It's snowing--the whitest Christmas since 1945, I've heard, and maybe whiter. But my mind keeps going back to Bangalore, where my Indian friends (at least the Christian ones) are probably just finishing up Christmas eve dinner. Some of them are walking the streets with a baby on their hips waiting for someone to take pity. And I'm sitting in my giant house, looking forward to a delicious breakfast and an overflow of presents. I don't know what to do with myself.
I know that Jesus is here somewhere, buried under the tinsel and piles of wrapping paper. It's hard to hear him wailing under the blare of "Jingle Bells." Make no mistake--despite what the songs say ("the little lord Jesus, no crying he makes," "silent night, holy night") I'm sure that baby Jesus cried. Wouldn't you, if you were born in a stinky barn with a bed full of hay? And whatever you think about his divinity (the jury's still out on my part, to be honest), this is a baby--and later a man--who knew poverty.
I guess I think that baby Jesus is more alive in Ishwari, the poor baby I held in the streets of Bangalore just before I left, than in all of the "keep Christ in Christmas" bumper stickers and giant plastic light up nativity scenes in the world.
So Merry Christmas. Peace on earth, good will to all.
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Friday, December 25, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Oh, come, oh, come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!
Oh, come, our Wisdom from on high,
Who ordered all things mightily;
To us the path of knowledge show,
and teach us in her ways to go.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!
Oh, come, Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Oh, bid our sad divisions cease,
And be yourself our King of Peace.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!
-----------------------------------------
So: it's advent. The four weeks before Christmas when we wait and long and hope for the coming of the Christ--for something better. Above are my favorite three verses of a classic advent hymn. I went to two different (VERY different) churches yesterday, and we sang this song at both places.
At St. Joan of Arc, the very liberal Catholic church my dad and I visited, they said that the heart of advent is "finding the extraordinary in the ordinary". I like that. This song has been 'ordinary' for me my whole life, and I've never liked it all that much. A lot of times it sounds suspiciously like a funeral dirge, evoking feelings very different from hope and expectation. This week, though, I found something extraordinary in it. This song is sung from the perspective of the Jewish people (Israel) longing for the Messiah to come. These three verses express hope that the Messiah will "ransom" the enslaved people, show them wisdom and knowledge* and bind their hearts together in peace. Isn't that what we still want? freedom, wisdom, and peace are almost universally desired.
But freedom from what? For the Jews of Jesus' day, it was freedom from the Roman empire--in 70 AD there was an armed insurrection which was promptly squashed. In fact, Jesus' non-violent ethic is specifically designed to encourage the oppressed Jews to creatively reclaim their dignity from cruel Roman rule, not through violence but through love. When the song says "Ransom captive Israel" the reference is to the exile, when the Israelites were captured by the mighty Babylonian empire. Many Christians today would read "ransom captive Israel" as a plea to be freed from the shackles of sin. That's all well and good--I certainly believe that we, as flawed humans, are desperately in need of release from cycles of violence, greed, and hate. But it's important too to consider that millions of people the world over are still living in slavery or in exile. Can we plead on their behalf?
The verse about peace can be read with a similar lens. When we privileged people ask God for peace, we are often asking for some kind of personal mental or psychological relief. Many of us, of course, are suffering very acutely from grief, loss, or some other non-peaceful sensation. If that is the case, to pray for peace for oneself is certainly justified. In some ways, though, we, as privileged people, need to be uncomfortable. David Selvaraj, the director of the place I stayed in India, says his work is to "comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable." Those of us with enough food, shelter, education, and dignity need to be disturbed by the fact that many people live without those rights. Can we sing this verse for them? Can we ask God to bind our hearts to theirs, so we too feel the pain of injustice?
The second verse says something to me about this Jesus fellow that we're always talking about. The path of knowledge that's asked for here could be wisdom to resolve an office squabble or successfully navigate relationship land mines (and don't get me wrong, those things are important!) but I think there's more to it than that. When I think about salvation, it's this wisdom that I turn to. Going to heaven is a great idea, and I won't deny that I'd like to end up there, but if that's all that salvation's about then Jesus doesn't mean that much to the world. I believe that salvation is really about Jesus' wisdom--about his social and ethical teachings on love, non-violence, and creative resistance to injustice. If we follow Jesus, really follow him, we can join with God in saving the world, in making it more like heaven here.
So it's advent. The time of hope, expectation, looking for something better. freedom, Wisdom, Peace... so I say, along with the world's poor and marginalized, Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel!
P.S. a little side-note: You know in the "wisdom" verse when it says "teach us in her ways to go"? The reason they use the feminine pronoun there is because in the book of Proverbs, 'Wisdom' is personified as a woman, Sophia. Even the ancient Israelites knew women were pretty rockin.
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!
Oh, come, our Wisdom from on high,
Who ordered all things mightily;
To us the path of knowledge show,
and teach us in her ways to go.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!
