Dislocation
It dawned on me the other day how Christ was fully capable of empathising with anyone going through the thoughts and emotions emanating from a physical relocation (and indeed any form of dislocation) in life. Not because He is God and therefore presumably is all knowing but rather because of his own experience of having previously gone through all that which we humans experience – including that of being dislocated.
I recently relocated from Melbourne to Canberra. I went from living in a large city to a small city. From a garden city to a dry bush capital. From familiarity to unfamiliarity. From being surrounded by friends, family and deep connections to being surrounded by strangers and superficial connections. From being appreciated to being unappreciated. From being known by someone to being unknown by everyone. Dislocation.
Perhaps your sense of dislocation is of a different nature. Perhaps it’s a dislocation from being in a relationship to being out of one. Or perhaps it’s the dislocation of being out of work, or on the flip slide of the coin - being totally disconnected from your work despite having a job. And perhaps you may feel you’re somehow just permanently stuck on ‘dislocation’ mode, without a sense of connection, purpose or meaning to the point of your current ‘location’.
Jesus himself left the familiarity of heaven and all that he knew in order to come to earth. He relocated. He had to endure unfamiliarity, leaving behind what was familiar to him. He was born into the unfamiliarity of human life with bodily functions and obscurity as a carpenter. Dislocation. A big dislocation. And one that eventually led him to endure crucifixion, death and separation from God the Father, the most unfamiliar form of ‘dislocation’ one could ever imagine Jesus, God Incarnate, to be in.
And so as I stood there in my bedroom, looking at my new and strange surroundings and feeling the overwhelming sense of dislocation setting in, I felt a gentle breeze blow across my face and I hear a whisper within my heart. “I am with you in your dislocation. You are not alone.” And for a very quick moment, I find myself ‘relocated’ alongside with Christ and his experience(s) of dislocation during his time on earth. And I feel a sense of strange peace envelope me even in the midst of painful dislocation, aloneness and unfamiliarity. Father, your mercies are indeed new every morning.
I recently relocated from Melbourne to Canberra. I went from living in a large city to a small city. From a garden city to a dry bush capital. From familiarity to unfamiliarity. From being surrounded by friends, family and deep connections to being surrounded by strangers and superficial connections. From being appreciated to being unappreciated. From being known by someone to being unknown by everyone. Dislocation.
Perhaps your sense of dislocation is of a different nature. Perhaps it’s a dislocation from being in a relationship to being out of one. Or perhaps it’s the dislocation of being out of work, or on the flip slide of the coin - being totally disconnected from your work despite having a job. And perhaps you may feel you’re somehow just permanently stuck on ‘dislocation’ mode, without a sense of connection, purpose or meaning to the point of your current ‘location’.
Jesus himself left the familiarity of heaven and all that he knew in order to come to earth. He relocated. He had to endure unfamiliarity, leaving behind what was familiar to him. He was born into the unfamiliarity of human life with bodily functions and obscurity as a carpenter. Dislocation. A big dislocation. And one that eventually led him to endure crucifixion, death and separation from God the Father, the most unfamiliar form of ‘dislocation’ one could ever imagine Jesus, God Incarnate, to be in.
And so as I stood there in my bedroom, looking at my new and strange surroundings and feeling the overwhelming sense of dislocation setting in, I felt a gentle breeze blow across my face and I hear a whisper within my heart. “I am with you in your dislocation. You are not alone.” And for a very quick moment, I find myself ‘relocated’ alongside with Christ and his experience(s) of dislocation during his time on earth. And I feel a sense of strange peace envelope me even in the midst of painful dislocation, aloneness and unfamiliarity. Father, your mercies are indeed new every morning.
posted by Andrew King at 8:55 pm
