HONORING OUR SPIRITUAL KINSHIP

by Carol Tebo

I have always been fascinated by identical twins, having had a close association with several sets in my youth.  Identical twins, though they have the exact same genetic make-up and strikingly similar physical features and are keenly attuned to each other, nevertheless are individuals with distinctly discernible personalities and preferences.  It has occurred to me that on a spiritual level we are all twins.  Relating to each other in a wholesome way requires an intricate dance in which we each acknowledge the other as a unique manifestation of Spirit and also as an extension of ourselves.

Unfortunately, we are unable to see our spiritual bond with our eyes.  Our minds perceive others as separate entities, disconnected from ourselves--strangers, competitors, threats.  Our interactions tilt toward defending our own territory, maintaining a position of strength, and letting into our inner circle only those whom we see as benefiting and supporting us.  There is little tolerance for differences, errors, or other points of view in the mind's judgmental eye.

Webster's New World Dictionary denotes kinship as a synonym for relationship.  In the South, where my husband and I have spent a good deal of time since becoming full-time RVers, we have observed the strong ties between kinfolk.  There is almost nothing kin won't do for each other.  To be considered kin by a Southerner is the highest compliment, signifying that one has proven himself loyal and is now "part of the family."  Of course, these powerful ties and the commitment to defend them at all costs have often been the source of bitter feuds and rivalries.

What would our relationships be like, however, if we all saw each other as kin?  For this to happen, we would need to bypass the mind and the world of the senses and delve into the heart of the matter.  For only there will we recognize who we really are, and in turn, see that we are intrinsically linked in Spirit to every other being.  There we will see that we are not independent entities floating about in our own individual orbits, but rather interdependent beings whose lives are being constantly touched and shaped by every encounter with others, however fleeting.  As Paul reminds the Corinthians, "There are many members, yet one body" (I Cor. 12:20).  The heart shows us our unity, our oneness.  It is essential that we trust what it tells us, even though our mind may not yet be ready to make the connection.

To see our connectedness is much like the connect-the-dot pictures I did as a child. I was always delighted by looking at a page full of apparently disconnected dots and anticipating that they would form a picture that I could not yet see.  My expectation would mount as I moved my pencil from dot to dot and tried to guess what the hidden picture was.  Sometimes it was easy to discern, other times it wasn't clear until the end.  However, believing there was a picture there motivated me to continue until I had put it all together.

Due to our varied backgrounds and experiences in life, it may take some of us longer than others to see the picture.  I believe it is more difficult in fast-paced, modern cultures such as ours which reward individual effort and achievement over cooperation and sharing.  As Kathleen Brehony states in her book Ordinary Grace:

"The belief that all beings are part of a connected cosmic web . . . is informed not only by modern research in physics, bio-ecology, chemistry, and chaos theory, but by every great religion and tradition of wisdom known to the world.

"But many of us have forgotten our own true natures and the exquisite unity that binds all things together.  Our modern world, with its emphasis on materialism, rationalism, and separatism, has lost sight of the cosmos as a coherent whole in which every aspect of creation is vitally related to everything else, and in which each of us is an indispensable part of all that is." (p. 62, Chpt. 4, No Greater Gift)

This became very clear the year we lived in Nigeria.  There, we observed that "progress" had not yet completely clouded the innate perception of connectedness.  The Nigerians' use of the words brother and sister to relate not only to blood relatives, but to anyone from their village, contributed to their acceptance of oneness and interdependency.

We watched the living out of this awareness one day when a painter came to repaint our kitchen after several patches had been made on the concrete walls.  As I cleared away the dishes and remains from our lunch, I offered him a leftover sandwich.  He gratefully accepted it, took a bite, and went into the kitchen.  A few moments later he reappeared in the doorway, standing there with the sandwich in his hand, still with only one bite eaten.  When I asked if he didn't like it, he answered that it was very good.

Obviously, something was definitely bothering him, but he seemed hesitant to say what.  Then, all of a sudden, he blurted out, "Please excuse me.  I must go out and share this with my brother."  He stepped outside, called another worker over, broke the sandwich in two, and handed his brother half.  Only then did he relax and enjoy his share.  Such is the profound difference in our relationships when we see our brothers and sisters through the window of our heart.

With the full realization of our connectedness also comes the understanding that everyone, in their own manner, is trying to find his or her way back to oneness and love.  Some of us even do terrible things to ourselves and others on our journey, but when we accept that we are all searching for the same path to wholeness, we can have compassion for those who have become lost along the way.  We see in their shortcomings, frailties and mistakes a reflection of our own, and we find a new capacity to forgive.  This is an essential quality of all true peacemakers--to be able to look past the outer behavior of individuals and speak directly to their hearts.

