Embodied: Katie Jo Ramsey's Monthly Newsletter
Embodied.
Welcome to the first edition of my monthly newsletter. I've started this newsletter, even though hatred of email subscriptions is one of my favorite things, to create a little more space for deeper conversation around the intersection of theology, psychology, and spiritual formation. We'll see how it unfolds! I'm so glad to take up a tiny space in your inbox, and I hope it offers room for you to embrace and chew on the paradoxes in your life.
He meets us in the sun and in the pain.
Yesterday, with the morning's promise still fresh and my coffee still hot, I tiptoed through wet grass, eager to find a space of quiet outside my house full of seven humans and nine dogs (Yes, you read that correctly. And no, I swear I am not crazy...). After wrapping myself in my favorite quilt, I began to slowly read the Book of Common Prayer's readings for the day.
"The heavens declare the glory of God,
and the expanse proclaims the work of his hands..." (Psalm 19:1, CSB)
I started to notice the brilliance of the blue sky stark against the vibrant greens of wild sage and ponderosa pine dotting the mountainside.
Merton (my beloved dog) rustled to attention from his morning slumber, ears perking in anticipation. A deer quietly grazed on the mountain above, the hill and all its vegetation her dominion. Behind her, the sun glowed fierce, lighting the sage and purple flowers into iridescence.
David says the sun "rejoices like an athlete running it's course," and there in the beginning miles of its daily marathon, I felt warmed by joy running across the sky, eager to tell the glory of belonging to God.
A little over an hour later, I sat frustrated in a church pew, feeling the nagging familiarity of pain, sliding up the course of my spine and throbbing in my wrists. With each movement of the liturgy calling the congregation to stand, I grabbed the seat in front of me and inwardly groaned to rise. But I heard a quiet, kind voice: "I am with you here."
God does not just meet us in the vibrance of a good sermon or the joy of a well-loved hymn. His presence does not come only in the warmth of a brilliant sun or the simplicity of a deer grazing. He meets us in our pain, wordlessly whispering an acknowledgment of suffering only the Suffering God could.
The wonder of being a suffering saint is getting to know the Suffering Lord. When we suffer, and we open our eyes to the parts of the Christian story that are not just triumphant, we get to know a God who willingly took on broken, human flesh, a God who so united himself to the human experience that we could never arrogantly claim he is far from our pain.
God meets us in the sun and in our pain, because he embodied himself in the man Jesus Christ. And Jesus Christ in his physical body cosmically bore the weight of every dull spinal ache,
every missed opportunity,
every season of being homebound,
every panic attack,
every trauma,
every lost child,
every pain we have ever or will ever know.
And he carried it, holding what only God could, to the cross.
He stands in solidarity with you before he ever redeemed you.
And because of both his solidarity and resurrection victory, we have access to his vicarious joy. We can know the joy of the Son, warm on our pain-filled bodies, every time we pay attention to our pain, every time we try to hear the kind voice of the God who is more near to us than we can imagine.
Books I am Loving
Us Against You by Fredrik Backman // Backman deliciously combines philosophical reflection on the meaning of life and community with earthy storytelling. As a kid who grew up in a hockey rink, this book took me back to my gruff roots while resonating with my love for the beautiful resilience of the human soul in community.
Interior Castle by Teresa of Avila // Imagine the wonder of discovering that a 16th century nun has more in common with your life than most people you interact with on a daily basis. (Sorry, family!) Teresa spent the majority of her life dealing with chronic health issues, and this beautiful translation of her work by Mirabai Starr makes her hard-earned wisdom about contemplative prayer incredibly accessible. Chronic illness friends, Teresa is a patron saint of the gifts available in suffering and courageous, mindful communion with God.
Everything Happens for a Reason: and other lies I've loved by Kate C. Bowler // I gave away a copy of this book on Instagram because it resonated with my experience of suffering so breathtakingly. Kate's story of suffering through cancer is one for us all. With humor and insight, Kate dismantles the lies Christian evangelical culture unintentionally wants us to believe about suffering. Hers is a voice of solidarity and comfort.
Neurobiology Narratives
The reason I love interpersonal neurobiology is because it offers embodied evidence for why our relationships with God and others can be such powerful forces of healing and joy in suffering. Here's just a taste:
In March, Dr. Robert A. Berezin published an article in Medscape advocating for psychotherapy as the true "neurobiological" treatment for depression and other mental health issues. He wrote, "...it specifically heals the problematic adaptations of the brain in precisely the ways that they evolved in the first place."
What Dr. Berezin and countless others are beginning to see is that relationships are both what put our brains on trajectory of brokenness and the very conduit of our healing.
Of course, if you are any sort of student of Scripture, you'll easily realize this is the Gospel Story: relationship with Christ is what heals us, and eventually, what will heal the entire world. The fields of interpersonal neurobiology and neuroscience in general are giving language and building proof for why engaging in safe, vulnerable relationships of empathy with God and real, live humans are the means of our greatest healing. If you haven't already read it, here's a recent article of mine describing one way you can engage God like I'm describing. And now you understand why I am including neurobiological insights into my book! How could I not?
(This photo shows one of the faces I make when I read neurobiology research articles. The other is too startling to share.)
Thanks for being the kind of person who values depth and creating space to embrace paradox. It's an honor to share words and space with you, even in the form of an email.
In the fellowship of the suffering, risen Jesus,
Katie Jo
katiejoramsey.com
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finally get into the hands of suffering souls who need it.