porn industry, that too is an effect of failing to see our bodies as part of the sacredness of being human; of failing to recognize that God meets us in our bodies.
Jesus and the body
So if this idea of our bodies being bad and separate from our souls is from Greek philosophy, what does Jesus show us about our bodies?
To quote Richard Rohr, “We must begin by trusting what God has done in Jesus. We cannot return to a healthy view of our own bodies until we accept that God has forever made human flesh the privileged place of the divine encounter. We must reclaim the incarnation as the beginning point of the Christian experience of God. We are not followers of Plato, but must return to the Hebrew respect for this world and for all the wisdom and goodness of the body. The embodied self is the only self we have ever known. Our bodies are God’s dwelling place and even God’s temple (see 1 Corinthians 6:19-20).”4
What he’s saying is, because Jesus was a human and chose to live in a body, our bodies are holy ground and valuable in our experience of God.
Jesus both respected and loved his body and the bodies of the people he encountered. We know that he slept and ate – taking care of his body’s basic needs. He also touched and healed people whose bodies were broken. If the body didn’t matter, why would he take time to heal the lame and restore sight to the blind? Why would he kneel to wash the grime off his disciples’ feet? Why would he wake up early to cook his hungry friends breakfast?
Perhaps the most compelling of all, at the last supper, Jesus says, “This is my body broken for you. This is my blood shed for you” (1 Corinthians 11). The ultimate gift of life came through his body.
Encounter with the divine happens in the body, not apart from it.
Sickness and Weakness
Job 19:26 says, “In my flesh I will see God.”
How? How do we see God in our bodies? Perhaps it’s counterintuitive and paradoxical but I think more often than not, we see God when our bodies are sick and weak.
Author Barbara Brown Taylor has this insightful passage in her book, “An Altar in the World,”
“Our bodies are prophets. They know when things are out of whack and they say so, although most of us welcome their news about as warmly as the people of Jerusalem welcomed Jeremiah’s. We would rather lock up our bodies than listen to what they have to say. Where Christians are concerned, this leaves us in the peculiar position of being followers of the Word Made Flesh who neglect our own flesh or—worse—who treat our bodies with shame and scorn.
What many of us miss, in our physical dis-ease, is that our bodies remain God’s best way of getting to us. . . . Deep suffering makes theologians of us all. The questions people ask about God in Sunday school rarely compare with the questions we ask while we are in the hospital.”5
When we are sick or our bodies show their vulnerability, that is often when we will turn our attention toward God. Many times, that attention will look like questions about whether God is there, particularly if we are in pain or suffering. Barbara Brown Taylor’s observation is true, “The questions people ask about God in Sunday school rarely compare with the questions we ask while we are in the hospital.”
I know I experienced this in the midst of the discomfort of my ear infections.
One thing you need to know about me is that one of my life resolutions is to keep an open posture toward God. Even when things are hard, I still believe God is there and that he can be known as long as I remain open. So over these last two weeks, I have been listening for how God might want to meet me in my physical pain. What arose were these three themes: the mystery of God, our brokenness and belovedness, and extending grace.
The Mystery of God
Author Randy Alcorn wrote, “We reveal a staggering arrogance in assuming God owes us an explanation for anything that happens in the world or in our own lives.”6 We naturally want to understand why things happen to us, particularly suffering, but God does not always give us explanations. God is mystery. And pain often brings us to the end of logic or reasoning, into that realm of the unknown and inexplicable.
I used to be afraid of this aspect of God. I felt much more comfortable with a God I could know completely and get answers to everything from. It wasn’t until I grasped that God is divine Love, that his intentions toward us are always good, that I began to appreciate the mystery of God. Knowing God loves us allows us to relax and be at peace with not having all the answers. Because even if I don’t know some parts of the story now, I can be assured that it will end well because Love holds us.
Tears are another way we experience the mystery of God’s presence. I believe that through tears, God invites us to take notice of his presence through our bodies. Many times, I will be in conversation with somebody about a topic that is significant to them and they will start crying. Most of the time they will be embarrassed and tell me they don’t know why they are crying. I’ve had experiences where I’ve been at church or a retreat and my eyes will leak inexplicably. I’ve come to see these tears as indications of God’s Spirit moving. It’s okay not to know exactly why, we can welcome our tears as messengers to us that God is at work and present. When tears come in these situations, we can pause and be grateful for the holy ground that is our bodies.
Broken yet Beloved
The second theme that arose as my ears popped and I struggled to eat my lunch was that of being broken yet beloved.
One of the most beautiful descriptions of how we are first loved by God is from the book “Everything Belongs,” by Richard Rohr. Allow me to read it to you:
“[Historian Morris Berman] makes the point that our first experience of life is not a merely visual one of knowing ourselves through other people’s responses; it is primarily felt in the body. He calls this feeling kinesthetic knowing, which starts breaking apart only around two or three years of age. We know ourselves in the security of those who hold us and gaze upon us. It is not heard or seen or thought. It’s felt. That’s the original knowing.”
