BODY IS A FOUR-LETTER WORD

Karen Jantzi

Some of you who may not understand what I am about to say. In fact, you may think this article slipped through the editorial cracks. Let me assure you that it didn’t.

I have a body. So do you. God created my body and God said that it was good.

Before you dismiss me as either heretic or lunatic, let me explain why that statement is one of the foundations of my faith.

Your body is the temple of God and the spirit of God dwells in you. I don’t know about you, but this was not a comforting thought. They didn’t use that verse to promote a positive body image. It was usually followed by a list of things I should avoid, things that would defile the temple of God. Another list of verses gave the impression that the body was evil, must be denied, even mistrusted. Listening to the body was listening to the devil. Only the Spirit was good. The Spirit and the body were at war, and I became an active participant in that war.

As I matured, I developed an uneasy truce with my body. I learned to take better care of it. In return, I expected it to leave me alone. But I was never able to completely ignore my body’s response to color and texture, flavor and smell, movement and sound. I felt out of place, uncomfortable in church settings.

Worship was about the mind, the spirit, not the body. Was I the only person who found it impossible to stand still while singing a gospel song? Was I the only one who craved the feel of silk, the colors of the rainbow? Most worship services seemed lifeless, incomplete, missing important elements. Evidence that my faith was inadequate, my spirituality immature.

My understanding of my body began to change when a good friend encouraged me to try massage. At first it was frightening, showing my body, the enemy, to a stranger. Exposing my lumps and jiggles and marks. What if she laughed? What if she thought I was disgusting?

Instead, I found a place where my body was pampered, cared for, treated with respect and dignity. I learned how to relax and allow someone to care for me. I began to believe my body deserved care and respect. I celebrated my body’s ability to experience the sounds, colors, textures, scents of creation.

Several years later another friend invited me to a dance. Again I was frightened. I couldn’t dance. I would certainly make a fool of myself. I didn’t know anyone there except the woman I was going with, and I wasn’t dancing with her. Two years later, I am still dancing, every week, sometimes two or three times a week. Dance taught me the boundaries of my body, how it moves in space. Dance taught me to sing the music with my muscles and joints as well as with my mouth. Dance taught me to celebrate my body’s ability to respond to the rhythms, the music of creation itself.

I now have a different understanding of my body as the temple of God. If I am the temple of God, I am responsible for caring for my body, for honoring my body as the place where the Spirit of God resides. Because God designed me, chose me, dedicated me, my body is worthy of respect and dignity. I do not need to despise my body; it is not evil. It is a place where people encounter the living God.

God gave specific instructions about worship in the temple. There were colors and sounds, smells and movement. Gold, jewels, fabric, incense, music, vestments—all were used to remind people of the presence of God. Worship engaged the senses in celebration of God’s miraculous work. My body’s delight in texture, color, sound, movement, taste, and scent are part of this worship, this celebration.

Does this mean I should follow my body’s every desire and impulse? Of course not. Everything in the temple drew the mind and heart to a deeper relationship with the living God. That is the question to ask when I choose clothes, activities, food, rest, and so forth: Is this honoring God in me? Will this reflect God or distract from God? What am I saying about God, about myself, about the people I am with when I wear, do, say, eat, or drink this thing? When people are with me, do they sense the presence of God?

It isn’t about fear but love. I am the dwelling place of the God of love, mercy, justice, truth, and compassion. The spirit is not just in my brain, but in my body. My body is the place where love, mercy, justice, truth, and compassion dwell.

I have a body and it is good.

—Karen Jantzi, Schwenksville, Pennsylvania, is a life-long teacher and learner. After completing her Ph.D., she hopes to write and teach in international settings. Anabaptist by birth and choice, her spiritual journey has also been enriched by writers, poets, composers, musicians, ministers, priests, and ordinary people from many different faith traditions.