I am pondering the Gospel reading from Ascension Thursday. The reading is from the last chapter of Mark, 16:15-20, very short, it has the verses about picking up serpents and drinking poison, it leads to the most interesting interpretations. I have yet to hear a really satisfying discourse on it, the focus is mostly on the ascension verse rather than chatting up snakes and poison. As I was sitting there quietly as the homilist rambled, I went back to the verse “Go into the whole world and proclaim the gospel to every creature.” Christ said every creature – not just every human, every creature. Every sip of cool water offered to a thirsty animal is proclamation of the Gospel, the good news must be shared with every bird, rhino, or sloth we should ever meet. I get lost in thought on that one line, it makes me think of Edenic imagery and the harmony of all creatures. How few words are needed to proclaim anything, our lives tell our stories.
The next line that caught me was “they will drive out demons, they will speak new languages.” And it slammed me, the realization that we speak a new language now, we speak fluent grief. Justin’s death has taught us an entire new language with its own vocabulary. We were foreigners at first – could not understand the grief language, it was disorienting. I tried to interpret his death event with our old language and old words, communication was impossible. Now we have a working vocabulary, we have learned a new language, we speak grief. That is just one language, what new language do you speak? What life event or events opened up an entire new vocabulary for you?
The demons of despair, isolation, abandonment, cruelty, those are real demons.
Those are the new languages of which Christ speaks, life teaches us new languages so that we can speak to each other in our suffering. How can we ever hope to assuage the anguish of a wounded heart if we are still babbling on in an ignorant tongue? Once we know the language, we too can drive out demons. The demons of despair, isolation, abandonment, cruelty, those are real demons. They feast contentedly on the abundant life blood of their victims until there is no life left, but I have seen them flee with a single act of kindness. The demons abhor the soul who does not fear them and reaches out a hand to their near bloodless victim. We have the power to restore life.
Grief can feel like fear, fear can be paralyzing, fear is a serpent.
Ever picked up a snake? I don’t like them, I find them fascinating behind glass, or in their own habitat, but I am not keen on being close to them. The Gospel says “they will pick up serpents with their hands, and if they drink any deadly thing, it will not harm them.” Jesus taught in parables, he was a storyteller. I am thinking he didn’t mean for us to literally go around playing with vipers and drinking poison. But as I sat in my pew, I thought of how when souls are suffering, in their great pain and anguish they can fill with poison that needs to be expressed. We need not fear that poison, nor take it personally, it isn’t about us. When we choose to be non-reactive to the poison, we can move about freely in a world filled with poison, yet retain our peace and be people of compassion. I think those serpents Jesus refers to go by the same names as the demons. Grief can feel like fear, fear can be paralyzing, fear is a serpent. Isn’t it liberating when someone comes along who recognizes a serpent for what it is and with no fear picks it up and flings it away, the captive soul can breathe again. Fear is the great success of evil, we fear what we don’t understand and bow to our limited understanding and let the serpents reign. Or we can crush the serpents heads with our heels.
I wanted to get out my pen and write all these thoughts down during Mass, but I didn’t want to rustle about and make noise in our quiet corner, I trusted that if God had chosen to share some insights, He would help me remember them. For two weeks a part of my brain has been turning this over and last night I could not sleep. A pot of tea was made and my thoughts flowed out.
I find myself at a precipice, there is not even a remnant of my old life left, the goodbyes are true and final, there is no return. I have the vision of repelling off the mountain top of life where my boys were safe, and finding myself in a new valley. There is green in the valley though, I expected it to be lifeless, but there is actually lush green growth. And if I close my eyes very tightly I can imagine Justin’s hand pressed into mine every so lightly, every so briefly. He never stays, he can’t.
I don’t know that I will ever be able to thank God for the language I speak, I know these insights are gifts, moments of opportunity as Brother David Steindl-Rast would call them. I don’t feel like a stranger anymore in my new valley, and for the most part, I am unafraid. Love and compassion are far stronger than any demon’s hiss or poison. And may I be so bold as to say I own the new language, I think in it, I speak it, it has taken over and flows through me. I speak grief.