7
It moves me to think that the first 10 months of every single person’s existence is one of being held in the womb – of knowing kinesthetically, in our bodies, that we are loved. God imparts his love to us through our bodies and I believe that the call for the rest of our lives is to remember that “original knowing” – that we are so deeply loved.
This is the good news of Jesus: that God loves us from the very beginning to the very end, brokenness and all.
When my ears felt clogged and were so painful I could barely touch them, I found myself returning to this idea of kinesthetic knowing – that the cells in my body were loved from before I was born. That although things weren’t working the way they were supposed to, I was still deeply loved. That brought me a measure of comfort and helped me experience God’s nearness when I felt distressed.
Extending Grace
The third way I encountered God through my sickness and weakness was to be reminded of my need to extend myself grace. As a recovering perfectionist, I put a lot of pressure on myself to achieve excellence. My body’s response to stress was an invitation for me to slow down, to check my expectations, and to let go of my need to create the best sermon ever. My body’s response also affirmed to me that this talk was important to me.
I was reminded of one time in the spring when I had been reading a book about simplifying life as well as learning about myself through the Enneagram. (The Enneagram, for those who are unfamiliar, is a tool for self-discovery based on nine interconnected personality types). I was feeling out of sorts and not quite sure why, so I decided to take a walk and give space for God to illuminate for me what was going on. As I headed for the river behind our house, I paid attention to what my body felt like. My stomach and chest felt tight and even though I breathed deeply, there was a weight on my chest. My pace was brisk, as if I was too tightly wound to walk normally.
As I came to the river bank, I found a place by the side of the trail where I could stand and watch the current. Transfixed by the water curling over and around a giant rock, the thought arose, “Just as the water shapes the rock ever so gently over time, I, your God, am shaping you. You are ok as you are, Olive. You don’t need to try so hard to better yourself. You need only be still and let me love you.” I sighed in relief.
As I walked back toward my home, I noticed a lightness in my body. My pace was slower and the tightness in my stomach and chest had released. My body truly had been a prophet and in listening to myself, I was led to a deep, grace-filled encounter with Christ.
In the past, whenever I was unwell, or I felt the effects of age, I would want to say, “My body is betraying me.” Now, I’m learning to acknowledge that my body IS me and extend myself compassion. I’m learning to allow my body’s vulnerabilities to lead me toward Christ. I’m learning to let my body teach me how to extend and receive grace.
Conclusion
As I close, let me summarize with this quote from Christine Valters Paintner in her helpful book, “The Wisdom of the Body,” “Incarnation is more than just being in the body; it is also allowing the body to be the very vessel of connection, service, and sacred encounter.”8
I can’t think of a better example and exercise to illustrate how our bodies can be places of divine encounter than this:
A Jewish Rabbi once explained that the Hebrew name for God, YHWH, – commonly pronounced as “Yahweh,” is spoken without moving either lips or tongue. What it sounds like is this – inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.9 In breathing, you are praying the name of God. Prayer is the first thing you ever did. Prayer is the last thing you will do in life. God is as close as your breath. Remember this whenever you need to know God is near and let your body lead you to the awareness of God’s presence.
Reflection
I would like to give us all some time now to reflect on what we’ve heard this morning. Was there something that particularly resonated with you? What is God inviting you to through your body this morning? Perhaps you want to spend some time breathing the name of God as prayer.
References
1. Paintner, Christine Valters. The Wisdom of the Body: A Contemplative Journey to Wholeness for Women (Ave Maria Press: 2017), 132.
2. Rohr, Richard. (2018, April 8). Body and Soul. Retrieved from https://cac.org/body-and-soul-2018-04-08/
3. Rohr, Richard. (2018, April 6). Flesh and Spirit. Retrieved from https://cac.org/flesh-and-spirit-2018-04-06/
4. Rohr, Richard. (2018, April 3). Trusting Our Bodies. Retrieved from https://cac.org/trusting-our-bodies-2018-04-03/
5. Taylor, Barbara Brown. An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith (HarperOne: 2010), 41-43.
6. Alcorn, Randy. If God is Good: Faith in the Midst of Suffering and Evil (Random House Canada: 2014), 355.
7. Rohr, Richard. Everything Belongs: The Gift of Contemplative Prayer (The Crossroad Publishing Company: 1999, 2003), 67.
8. Paintner, Christine Valters. The Wisdom of the Body: A Contemplative Journey to Wholeness for Women (Ave Maria Press: 2017), 132.
9. Rohr, Richard. The Naked Now: Learning to See as the Mystics See (The Crossroad Publishing Company: 2009), 25-26.