|
|
|
|
Psalm 8:
1-5
December 27, 2009
CHRISTMAS: If Easter is all about what God can do and does do despite the failures and the weakness of the human spirit, Christmas, it seems to me is just the opposite. Christmas is all about the trust that God has placed in the human spirit, however unfounded that trust may be. That God would make an entrance into the world in the form of a tiny, fragile vulnerable baby, that God would invest humanity with divinity is to my mind what makes this such an outrageously extraordinary and wonderful season of the year, a necessary reminder of the capacity of the human spirit. A couple of weeks ago, we
talked about how Jesus was a necessary representation of God, a re-imaging or
re-imagination of God, showing, revealing God not as the ancient theologies had
God portrayed, as an angry vindictive, jealous and highly nationalistic god, but
Jesus was a revelation of God, a God of universal love, a God that is with us
and not against us. But this morning, I would urge you to add something to that word “with”. Not only with us, but if we really were to study the meaning of Christmas, I hope we would come to see that God is not only with us, but also, in a deeper sense, God is also within us. And so I would ask you to add that little word “in” to your theologies. Two weeks ago, I quoted one of my favorite poets, William Blake, who said, “God became like us, so that we might become like God.” It was also this same poet who said, “thy own humanity, learn to adore.” Too often in trying to understand who God is, we look outside of ourselves, engaging in some kind of metaphysical quest, but if Christmas is anything, it is a quest that brings us right back to ourselves and our own humanity. If you’re looking to put a label on me, you would probably be right in calling me a “humanist”, but not a “secular humanist” but rather, for wont of a better term, a spiritual humanist. I believe the deeper we go into ourselves the closer we come to our true identities as children of God. I believe that the deeper we go into ourselves, the more we will come to see how deeply interrelated we are to that child born in a manger 2000 years ago. Jesus was not only a revelation of God, but also a revelation, a reminder of our own humanity. In ancient Greek theater, when humanity seemed to be at an impasse, when everyone was on the verge of killing everyone else, when families and kingdoms seemed to be hopelessly divided, the ancient playwrights would sometimes employ a technique by which one of the gods – oftentimes Athena – would make a grand entrance and just when everything seemed to be hopeless, Athena or one of the other gods would tell everyone what to do. This technique was called “deus ex Machina”, literally the god of the machine. Athena, suspended from a machine with wheels on it, would come out onto the stage and so bring everything and everyone to some sort of resolution. There is much about ancient Greece that I dearly love, and indeed, if I were to let you in on a little secret, for all of us the “Holy Land” may mean different things and have different coordinates, but for me it would have to include ancient Greece – Delphi, the Parthenon, Mt. Olympus, the ever flowing waters of the Pelion Peninsula, the Areopogus where St. Paul offered a most remarkable sermon, the poetry of Homer, the persona of Odysseus, the heritage of such great philosophers as Plato, Socrates, Aristotle and Heraclitus and more recently, the writings of Nicos Kazantzakis. As much as I love Bethlehem and the landscape of the ancient prophets of Israel, Greece would have to be included in my “Holy Land” as well. But this notion of Deus ex Machina is not one of the better ideas to come out of ancient Greek philosophy. Now, Baklava, that was a great idea, but Deus ex Machina, not so good. Although, I have to admit that it is a part, an aberrant and unfortunate part of our own all too human psychology that when we get ourselves into a mess, we all sometimes look for God to make some sort of grand appearance – tell us what to do, resolve all of our conflicts – inward and outward – and bring history or at least our own little chapter of history to some sort of conclusion. We find ourselves as a nation seemingly hopelessly conflicted on so many different issues with Fox News screaming in one ear and MSNBC in the other. Where, oh where is that Deus ex Machina when we need it! We find ourselves embroiled in a war in Iraq and another in Afghanistan, and again, we find ourselves seemingly hopelessly divided on what the proper course of action should be. What happened to that Deus ex Machina… did it have a flat tire on the road to our theatrics? Global Warming, universal health care, bail out plans and stimulus measures for a faltering economy… in all these perplexities, I know I myself wonder where the wisdom of Athena is on these issues. Next to my computer at home, I keep a little wood carving of an owl, with the owl being a symbol of Athena and the wisdom she was purported to have. This little owl serves as a reminder of the philosophies of ancient Greece, but I confess, so far, I’ve gotten very little wisdom from that owl. Deus ex Machina may have been an interesting dramatic devise, but at least in my experience, it’s not how God is operative in human history. Think of how things were 2000 years ago and I think you can see how it was tailor made for some kind of deus ex machina. There was the Roman Empire, corrupt and cruel, as any and every empire inevitably is. There were the religious authorities, more interested in safeguarding their ecclesiastical power than they were in working toward such ephemeral, idealistic things as justice and peace. There were the priests, the self-righteous, sanctimonious priests who were more concerned about their purity codes, exercising their authority on who was in and who was out than they were in trying to convey, trying to be a conveyance or a conduit by which God’s love and grace could become more evident. There were the zealots who felt or at least acted as if they felt that peace and justice and harmony could be obtained at the point of a spear. And of course, there were the shepherds and all the other ordinary folk who were just trying to eke out an existence for themselves and their families. And so this was the “stage”, this was the situation 2000 years ago, and I am sure that there were some who speculated that if the prophet Elijah made his grand departure in a chariot of fire, surely God would make some sort of dramatic re-entry into the world – a chariot of fire, a deus ex machina, a metaphysical show of force by which God would sort out all their problems. But again, the message of Christmas is that this is not how God is operative in the world. As much as we might be tempted to have it otherwise, what we’re stuck with is a tiny, fragile, vulnerable, powerless baby born in a manger – a mirror image of our own humanity. I say “powerless” but