On the traditional land of the Shawnee, Cherokee, Chickasaw and Osage (Appalachian Kentucky).
0:00
-18:22
A couple months ago, I helped facilitate a small, intimate weekend retreat for white men breaking rank with supremacy stories. It was our fourth annual gathering together. This year we decided to meet up at a monastery in Appalachian Kentucky.
On Friday, I drove through a stubborn rainstorm that pelted the foothills of southern Ohio. After I crossed the bridge into Kentucky, Highway 23 had me hugging the Ohio River, past oil refineries, Church of the Nazarene steeples, and rundown trailers waving flags for the Kentucky Wildcats and the Southern Confederacy.
On Saturday morning, we each reflected on a series of personal inventory questions from Gabor Maté’s book The Myth of Normal. Dr. Maté is a Canadian physician who specializes in childhood development and trauma.
He is also a Jewish Holocaust survivor.
In the days after October 7, Dr. Maté spoke publicly about how unmetabolized trauma has played a huge role in fueling Israel’s genocidal campaign in the Palestinian occupied territories for the past several decades.
Dr. Maté's self-enquiry - a half-dozen questions that he calls “Before the Body Says No” - is designed to help readers assess their ability to put up boundaries before their bodies start to develop serious symptoms.
When we try to push through pain and trauma, when we attempt to live without limits, when we fill up the calendar, regardless of our capacity, it will create disease.
When we don't tend to our deep feelings, our physical bodies pay the price.
I recently consulted with my homeopath Carrie about my bloating. She told me that this issue probably has a lot to do with all the unprocessed thoughts and emotions that have been piling up inside of me.
Instead of pressing the pause button on life so I can digest what’s happening, my pattern is to push forward. My gut is a warning sign that it is time to slow down and take inventory.
The self-enquiry asks what we’re currently not saying “no” to – and how our inability to say “no” impacts our lives.
My inability to say “no” most often manifests in exhaustion, irritation and resentment.
My therapist once told me that if I stop doing so much, maybe I won’t feel so entitled to my anger.
That was quite a revelation.
My inability to say “no” is not only connected to my bloating and other gut issues, but also to my sciatica, my psoriasis and my struggle to go back to sleep at three in the morning. What a perfect time to worry about the things I need to do – and fret about the things I didn’t do perfectly!
My inability to say “no” has all sorts of interpersonal and political effects too. When I refuse to put up a boundary, when I go along to get along, hell-bent on meeting the needs of others, I can easily and unknowingly become complicit in all sorts of abuse and dysfunction.
Sometimes the most liberating thing I can do - for everyone – is to stop cooperating with "the addictive system" - whether it is the family, the workplace, the grassroots organization, the neighborhood, the faith community, or the political party.
Jewish historian and philosopher Hannah Arendt famously said that people who are complicit in genocides aren’t innately evil; they’re often just boring careerists. All a holocaust needs is a population of nice, civil “yes” people who embrace busyness as a badge of honor.
*************************
Saying “no” is a lot easier said than done.
I fear that if I say “no” I might lose a relationship, or an opportunity.
I fear that I might be accused of being rigid, rogue, ridiculous, disruptive, disrespectful of tradition, judgmental, uncompromising, egocentric, or someone who shits in the punch bowl (metaphorically speaking).
I fear that if I don’t keep showing up for this person or that cause – no matter what it is doing to me – this person or that cause might stop showing up for me.
It can feel like such a quid pro quo conundrum.
Gabor Maté says that we need to assess the hidden stories behind our inability to say “no.” This for me, is the most fascinating part of his self-enquiry. We have been taught to believe in so many counterfeit narratives – about ourselves and the world.
Dr. Maté offers up some examples:
Saying no is a sign of weakness. It means I can’t handle something.
In order to be lovable, I have to be “good.”
I’m responsible for how other people feel - so I can’t let them down.
I’m not worthy unless I’m doing something useful.
It’s selfish to say “no.”
It’s not loving to be angry about anything.
To one degree or another, I have been scripted by every single one of these hidden stories. I have learned them from all sorts of authority figures, including parents, pastors, peers, teachers, coaches, community organizers, bosses and mentors.
Unfortunately, I have also passed these toxic messages on to others - through both word and deed.
*****************
The good news is that I am committed to a long process of recovery.
I am recovering from codependent patterns characterized by people-pleasing, perfectionism, image-maintenance, performance-anxiety and a built-in belief that I can do for others what only they can do for themselves.
I am recovering from the absolutely insane notion that if I act the right way, then other people will change.
I am recovering from obsessive attempts to get love from people who lack the capacity to love.
I am recovering from seeking approval from people on pedestals who are addicts, abusers, narcissists, rage-baiters, peace-mongers and cult-leaders.
I am recovering from the overwhelming feeling that I am not enough.
Dr. Maté says that “I am not enough” is actually not a feeling. It is a belief.
Dr. Maté also says that the answer to the question, “Am I enough?” is “Who’s asking?”
My recovery depends on getting clear about who has set the terms of my duty-driven identity. It is an interrogation of my worship, allegiance and obedience - of who I am putting on the pedestal.
**************************
The first step of my program of recovery says that we admitted we were powerless over addiction — that our lives had become unmanageable.
Compulsively saying "yes" to family, friends, comrades and organizations can be an addiction. It is for me - and it makes my life a mess.
Showing up to support my people and my convictions is, of course, a deep, powerful, healthy, liberating thing. But it can also (easily) take over my life.
For instance, I am committed to showing up for Palestine. I see the memes on social media:
Don't stop talking about Gaza.
