📚 R&R: Your *exclusive* reflection and reading recs from Abby King

Welcome to R&R!
Your *exclusive* monthly reflection and reading recommendations to nourish your soul.

On Empty Spaces

I was twenty-one when I had my wisdom teeth removed. All four in the same day. I woke up from the surgery puffy-faced and crying, stray blood dribbling down my chin. There were four gaping holes at the back of my mouth where my teeth used to be. I circled the wounds with my tongue, tender and raw as they were, and it seemed impossible that those gaps would ever be filled. One lost tooth and you can adjust, take it easy, eat on the other side for a while. Multiple losses make it much harder to nourish yourself. You’re exhausted, everything hurts, and you don’t feel like eating anyway. Your mouth feels empty, your stomach abandoned.
 
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Lately I’ve been thinking about the women of scripture who were acquainted with emptiness. I mean, what kind of hunger caused Eve to reach out for that forbidden fruit? In the words of Jan L. Richardson, “what hunger lay beneath her hunger?" (In the Sanctuary of Women, p.29)
 
And what about Sarah or Hannah, living with the private suffering and public shame of empty wombs? How does it feel to watch your hopes and dreams bleed out of you month after month?
 
Then there’s Ruth and Naomi travelling back to Bethlehem, hollowed out by grief and loss, hands and hearts empty. They have no family, no protection, no provision.
 
The widow of Zarepheth, the woman at the well and the bride at Cana are all marked by their lack, too: there is no oil, no water, no wine.
 
I think about my own emptiness: the loss of a friendship here, a dream there; the loss of hope and perspective after the death of someone I loved; the occasional loss of my mind. Sometimes I feel like there is a deep emptiness inside of me, a gaping wound that won’t seem to heal. I am emotionally depleted, weary from circling round and round those painful places.
 
But I’m slowly learning that our emptiness can become the very place we meet with Jesus. Mary, his mother, sang it out in the Magnificat: “he fills the hungry with good things.”
 
What are you hungry for? What’s the thing underneath the thing? What hunger lies beneath your hunger?
 
I’ll tell you what I’m hungry for. I’m hungry for intimacy, affection and esteem. I want to feel that I’m noticed and cared about. I want to know that my life matters, that I make a difference by being here and by not giving up. I’m hungry for justice and truth; for theology that has depth and nuance and love at its core. I’m hungry to live in a world where the vulnerable are protected and provided for, where the environment is looked after, and we make long term decisions for the good of our local and global neighbours. I’m hungry for an end to war and starvation, addiction and disease. I’m hungry for refugees, the disabled, people of colour, women, indigenous people, the poor, Muslims and LGBTQ+ people to be safe, respected and valued. I’m hungry for us all to know, deep in our bones, that we are loved and wanted. I’m hungry for God’s kingdom to come on earth as it is in heaven.
 
This is what Mary announces in the Magnificat: the coming kingdom of God. She knows what it is to be filled with Jesus, to have her emptiness inhabited by God’s son. She sings out in praise, and then prophecies justice and mercy:
 
He has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts;
He has brought down the mighty from their thrones
And exalted those of humble estate;
He has filled the hungry with good things
And the rich he has sent away empty.
Luke 1:51-53
 
Here is Mary, not the sweet little girl with the blue headdress carrying her baby doll, but the subversive and dangerous prophet, announcing judgement for those who cling onto power, and mercy for the downtrodden. In God’s kingdom, everything is turned upside down: the poor are filled up while the rich are sent away empty. The abandoned and neglected are loved and welcomed; those on the margins find a place to belong.
 
The Magnificat echoes the words of the prophet Isaiah, words that Jesus later speaks about himself. The kingdom of God is good news for the poor. It is liberty for captives and comfort for the grieving. It is justice for the oppressed, sight for the blind and healing for the broken-hearted. It is being filled with all the fullness of God, as Paul writes to the Ephesians.
 
This beautiful kingdom of God is now, but it is also not yet. It is the seed that has been planted, full of potential, yet vulnerable and fragile. We don’t have to look at our world for very long before we realise that the fulfilment of God’s dream for the world is not yet complete. How do we live in that tension? How do we inhabit the empty places, the liminal space, the ‘not yet’ moments? Perhaps another Mary can help us.
 
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Now on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark, and saw that the stone had been taken away from the tomb. John 20:1
 
After the death of her beloved Jesus, the empty tomb intensifies Mary’s grief. She thought she had nothing left to lose, and now even his body is gone.
 
The thing that strikes me about this story is how willing Mary is to stay with her loss. Peter and John come to see for themselves that Jesus is gone, and then they leave. But Mary stays at the tomb, weeping, facing into the cavernous, empty space where Jesus should have been.
 
Then she is asked, ‘Woman, why are you weeping?’ Because we know the end of the story, it’s easy to read this question as an accusation, as though Mary’s tears are unnecessary, or inappropriate. But Nadia Bolz-Weber suggests the question is an invitation – Jesus is compassionate towards Mary and really wants to know – why are you weeping? Who are you looking for?
 
In all our emptiness, Jesus asks us the same question. Why are you crying? Where does it hurt? What do you need?
 
In all his resurrected glory, Jesus takes time to be with us in our grief. He doesn’t rush us straight towards the ‘fix’ or the solution but allows us time to process our emotions as we face into our own wounds and the brokenness of the world.

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The resurrection assures us that the kingdom of God will come. Sometimes it shows up accompanied by angels, but often it grows in the quiet, ordinary miracles. It is the yeast, unnoticed, working its way through dough. It is the peony, gradually unfurling its beauty until it is in full bloom. It is the daily, unglamorous choice to love and serve the people right in front of you.
 
In the end, what heals Mary’s wounds will heal ours too. Like Mary, we face the emptiness and weep our tears for the pain and the brokenness until we hear the voice of Jesus call our name.


  You can read Nadia Bolz-Weber's sermon, While It Was Still Dark, here.
 

Reading Recommendations

Whole, by Steve Wiens
A very practical, very readable book about pursuing a greater measure of wholeness. I'm reading this book with a group of friends right now, and we're loving it. The questions at the end of each chapter are thought-provoking and helpful. 

In the Sanctuary of Women, by Jan L. Richardson
As per the book's subtitle, this is a companion for reflection and prayer. It draws on what we can learn from women of the bible, but also women who were mystics and saints. It is beautifully written and full of grace and encouragement. This is a great daily devotional.

The God Who Sees, by Karen Gonzalez
I loved this book. It tells a family's story of migration from Guatemala to the U.S. interwoven with reflections on biblical heroes who faced their own journeys to foreign lands. It is a powerful, timely reminder of God's heart for refugees. 

Liturgy of the Ordinary, by Tish Harrison Warren
Warren takes us through a typical day in her life, uncovering the places where we might meet God in the midst of our ordinary activities. I found this book to be authentic, theologically rich and wise.

Life of the Beloved, by Henri Nouwen
This book is saving my life right now. Henri Nouwen, with great skill and vulnerability, takes us through what it means to live knowing that we are beloved by God. I highly recommend it.

Surprised by Paradox, by Jen Pollack Michel
This feels like an important book in our world full of black and white thinking and polar opposites. In it, the author explores some of the paradoxes and mysteries that are at the heart of the Christian faith. It is well-written, with honesty and depth. I particularly enjoyed the section on lament. It's not out in the U.K. yet in paperback, but you can pre-order it, or get hold of the kindle version.
 

And finally...

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With love and gratitude,
Abby

P.S. I recently wrote an essay for The Mudroom Blog, called For the Single Ladies - feel free to take a look!