Separation is a reality constituting
one of the major
threats to human well-being. At the same time it provides
the indispensable
condition for personal growth and maturity. If a mother
leaves her babay,
anxiety ensues, loss pervades, insecurity floods in,
forsakenness fills all horizons
and survival feels put at risk.
Yet, unless a mother leaves her baby,
identity is strangled
at birth, growth is scuppered, personal integration is
stifled, relationship is
prohibited from emergence. The resolution of this impasse
is ‘return’. Going
gives place again to coming; sorrow to joy. An impossible,
unthinkable,
double-sided promise is proved true. ‘A little while, and
you will not see me,
and again a little while, and you will see me.
This is the rhythm of all subsequent
life. Separation threatens,
and may scar. Separation spurs, and may bear personal
fruit. Return reassures,
and may heal. Return authenticates faithfulness and turns
sorrow into joy. In
some strange fashion, the intensity of the joy reflects
the density of the
sorrow.
Death menaces precisely because it
heralds ultimate separation.
The identity of the self seems set at risk in face of the
return of the body to
the earth whence it came. Others, who have shared in the
intimacy of the
profound rhythm of goings and comings that define
relationship, face the agony
of a going that carries no certificate of return. So it is
that the faithful
rhythm of life stands locked in conflict with the
contradictory finality of
terminus that death provides. Who or what will arbitrate
and designate the victor?
Into this scenario, the Gospel of John
drops a
dress-rehearsal. A separation is foreshadowed. A death is
signalled. A
compass-bearing clue is tabled: ‘because I go to the
Father.’ (John 16: 12-24).
Perhaps this is more than the road map of a journey of
Jesus. Perhaps it
signals a re-routing of all our human relationships. To go
to the Father is to
be where Jesus belongs. Yet because he is the Way, Truth
and Life, the ground
on which we make our human pilgrimages, the reality which
undergirds us, the secret
heart of all our living, it is also where we
now belong. He ‘goes’ in order that the Spirit may ‘come.’
The Christ of the
Galilean road returns as the Lord of every road. Into the
mutual belonging of
Father, Son and Spirit, disciples are drawn. Because Jesus
goes away, and
because it is to the Father that he goes, and because it
is through the Spirit
that he returns, disciples – and we – are drawn into a
network of reunion
thatdeath
cannot sever.
Once, a nation lost its Moses, found
him replaced by a
Joshua, and inherited a Promised Land. Now, neither death
nor life, nor you
name it, will be able to separate us from the love of God
in Christ Jesus our
Lord. The experience of separation remains. It is part
both of our human
brokenness and of the necessary rhythm of our road to
maturity. But the labour
pains of anguish are the herald of the joy of new life.