I have long been intrigued by people who have suffered extreme cruelty and privation at the hands of others and are able to forgive and exhibit compassion for their perpetrators.  Some psychologists say this results from an unhealthy dependency on the perpetrator for the captive's safety and well being.  I am not convinced that is the case, at least not always.  There is something about imprisonment and deprivation which has the effect of compelling certain people to reach deep within themselves, and in so doing, to see the brokenness in their own hearts as well as in those of their captors.

The Hiding Place, Corrie Ten Boom's story of faith that enabled her to love and forgive in a Nazi prison camp, has always been a moving example to me.  However, this does not only happen to people who are already religious.  I think of the hard-drinking, rough-hewn reporter Terry Anderson, held hostage for seven years by Islamic revolutionaries in Lebanon, who emerged with no bitterness or hatred toward his captors.  His journey of pain and transformation is chronicled in The Lion's Den.

During a recent return visit to Lebanon, the subject of a PBS documentary entitled Return to the Lion's Den (May 12, 1999), Terry was overcome by emotion when he saw in the streets of Beirut a forgiving tolerance and acceptance among a diversity of people who sixteen years before had been killing each other on sight.  They had come to understand that their individual peace was intertwined with their collective peace, and they had simply lost interest in hating!  Terry Anderson found this national transformation incredulous until he acknowledged that it mirrored his own.

"Jesus' forgiveness on the cross sets the standard by which we must forgive" and love, Bishop Tutu stated in a PBS interview with Bill Moyers (May 2, 1999).  He pointed out that only forgiveness can heal the breach (disconnection) between people, and if that path is followed, then "no situation is non-transfigurable or devoid of hope."  Such recognition of our common need for forgiveness and reconciliation has been the basis for working a miraculous healing of the wounds of apartheid in South Africa.

But we need not look to extraordinary examples to see compassionate forgiveness at work.  Whatever brings people face to face with the truth of their connectedness will, in turn, result in greater compassion toward others.  When my husband and I helped with relief and recovery work after the devastating tornado in Birmingham, Alabama, time and again survivors shared with us that the greatest lesson they had learned was their interdependency upon others.  When all the material trappings were stripped out of the way, they realized the primacy of relationships in their lives.  When we returned a year later, we found the realization had not dimmed over time.  "We all treat each other much kinder now," one young mother explained.  "I even get along with my ex-husband.  Nothing seems worth fighting over any more."

When we make a heart connection with others, we see our failings, our pain, our capacity for evil in theirs.  We see our joys, our triumphs, our capacity for goodness in theirs.  In so doing, as Jesus commanded, we are enabled to truly love our spouses, children, friends, neighbors, strangers, and even our adversaries, as ourselves (Matt. 22:39).

When we speak directly to the heart of another, we affirm the goodness, the Christ, that is there.  I am reminded of a somewhat humorous incident many years ago during a family camping trip in Wisconsin.  We were all sound asleep in our tents when shortly after midnight we were awakened by the thunderous booming of a stereo emanating from a convertible as it pulled into the site behind us.  Several more cars peeled in, and out jumped half a dozen big burly guys who had just arrived from Chicago.  They were celebrating graduation.  Until 2 a.m. they set up tents, all the while blasting Pomp and Circumstance and a variety of other appropriate celebratory music.  Despite our frustration, we couldn't help laughing just a little.

By early afternoon the next day, I was exhausted.  My husband went off to fish and the children off to swim.  I was determined to get some sleep.  Mustering my courage, I walked over to the offending encampment and politely asked if they would refrain from playing their music for a while so I could take a nap.  "No problem," they answered.  I thanked them and crawled into my tent.

After sleeping soundly for an hour and a half, I was beginning to awaken when I heard a car pulling in with the radio playing.  The others dashed over and instructed the driver to turn it off.  "Quiet," they said.  "The lady over there is taking a nap."  I lay there awhile longer smiling to myself, absolutely amazed as I listened to them tiptoeing around and whispering to each other.  Finally, I emerged and thanked them for their cooperation.

It took me many years to understand the dynamics of what had taken place that day.  Without judging or condemning them or their previous night's actions, I had spoken directly to the goodness in their hearts, and they, in turn, had responded in kind.  I am convinced that if we all did that more often, we would be greatly surprised by the positive improvements in our interactions with others, and we would find ourselves just a little closer to peace on earth.

Published in Unity Magazine, February 2000.