You are the other

Spiritual Life, Summer 2000 by Feldmeier, Peter

After Mass sometime ago, I was shaking hands with folks in the back of church. Since this is a downtown parish, the types of worshipers and visitors are utterly varied. One person I met after Mass was a man named John. He was short, had a ruddy complexion, and a closely cropped dark beard. In his late thirties, he looked like many of the parish, but there was something else. He spoke slowly and with difficulty. Also, the limbs on his right side trembled a great deal.

He described an accident that seventeen years ago had injured him physically and mentally. He told me about his assisted-living home, his family, and his interests. He also described his loneliness and desperate desire for a spouse. For this latter concern, he wanted to know if I could help him.

I was mindful of my own emotions throughout this encounter. I experienced compassion, love, and care, as well as doses of confusion, aversion, pity, and fear. I also experienced some irritation and frustration since this was not a good time or place, nor was I the guy to set this man up with a date. I stayed with John for about forty-five minutes, until I had to get ready for the next Mass.

My behavior was appropriate and pastoral. I listened, gave honest feedback, and expressed (and felt) genuine compassion. I gave him as much time as I reasonably could. I don't feel guilty or inadequate about the feelings or thoughts I had. They arise and dissipate on their own. All in all, I came out of this encounter as a pretty good priest.

For the rest of the day, however, I felt dissatisfied with that experience. What dissatisfied me was not what I did or said, but how I experienced John. John was for me totally other, someone I was doing ministry for and to: I had objectified him.

Labelling Others

For years women have rightly complained about being objectified by men. But if we were honest, virtually all of us would admit to objectifying and categorizing each other regularly (or is it just me?). We label people in various ways: as intelligent, attractive, funny, charming, or more negatively as racist, sexist, insensitive, or greedy. The most ironic label is "judgmental." Isn't it strange that we feel justified judging judgmental people? In the end, any label we use allows us to name a person as other, as that which attracts or repels us

The most insidious and subtly dangerous label in pastoral ministry is "the poor." The more theologically sophisticated among us understand them as the anawim, an Old Testament reference to the powerless and marginal. I tell myself that I have a special duty to care for the poor, the anawim. Of course, when someone is in particular need, this person truly does have a claim on me that one with less need does not have. In this sense, we do have a "preferential option for the poor." What I am challenging is the label that continues to make others objects of our pastoral care.

In fact, I remember that one of the many thoughts going on in my head while listening to John after Mass was, "This is one of the truly poor; you should give him all the time you can." At that point, it was a lock: John had become other, an object of my ministry.

Experience of Communion

In contrast to this and many other encounters where others are objectified, I do know experiences of true communion. One of the most striking was with a woman I met at a monastic conference at Gethsemane monastery in Kentucky four years ago. She was Sensei Shunpo Blanch Hartman, co-abbot of the San Francisco Zen center. Blanch's appearance, per se, was unimpressive. She was unassuming with her short gray hair, aging body, and simple monastic habit. What was impressive was the humility, love, and gentleness that exuded from her. Interestingly, her own pursuit of Zen derived from her startling encounter with the famous Master Shunryu Suzuki. In Suzuki's expression she reported seeing no separation between him and her. She was not other to him but a part of him and his experience of life. When I met Blanch, I experienced this very communion as I looked at her incredibly gentle face. It was obvious that she loved me as a simple act of unity. I wasn't some extrinsic object of her love. She was simply...loving.

Buddhists have a long tradition of penetrating this mystery of interrelatedness. The technical term for it is paticca-samuppada, which can be translated as "dependent-origination." On a personal level, it describes the interdependence of our physical and psychological processes, all arising together, creating both the person and the energy for future rebirths. On the global level, dependent-origination points to the interdependence and interpenetration of all living things. There are no absolute subjects and objects. This latter understanding underlies the teachings of peace activist and Zen Master, Thich Nhat Hanh.

Really, anyone who has experienced intensive community life knows something of this insight. Someone's joy (or anger) can literally fill a room, affecting others' thoughts, feelings, and even physiology. We are simply not utterly separate from each other. How can I say these are "my thoughts" in an absolute way when they are of fected by and affecting everyone around me in a constant interchange?