I agree 100%. But honestly, I feel the guilt creep in when I can't show up. I also find myself caving in to a kind of god-complex that makes it feel like I must show up - or else.
All addictions are cunning, baffling and powerful.
The second step of my program says that we came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
This is not a head game. I cannot think my way into recovering from the insanity scripted by all these hidden stories. Willpower will not work either.
The only thing that can set me free is surrendering to Something Else. This move is super counter-intuitive for me. But when I find the serenity, courage and wisdom to let go, I do experience freedom.
The third step of my program says that we made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
The Capital-H Him is just plain cringy. It is a patriarchal carry-over from the 1950’s when addicts and codependents first started attending AA and Al-Anon meetings.
I am, in fact, recovering from the He/Him/His god of my suburban evangelical upbringing. He scripted many of these hidden stories that still hoodwink me into saying “yes” far too often.
The controlling father-figure of the white Jesus expected me to be sexually pure and biblically promiscuous. I was shoulded into locking-down my loins and seducing the scriptures to justify putting straight white Christian men and America on a pedestal.
In my white evangelical imagination, god was a demanding man who had the whole world in His hands and came to earth as Jesus so His chosen ones could go to Heaven when they died.
The whole point of life was to get saved from hell – and to get other people saved from hell too. For this operation to succeed, it was crucial that I was always on my best behavior, which basically meant being a nice, normal, chaste, compliant Christian nationalist.
One particular passage from the Apostle Paul loomed large:
I have become all things to all people, so that I might by any means save some.
Over the decades, I've seen too many Christian authority figures brandish this passage to push all sorts of codependent bullshit.
They interpreted the text through a framework that strips people of agency.
They turned the Hebrew prophets into predictors of the future. They said that "Old Testament prophecies" were all fulfilled in Christ – or they were about to be when he returned in a glorious Rapture.
They turned the parables of Jesus into earthly stories with heavenly meanings. They said that these teachings emphasized eternal salvation, but they also supported capitalism, nationalism and hetero-patriarchy here in this life.
They turned the death of Jesus into one big sacrifice that wipes away the sin of the world. They said that sin blocks humanity’s access to the righteous, unapproachable He-god whose love and acceptance comes with conditions. They said that only belief in Jesus can change this narrative.
***************************
This gospel of the white American Jesus is not only compromised. It is a total scam.
Back in the 1980s, while I was attending a fundamentalist Christian school in Southern California, a popular French Christian philosopher named Jacques Ellul published a book called The Subversion of Christianity. He wrote:
History bears witness that in generation after generation there has been a highly respected social class (that of priests) whose task is to make of Christianity the very opposite of what it really is.
For centuries, this highly respected social class has seduced the scriptures and perpetuated the hidden stories that prey on fear and shame and not-enoughness to get people to comply with the supremacist system of America.
Only the truth can set us free. Just like Jesus said.
Prophecies were not predictions of future events. They were judgements of present-day power dynamics. The Hebrew prophets were super socio-political. They furiously condemned wealthy elites and their human hierarchies of value.
Jesus was a prophetic dark-skinned Palestinian Jew. His parables were not earthly stories with heavenly meanings. They were earthy stories with heavy meanings. They exposed the way oppression served the interests of the ruling class.
Jesus did not die to atone for the world. He came to live at-one with the world.
Jesus was not sacrificed to wipe away our sins. He was executed by ruling elites who were willing to do whatever it took to stop his radical liberation movement.
They knew their wealth and power would be threatened if a critical mass of conscientious people lived at-one with reality - and were willing to respond with truth and demand justice. No matter what it cost them. Just like Jesus did.
Jesus talked about heaven all the time. But for Jesus, heaven was not a disembodied destination where people go when they die. It was an invisible divine dimension at work in the world.
Heaven is not the end of the story. It is the beginning.
Heaven pursues us and celebrates us like a father running to his prodigal son who has finally returned home.
Heaven is like a mustard seed, an invasive, uncontrollable plant that cannot be contained by any institutional weed-whacker or corporate chemical.
Heaven is like leaven in the dough: a little goes a long way to make everything rise.
Jesus refused to conform to the have-tos and supposed-to-bes scripted by authority figures in first century Palestine. Because he took his cues from heaven, which ripped open at the Jordan River and proclaimed:
You are my beloved child, in whom I am well-pleased.
Jesus knew he was enough. Because he turned his will and his life over to a Power of unconditional Love that conspired for collective liberation. When the professional religionists interrogated his decision to dine with tax collectors and sinners, Jesus quoted the prophet Hosea in between bites:
Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’
In Hosea, the Hebrew word for mercy is the same word as “womb,” but with different vowel points. Mercy is womb-like mother love. Mercy is empowerment. It surrounds us and nurtures us and releases us from the shame-driven scripts that hood-wink us into being who we weren't created to be.
***********************
My recovery ultimately depends on answering the final question in Gabor Mate’s self-enquiry:
Where have I ignored or denied the “yes” that wanted to be said?
It is amazing how hard it can be for me to answer this question that pivots on pleasure and desire, instead of duty.
What is it that I am absolutely dying to say “yes” to?
What is this Something Else, deep inside me, that wants to come out and play, that wants to bring me alive, but can’t, because the hidden stories still have their hooks in me, and they’ve got me saying “yes” to so many other things that feel like dead weight?
I am on a spiritual and political path recovering Something Else. It is a long path – and it is paved in divine mercy- which means I am already more than enough.
Regardless of whether I believe it or not.
