Catharsis

ca•thar•sis n. 1. a purging 2. a relieving of the emotions

It is said that a true tragedy, as in a Shakespearean tragedy, should not inspire sadness, but rather a feeling of awe, of wonder, of catharsis. Awe at how far the tragic hero fell, wonder at his potential, his greatness, in spite of the fall, and catharsis because the fall, though tragic, allows us a vicarious release because we recognize the human elements of the tragic hero in ourselves and are reminded that if such a great one could fall as a result of human frailty, so much more easily could we.

I had one of the most cathartic experiences in my life tonight. (It had nothing to do with the likes of Hamlet or Othello, just so you know.) Okay . . . I’m not going to do that “hypothetical” thing again, I’ll just be straightforwardly vague.

There was a situation that occurred which caused me to harbor resentment against another. No matter how hard I tried to force myself to get over it, or to convince myself that I was over it, it always popped back up—the discomfort in their presence, forced smiles, silent avoidance, and the mental monologue that began “How could this person behave the way they did then, and expect everything to be fine now?” I was hoping the pop-ups would become less frequent and eventually go away. But they never did. After all this time, still . . . POP! I’d try to placate myself with “Well, it’s not like I’m bitter,” and then . . . POP! Yet again.

I’m so not a confrontational person, that was part of the difficulty, and the other was pride. Something we all need a little less of. But tonight, God had my number. As soon as the pastor opened up his mouth, I knew. All of the scriptures he talked about had to do with how people with servant attitudes humbled themselves, and a common ritual to demonstrate that in the Biblical times was that of foot washing. Abraham was hospitable to and washed the feet of the three strangers that came to visit him. The unnamed harlot in John washed the feet of Jesus with her tears and dried them with her hair. I knew. Tonight was the night the air would be cleared once and for all or the resentment would turn into bitterness. It was up to me. We had a time of pseudo-foot washing during service tonight. We simply got tissues and wiped the feet of our brothers and sisters in the Lord to symbolically demonstrate humbling ourselves one to another.

I was so overwhelmed. I was seized with the knowing of what I had to do. I was compelled to make my way to the person who I harbored resentment against, and to humble myself to them. My humanness did not want to. And the situation was such that I had to sort of go out of my way to do it. (Another person began symbolically washing my feet, and the person I harbored resentment against was symbolically washing the feet of another.) But God wouldn’t leave me alone. Eventually, I sobbingly stumbled over to where the person was sitting, and swallowed my pride as I began to wipe their feet with a tissue.

It happened. A purging. A release. Catharsis. We both knew why, and we both cried a cleansing cry together. Though it was still unspoken at that point, it was enough. I was finally able to give it all to God.

After service, we were finally able to talk about it. Finally acknowledged, finally out in the open, finally explanations, finally apologies offered and accepted. It was a good, honest talk. Not like the forced smiles of before.

My heart is able to breathe and beat a little easier now. The seeds of resentment that the devil tried to nourish into roots of bitterness have been done away with, and it’s all because of a great and awesome God.