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CLOWNS ARE RESURRECTION BEINGS
Long ago and far away, a clown gave the homily one Sunday. She had enlisted the aid of a fellow theology student who informed us that she followed a clowning tradition that holds that a whiteface clown never speaks. Our clown homilist's spokesman told us that in Christian tradition, a whiteface clown is a resurrection being, one who moves between the visible and invisible worlds making spaces, opening doors, welcoming people out of their fear and into the realm of God. Whitefaces are the oldest type of clown, dating back to Greek theatre. Many other traditions the world over have trickster figures that are more or less similar. The art made its way into the Christian church fairly early on, and clown ministries still flourish in many places today.
Unlike in "blackface" minstrelsy, a racist form of entertainment popular in the 19th and early 20th centuries that caricatured and mocked African American culture, whiteface clowns do not wear makeup to hide or disguise their features. They wear it instead to reveal them. If their ministry is authentic, it can encompass but must go beyond entertainment. It is never, ever done to belittle or disparage. Clowning is a comic art in the classic sense of that word, which is to say that it isn't necessarily funny. It is, rather, hopeful. It takes the thing we have made sacred and renders it profane, so that what is truly sacred can take its place.
A ministering clown is a truth-revealer. She ought never to be a being of fright or unease, and if she finds that she is, she tries to take that fear and transform it. Our clown homilist did just that with several people who were uneasy about her presence, by gently mirroring their defensive postures until they recognized themselves in her movements and were able to laugh and let go of their fear.
In preparing to write this, I spent some time surveying the development of feminist and womanist theologies of suffering, solidarity and atonement. What I found reminded me of that ministering clown. Jesus was a truth-revealer who moved between the visible and invisble worlds, taking people's fear and trying to transform it. His death was not a reparative act undertaken to appease an angry God, but rather a revelation that death is not the final word, despite all appearances. His death was the result of a life spent manifesting the realm of God; ironically it made more clear than almost anything else the need for us to give up our fearful ways and embrace that realm. He took our fear upon himself, and the deed was done.
Theologies that suggest that certain people are to put up with abusive or inhumane treatment lend themselves dangerously to patriarchal ends, not Christian ones. Again and again Jesus took fear upon himself and transformed it. He confronted those who would have stoned the adulterous woman. He spoke to the woman at the well and changed her life, and the life of her whole community. He visited the home of Zaccheus and transformed his small, pinched life into one of generosity. He took on death and was resurrected. The deed is done, and we need not make payment to God, nor expect it of others again. We may still suffer, but we need not fear, nor act from fear.
Like the clown, the task of women in the church is to take the fear and transform it by naming it, by refusing to live by it, and by actively dismantling it. We must take the thing that has been made sacred --the patriarchal values -- and render them profane, so that what is truly sacred -- the plan of creation announced by Jesus -- can take its place. We needn't hide or disguise our features, nor require that of others. When we reveal our truth, we too are resurrection beings, opening the doors to the realm and reality of God.
--Baya Clare, CSJ
(reprinted from Re-Imagining Quarterly, February 2003) | |