Oh, come, Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Oh, bid our sad divisions cease,
And be yourself our King of Peace.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!
-----------------------------------------
So: it's advent. The four weeks before Christmas when we wait and long and hope for the coming of the Christ--for something better. Above are my favorite three verses of a classic advent hymn. I went to two different (VERY different) churches yesterday, and we sang this song at both places.
At St. Joan of Arc, the very liberal Catholic church my dad and I visited, they said that the heart of advent is "finding the extraordinary in the ordinary". I like that. This song has been 'ordinary' for me my whole life, and I've never liked it all that much. A lot of times it sounds suspiciously like a funeral dirge, evoking feelings very different from hope and expectation. This week, though, I found something extraordinary in it. This song is sung from the perspective of the Jewish people (Israel) longing for the Messiah to come. These three verses express hope that the Messiah will "ransom" the enslaved people, show them wisdom and knowledge* and bind their hearts together in peace. Isn't that what we still want? freedom, wisdom, and peace are almost universally desired.
But freedom from what? For the Jews of Jesus' day, it was freedom from the Roman empire--in 70 AD there was an armed insurrection which was promptly squashed. In fact, Jesus' non-violent ethic is specifically designed to encourage the oppressed Jews to creatively reclaim their dignity from cruel Roman rule, not through violence but through love. When the song says "Ransom captive Israel" the reference is to the exile, when the Israelites were captured by the mighty Babylonian empire. Many Christians today would read "ransom captive Israel" as a plea to be freed from the shackles of sin. That's all well and good--I certainly believe that we, as flawed humans, are desperately in need of release from cycles of violence, greed, and hate. But it's important too to consider that millions of people the world over are still living in slavery or in exile. Can we plead on their behalf?
The verse about peace can be read with a similar lens. When we privileged people ask God for peace, we are often asking for some kind of personal mental or psychological relief. Many of us, of course, are suffering very acutely from grief, loss, or some other non-peaceful sensation. If that is the case, to pray for peace for oneself is certainly justified. In some ways, though, we, as privileged people, need to be uncomfortable. David Selvaraj, the director of the place I stayed in India, says his work is to "comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable." Those of us with enough food, shelter, education, and dignity need to be disturbed by the fact that many people live without those rights. Can we sing this verse for them? Can we ask God to bind our hearts to theirs, so we too feel the pain of injustice?
The second verse says something to me about this Jesus fellow that we're always talking about. The path of knowledge that's asked for here could be wisdom to resolve an office squabble or successfully navigate relationship land mines (and don't get me wrong, those things are important!) but I think there's more to it than that. When I think about salvation, it's this wisdom that I turn to. Going to heaven is a great idea, and I won't deny that I'd like to end up there, but if that's all that salvation's about then Jesus doesn't mean that much to the world. I believe that salvation is really about Jesus' wisdom--about his social and ethical teachings on love, non-violence, and creative resistance to injustice. If we follow Jesus, really follow him, we can join with God in saving the world, in making it more like heaven here.
So it's advent. The time of hope, expectation, looking for something better. freedom, Wisdom, Peace... so I say, along with the world's poor and marginalized, Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel!
P.S. a little side-note: You know in the "wisdom" verse when it says "teach us in her ways to go"? The reason they use the feminine pronoun there is because in the book of Proverbs, 'Wisdom' is personified as a woman, Sophia. Even the ancient Israelites knew women were pretty rockin.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
The Narrow Road
Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the road is easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it. For the gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few who find it."I used to think this verse was some kind of trick God's playing on us--an indication that only a few people would win the God-lottery. It looked to me like predestination (the idea that when you're born you're already destined for salvation or damnation) which was scary. Or else it looked like we could be saved by works, which (without even being really Lutheran) I was always thought was a terrible heresy.
~Matthew 7:13
Reading this verse this morning, it has a very different meaning. I'm much less concerned about "heaven" in the traditional sense these days. It seems to me that my own personal salvation from the guilt of sin so that I can go to heaven when I die is just not that important. I mean it's nice and all (I'm glad that I don't have to wallow in that guilt!) but I'm convinced that that's not all that Jesus was about.
I think that Jesus is talking about a way of life--a "road--that "lead's to life" in this world. Not just for me, but for all my neighbors--for everyone. I mean real, joyful life together, where we can bring each other joy, ease each other's pain, laugh and dance and sing and make beautiful things happen together. Thing is though, that's a hard road. If I'm going to really follow Jesus in loving my neighbor, I can't hang on to all my extra stuff when there are people without clothes or food or beds. It'll require me to face pain that I'd rather ignore. It requires--if I'm really following Jesus here-- bieng ready to die, just as he did, for a love that breaks the rules.
whoa.
That's a hard road. That's why grace is so great-- I'm bound to screw up. It's a narrow road, but not so narrow, I think, that we couldn't fit a couple of friends alongside.
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