Leviticus is a lengthy meditation on how we prepare to meet the Holy. This week we encounter Leviticus 12:1-13:59, which details returning from an ordinary state after childbirth to an elevated state, that is, before heading to ritual life and practices of reverence as we nurture our relationship with the Holy. There’s also a lot on discerning when skin troubles are just ordinary rashes or when they separate us from participating with everyone else, like when we’re really too sick to do so. In a time when folks weren’t sure what skin ailments were dangerous or how people acquired them, this concern with what’s what is, among other things, a set of precautions. I also find, however, that in both states of being just after childbirth (about which I only read and hear about from others) or being in the middle of struggling with disease (although not a skin ailment, I have lots of experience living with illness) the rather frequent sense of encountering the Holy outside of official Holy rites, places, and hours. Parents and close family — blood, choice, adopted (lots of ways to be family) -- of newborn children tend at times to be starry-eyed as well as sleep-deprived and in that combination often elevated already in a state of awe and reverence. When living with a chronic illness, I’ve also frequently found myself rather more in awe and reverence, as well as pondering why and when and how long and help, certainly praying a great deal more than I would be if things weren’t quite so troubled.
And yet, over time, these same rules, in both Leviticus 12 and 13, meant to acknowledge us in the various ways we’re people and might need some time for recuperation or healing or having some space to ourselves because of these wonderful, usual, and even awful things that might be occurring, have been interpreted to create more pain and suffering. The leprosy rules of exclusion and isolation and, by extension, any “blemish” equated to any form of disability, the treatment of childbirth as defiling or medicalized to be a problem state of being, eventually slide into explaining these very natural states of being human into evidence of failure, sin, and wrong-doing. Take a moment here and breathe a deep breath, as deep as you’re able to take, and then slowly let that breath out. Neither living with illness nor bearing children is really a sign of wrong-doing, sin, or failure. They’re part and parcel of being human.
Whenever I'm reading sacred texts, I find it helpful to keep the historical ground of the text in mind. I also turn a wary eye toward the history of interpretation, because in that history might be lovely, useful, heartening understanding to aid me living my faithful promises today, or rather the opposite of that, explaining why I struggle with the text. Sadly, the traditions of interpretation that oppress are rather alive and kicking lots of us in the shins and other bits. And so we need to return to understanding that we’re nottalking about sinful states or graceful states of being here. We’re talking about being human doing human things and how we in our communities and as individuals acknowledge these experiences, our sense of the Holy during them. And we’re talking about how we participate in and prepare for communal spiritual life during times when we might feel extra-ordinary, human being with the usual stuff, but not with the assumed-to-be-usual stuff. Illness and childbirth are both extra-ordinary experiences - the ordinary stuff of human lives, but for many people, not an everyday experience.
However, illness isan everyday, ordinary experience for a larger and larger number of us, thanks to adaptive equipment or tech and support programs and medicines and the wider range of living a productive, joyful, and meaningful human life that we push the envelope on every day. Living with chronic illness, we might indeed have a time or more than one of separation, where we need extra care or extra time to process how we adapt to what is right now. But those periods of separation should not permanent, nor should they be weighted with stigma or shame. And yet….well, some traditions of theological interpretation are very insidious and show up in the thoughts and mouths of people you respect and love, maybe even in your own thoughts and off your own lips.
The main issue, though, in Leviticus, isn’t whether childbirth or illness set us apart from everyone else who’s a human being. The main issue, historically, is whether we’re in a state to sacrifice to the One in communal rituals. Now the Temple was destroyed in 70 CE, and with that went the place of sacrifice. Folks don’t do the ritual of purification with the ashes of a red heifer, either, in part because where are they going to rush off and sacrifice at? If we’re going to think about the concerns and meet the texts today, we might instead want to ask ourselves: (1) how do we meet the Holy in daily life? (2) when do we prepare specially to encounter the Holy (and what do we do to prepare)? (3) what life experiences create a different way we may relate (whether for “thanks!” or “yahoo!” or “a little help here” or a "what the hey?!”) to the Holy?
Preparing for the sacred is a bit like preparing for the people you love and cherish and want to spend time with. In my everyday clothes, often a bit grimy and just as I am, I’m gladly surprised by the sacred most days, welcome as I would be to my grandmother’s kitchen (though I should wash my hands when I enter). But I also set aside times each day to nurture my sense of connection, to reflect on living my faithful promises, and to spend some time nourishing my heart, in the same careful way I would set my grandmother’s table with the everyday scarred dishes for something simple and nourishing.
I also engage in communal worship, and for that my preparations are different, just like certain meals with friends and chosen family can be, where we pull out the reusable, special dishes and roll out our cooking skills for flavors we don’t make every day. For communal worship, I might wear different not-everyday clothes, or make sure I have used unscented everything so I can worship in community with folks with major fragrance sensitivities, and always preparing myself by studying the texts and songs appropriate for the occasion.
And then there are the parties, the sad ones like funerals and other rites of loss or separation, and the exciting jubilant ones. On extra-special occasions, like weddings, namings, funerals, ordinations, installations, and other communal celebrations, my preparations will be longer, more elaborate, for these important times. Yours probably already are, too.
And when my illness flares and I can’t participate communally as easily or as often, I still prepare myself, trusting I belong to the Holy wherever I am, in whatever state of being I am experiencing. Sometimes I’m in an elevated state of awe and reverence and I happen to have dirt under my nails. Sometimes I’m yearning for connection and love and belonging. But always, in attending to the sacred everyday and at special times, I prepare my heart for wonder, surprise, awe, reverence, and healing inclusive hope.
