The Difficult Work of Embracing

to make live: see or recognize?

Christ’s death is narrated in John 19:30: the body limp, the spirit gone. But he returned to life in front of Mary. The phrasing “returned to life in front of'' gives me pause. Did Mary seeing Christ bring him back to life or did his rebirth begin at the moment of her recognition when she cries “Rabboni”? Was it the sight of him that made him live again, or was it the recognition that brought him back to life?  Is being seen enough to exist? Or does one need to be recognized?

Almost six months to the day since the war began, my rural city of 7,000 residents in Virginia organized to successfully sponsor a family of five to come under the Uniting for Ukraine two-year refugee parole program. As a native Ukrainian speaker, I have been in constant contact with the family—before they arrived, during their trip, and throughout their settling and rooting into this community. I often take them to a local river that has a beach of rocks. The mother sits in a canvas chair next to me and I watch her gazing at her children as they play in the water. The sun glints off their skin and off the water, and the love in the mother’s eyes as she sees her older children helping the youngest, a six-year-old, wade into deeper water. The sight brings a catch to my throat and a pressure to my eyes. The mother talks about the fear of hearing the stories of Bucha as she watches her children, their lithe bodies beautifully moving through the water in the early fall light. She recognizes their safety and their ability to transition to this new place with a community who were all strangers just a month ago. I hear her sigh with peace and see a smile flit across her mouth as the youngest child screeches when a crawfish pinches his finger and the other two gather around to make sure he is alright. Later, we settle at the kitchen table and talk over tea, sometimes sitting quietly while the children’s voices hum from the rooms upstairs. When I leave, we embrace, and as our bodies touch, I am filled with a love and peace that startles me. Sometimes we rock side to side. I feel the light kindling in our souls and spreading to embrace us. I embrace her with a support and love that cocoons and doesn’t impose and helps her decide what is best for her family. I leave to go home assured of their safety, knowing that they are untouchable here.

Our sponsor circle plans a lot and consults the mother often. We listen to her wishes and help bring about whatever change she wants. She is both the subject and agent in this moment of transformation, and I help by embracing the role of doula. The sponsors support them as they grieve losing their country, families, friends and culture and transition to this new life. We are careful not to place any expectations on them, nor do we direct their journey. I support them and recognize their journey. They, like millions of others, are displaced people who are in the process of settling into a different home, different city, different schools, different culture —a different existence. We do our best work in recognizing the difficult process of their journey and embracing them into the community.


[1]https://theconversation.com/ukrainian-propaganda-how-zelensky-is-winning-the-information-war-against-russia-182061
[2]https://www.theguardian.com/world/2022/may/25/death-to-the-enemy-ukraine-news-channels-unite-to-cover-war

 

Natalie Oleksyshyn was born in Ukraine and grew up an active participant within the Ukrainian diaspora community in Chicago. Her graduate work focused on contemporary art in Ukraine. She now lives in works in rural Virginia.

Our project takes the words spoken by Jesus to Mary Magdalene in the garden after she discovers his empty tomb — noli me tangere (“touch me not”) — as a provocation for reflection on the COVID-19 pandemic, and on other pandemics, viral and social, that engulf us.