of course that child, the spirit of that child and the spirit that dwells within – within – each one of us is far, far from powerless, and I am here to say that it is time that we put that deus ex machina where it belongs – in the junk yard of bad theologies. As long as we wait for Athena or Elijah or God Almighty to come riding into our lives in a four wheel drive contraption, we are missing, indeed we are disrespecting the most precious gift that God has given the world – the majesty and the wonder of the human spirit that Jesus so wonderfully exemplified. Thy own humanity learn to adore. Now, lest you think I am offering some sort of ultra modern humanistic notion, allow me to walk us through some of the ancient voices of wisdom who have come before us. This is a season of wise men, and here I would like to present a few of the wise men and wise women that I hold near and dear to my heart. I like to think of these as a few of my own spiritual grandfathers and grandmothers. Back in 185 AD there was a Bishop by the name of Irenaeus in Lyons which is now a part of France. The Christians at that time and that place were heavily persecuted by the Roman Authorities, including Marcus Aurelius and so surely there was not much historical justification for having a very optimistic or hopeful view of our humanity, and yet this wise old bishop said this: “the glory of God is a human being fully alive.” The glory of God is not some extraterrestrial visitation but rather the goodness and integrity of the human soul. Then, skipping forward a few centuries, in the 14th century in East Anglia, in the English city from which our own city of Norwich received its name, there was a gentle woman by the name of Julian of Norwich. Given the Black Death, the rampant plague that would make Swine flu or H1N1 virus seem like a cold by comparison, given the wars and the poverty, Julian certainly had no empirical evidence to warrant being hopeful about the future, but wonderfully hopeful she was, saying, “All shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” And when I’m feeling pessimistic about the capacities of the human soul, I love to be reminded of how she said, God is everything which is good, as I see it, and the goodness which everything has is God…. We are in God, and God, whom we do not see, is in us. Do you see that little word “in” and how important it is? We look in the manger and we see in Jesus the same glorious spirit that is also in us. Thy own humanity learn to adore. Then, moving forward into the 17th century, in the region of Silesia in an area that is now Poland and the Czech Republic, there was a protestant young man by the name of Johannes Scheffler who was born in 1624 and baptized on Christmas day. Later, he would assume the literary name of Angelus Silesius, and in our Tree of Life Journeys to the Holy Land, whenever we visit the Church of the Nativity, the place associated with the birth of Jesus, I always like to share these remarkable words from Angelus Silesius: Though Christ a thousand
times in Bethlehem be born O would thy heart but be a manger for his birth, God would once more become a child upon the earth. And then, going backward in time, long, long before there were Protestants and Catholics, there was a shepherd by the name of David, the same David who would later become the King of Israel, but I have to say I liked him much better in his poverty and in his youth. Some are wise when they are old, and others, sadly lose their wisdom on the altar of power. David was one of these, but as a boy, he had a song in his heart and poetry in his soul and wonder in his eyes as he looked up at the starry heavens above him and said those words that are now recorded in Psalm #8: When I look at the heavens, the moon and the stars which thou hast established, who are we that thou art mindful of us, and the children of God that thou dost care for them, and yet… and yet, thou hast made them a little less than God and dost crown them with glory and with honor. Thy own humanity learn to adore And then, moving forward, once again, about 150 years before Irenaeus and hundreds and hundreds of years after David. Where David was wise when he was young and ignorant when he was old, this man was just the opposite. As a young man, he was arrogant and self-righteous and ruthless. I don’t know that he took pleasure, but I would guess that he prided himself on being a persecutor of Christians. But later in life, after his dramatic conversion on the road to Damascus, Saul – now known as Paul – would offer one of the most radical and remarkable lines of theology ever spoken, saying, Christ is all and is in all There’s that little word “in” once again. Finally, after so many years of not being able to see himself properly, Saul, in seeing Christ, saw himself for the first time, and so he devoted the rest of his life to helping people, ordinary sinful people who like himself had made so many mistakes, he devoted himself to helping them to seeing themselves in a radically different way, “Christ is all and is in all.” Thy own humanity learn to adore So these are the names of the wise men and wise women who populate my own manger scene. With all due respect to the original wise men and whatever their names may have been, mine come from many different times and places – David and Paul, Angelus Silesius, Irenaeus, and a gentle woman by the name of Julian of Norwich, just to name a few. What these and so many others have in common is that they help to remind me that there is a direct correlation between a baby born in a manger and our true identities as children of God. In looking at Jesus, we can see the same glory, the same honor, the same dignity, the same love, the same spirit that God has given each one of us, and as we ponder Jesus’ life and the love and the forgiveness and the grace and the courage that he so nobly exemplified, we too have every reason to be hopeful about the future -- “all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” We don’t need that rattletrap of a theology – deus ex machina – to find our way out of the mess that we are in. We need divine intervention, yes, but we need it from within, with emphasis upon the word “in.” We don’t need a chariot of fire coming down from the skies; what we need is a fire and a passion coming from within – the Christ that dwells within each one of us. Wars can be brought to an end, the beauty and the integrity of the earth can be restored. We can provide for the well being of all; we can make sure that no one is hungry or left out in the cold or deprived of their basic human rights. We can do all this if… if we would only look in the manger and see ourselves as God created us to be. “Thy own humanity, learn to adore.” May our Christmas celebrations be filled with adoration, but may there also be a mirror in our manger scenes that reminds us that “Christ is all and is in all.” Amen.
David W. Good Old Lyme, Connecticut
|
|
|
