Movements of the Heart
P. Mark O'Loughlin cfc
July 2005
Did not our hearts burn within us as he talked to us on the road Luke 24:32
One of the most helpful pieces of advice that I have received for my counselling work is to maintain my focus in each encounter on the feelings of the other, not on an exchange of ideas. And it has become my experience that it is in the theatre of the heart, in the emotions and feelings, that significant encounter and change and conversion take place. Intellectual engagement is generally ineffectual. This was the wisdom, too, of our 2002 Congregation Chapter with its lived and proclaimed focus on The Heart of Being Brother.
I was recently invited to the opening of Mummies, Ancient Egypt and the Afterlife, the latest exhibition in Melbourne Museum. I was surprised and intrigued to discover that, in the mummification ritual of preparing bodies for the afterlife, the Egyptians discarded the brain but retained the heart. An extraordinary cultural anticipation that the afterlife was to be lived with the heart not the brain, in our contemporary understanding to be lived with feelings and emotions not ideas. I suspect, of course, that the ancient Egyptians believed that the heart was the centre for all life activity. But it is a powerful image for me, nevertheless, to live eternally with the heart.
I recently viewed two films - "The Woodsman" and "Crash". Both films moved me deeply. I experienced them as profoundly compassionate observations of our human experience. Both were in part about conversion. "The Woodsman" entered the cruel and unhelpful world of a man recently released from prison for molesting young girls. He continued to struggle with his hellish compulsive self-justified obsession. But an encounter with a potential victim, whom he had stalked and engaged in seductive conversation, became a moment of conversion, of liberation. Through her tears she trustfully disclosed the pain of being abused by her father. Her story moved his heart. Against all the odds, in a bleak abusive world, a chord of hope was struck. "Crash" journeyed through contemporary urban cultures of prejudice and violence and abuse and beauty and goodness and moral confusion and ambivalence and love. All of the pain and exhilaration of being human. A particularly narcissistic socialite suddenly found herself incapacitated and alone, and forced to face the truth of her own story. She made the painful but generously acknowledged discovery that the only person in the world who really cared about her was her previously despised African-American maid. Her heart was moved. One of many chords of hope struck in a potentially dark world. In both films lives and stories met. Hearts were moved.
From the late 1970's to the mid 1980's I was involved in the Stranger Movement, for most of the time as the leader of one of three communities of adults and post school youth. We facilitated weekends for young people from Year 12 and post-school. The weekends were grounded in the gospel invitation to welcome the stranger, and created the opportunity for personal life stories to be shared and heard. Hearts were invariably moved, and community created. Tears of relief and joy frequently flowed. When I subsequently met participants and asked how the weekend had affected them the answers were remarkably consistent... "I felt free". Respectful and attentive sharing of personal stories with strangers was affirming and deeply liberating. This, too, was the discovery of our 2002 Congregation Chapter when the lietmotif became the Emmaus story.
This year Parade College has initiated Mothers and Sons House Evenings for the year seven student families. These have been the initiative of the leader of the Parade Ministry Team, Bill Jennings, who also experienced the formative influence of the Stranger Movement. These evenings are an opportunity for mothers and sons to share their stories. Some models of trustful and appropriate self-disclosure are offered by both students and mothers. This is followed by small group sharing by unrelated mothers and students about their experience of the transition of coming to Parade. The third phase is a time for mothers and sons to talk with each other in private conversation. They were invited to respond to questions such as: The son's first memory of his mother? The mother's experience of the birth of her son? The mother's first memory of her son? What did each admire and value most in the other? What did each find most difficult in the other? Every mother and son had been invited to bring some special gift for the other, and these were given during this encounter. This was Emmaus time. Hearts were so obviously moved. Lives were changed. Bonds were created.
Two recent Parade College staff development days have been conceived and developed by Bill Jennings around the opportunity for staff members to hear the stories of the Parade founders, to hear publicly the stories of some staff members, and then share personal stories during one-on-one encounters. People were invariably moved by this experience, and in my judgment there has been a surge in the relational quality of the life of the Parade community.
We have a precious Congregational wisdom for life in this age of depersonalization and dramatic transitions. A wisdom that invites us to share and listen to story and to engage the heart. May this gift always inform our encounters and gatherings, and our excursions into the formation of others.
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