Russian poet Vladimir Mayakovsky’s poem ‘Fine’ begins:
This
is time
humming taut
as a telegraph wire,
My
heart,
alone
with the truth,
whole and sole.
This
happened-
with fighters,
with the country
entire,
In
the depth
of my own soul.
Much of the reality of working for
reconciliation is in those lines. There is tension. There is a heart, lonely
and holding onto its irreducible truth. There are the actions of fighters,
actions that affect all of us at some level, but affect some to the depths of
their soul.
But first of all, there is time.
Conflict and reconciliation are played
out in time. If reconciliation, at some level, involves facing up to conflict-
what led to conflict, what happened to those involved, and how we move forward-
it involves all aspects of time- past, present and future.
Some aspects of conflict in Ireland
and Northern Ireland are in the past. The partition of Ireland- and the creation
of Northern Ireland- was, for many, an experience of marginalisation and
alienation, suspicion and threat. The breakdown of social and political
stability after 1968 very often involved trauma and violence, fear and anger,
and long-lasting pain and bitterness.
In the present, while life since
the Good Friday Agreement is significantly less violent, more stable and
certainly more pleasant, it’s still a dismaying maze built out of all that came
before.
With all that in mind, it’s unsurprising
that reconciliation- the process of living well together after violent conflict
in the past, and in the midst of a present marked by structural sectarianism
and deep social division- is so difficult. How do we start? Perhaps more
fundamentally, what is it we want?
A common starting point in theologies
of reconciliation is the imagery of healing. ‘Healing’- literally to ‘make
whole’- is the process of restoring physical and psychological health to a body
that is diseased or damaged. In a context that is moving from
conflict to peace, this imagery can be very beneficial, particularly in the
context of personal injury, trauma, and loss.
It does, however, carry the assumption
there was a healthy and normative state to which the body can be restored. However,
for many conditions this is not the case and the theological language of
‘healing’ becomes problematic.
In a place like post-conflict Northern
Ireland, which in many ways does not have a normative, shared, unified position
to which to return, another image of ‘healing’ might be beneficial. I’m
suggesting an understanding of ‘healing’ in the context of living with
conditions that arise from birth or development, or from a genetic or
neurological disposition that cannot necessarily be ‘healed’ in the same way as
a wound or an infection.
We have many beautiful examples in
the biblical text of Jesus and the apostles healing people of physical ailments
and restoring them to their community. However, we have no images of Jesus
delivering anyone from clinical depression, fibromyalgia, bipolar disorder, diabetes
or autism- physical, mental and neurological challenges that are simply
ongoing. Such conditions complicate our
theology of ‘healing’ with different understandings- and different
expectations.
Our 13 year-old son is on the
autistic spectrum. He is intelligent, thoughtful, funny and, in his own manner,
very personable. He does, however, struggle with social interaction and finds
dealing with his own emotions difficult. He is often not mindful of the
thoughts and feelings of others, which means he can seem inconsiderate and
impolite. He often misses the social cues that would indicate that people enjoy
his company, which means he struggles with a low self-opinion. He becomes
overwhelmed with personal interaction quickly, which means he can become
agitated and angry.
Living with a person on the autistic
spectrum is an ongoing, daily challenge for our entire family. Autism is not
something Iain ‘has’, and there was never a point where he didn’t ‘have’ it.
Rather, autism is part of who he ‘is’; it is a way of being. Iain is not
‘disabled’. Indeed, if he has a disability, it is often other people’s
inability- or refusal- to acknowledge his particularities with understanding or
grace. The frequent thoughtlessness, obstinacy,
and lack of understanding from other children, teachers, shopkeepers- even his
family- are the source of most of his daily difficulties.
Yet when his particularities are
acknowledged with grace- a little bit of understanding, explanation and patience-
Iain’s condition fades into the background and the fun, capable young person he
is emerges.
‘Healing’ in this context does not
mean ‘curing’, returning to ‘normal’ or the condition disappearing - that will
not happen. Rather, for Iain, his family, and his friends, healing involves
commitment, determination, realism and courage. Here, ‘healing’ and
reconciliation equal understanding and grace, an acceptance of another’s needs
and our own expansiveness over the long term against a backdrop of continuing
challenges. The acceptance of this should
never be mistaken for fatalism. Rather, it is an ongoing process of
establishing the parameters of what constitutes realistic hope.
It is ‘living with it’.
I think that such an image of
healing might help people in Northern Ireland to understand and live with the
reality of a past that was never particularly normative or healthy and an ongoing
present following in its wake. The
legacy of political decisions made a century ago- the ‘genetics’ of this place-
led to a difficult ‘birth’ and development. It also colours a complicated
present and a challenging future.
What can we do? We cannot go back
to the better ‘way it was’- there is no such place. Rather, we can
realistically seek to live together well, in every situation, day in, day out.
We ‘live with it’. We live with
‘them’. We live with ‘us’. And we do our upmost to ‘live with it’ well.
This will take grace and patience,
images of which the biblical text has in abundance. Jesus became as we are, and
he remains as we are. Being human, in a sense, is the ongoing condition that
God lives with for all time.
We in Ireland and Northern Ireland still find
ourselves in time. And time, it seems, does not ‘heal’ all wounds. But this
image of reconciliation might help us ‘live with it’, but ‘live with it’ better
and to the full in the midst of who we all are.
And in time, it might even help us-
as it does with my family- to love each other as we are.
Brilliant. Much to process.
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