Christ the King Sunday, Nov 21, 2010 - Lutheran Church of the Cross, Berkeley
Jeremiah 23:1-6; Palms 46; Colossians 1:11-20; Luke 23:33-43
So, today is Christ the King Sunday. It’s the day the Church is supposed to celebrate the image of Jesus as the great king, the one whose might and power has destroyed death, the one who rules over the kingdom of God, who brings us into paradise. On Christ the King Sunday we celebrate the glory and triumph of the risen Christ in all his splendour before we move on to Advent, and Christmas, and the images of Christ as a tiny baby in a manger. It is the last image we have of him in the church year, kind of a last hurrah, before we start all over again with the cycle of birth, life, suffering, death and Easter resurrection. Today is supposed to be a celebratory Sunday - it’s why we have the white paraments. It’s a feast day, and yet... Yet for me, this Sunday leaves me kind of cold.
I’ve never actually related to this Sunday. To tell you the truth, I’ve always avoided this Sunday. As a pastor, I managed to take this Sunday off every year, so this is actually the first time I’ve ever preached on Christ the King. There’s something about the imagery of this Sunday, the picture it paints for me of God that I just can’t relate to. I find it alienating, actually. This triumphant Christ, who comes in glory, victorious over all evil - I don’t really get it. That’s not how I understand God or Jesus, and these kinds of images make me feel really far from God.
Have you ever experienced that? Particular images of God that you just can’t relate to? Images of God that maybe even make you feel disconnected from God altogether? It might not be Christ the King - maybe that image works for you. But maybe there are other images of God that make it hard for you to feel like you’re connected to God; images that make you question what kind of relationship Christians are supposed to have with God, or more importantly, what kind of relationship God has with us.
After all, we’re all different. We are all looking for different things in our relationship with God, and so we all find that different images either work, or don’t work, for us. But I want to tell you today that that is not a bad thing. That is, that God actually provides us with a multitude of images of who God is, so that no matter where we’re coming from, we will always know that God is in relationship with us, and that God cares for us. So today, rather than focusing on only one image of God - that of Christ the King - I also want to explore a few other images that the Bible gives us, with the hope that these images might be helpful for you in your faith journey.
But the first image of God that I do want to look at is Christ the King. Although it doesn’t work for me personally, it is a good image. The God who relates to us a monarch, who takes care of us, protects us, gives us the answers when we don’t know what to do - this image is very comforting in certain situations. When we’re feeling lost and like things are completely beyond our control, when we feel threatened, it can be very comforting, very reassuring to know that through Christ, God is taking care of things, that God is looking out for us, that God is omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent. Sometimes that image of Father knows best - that kingly image - that image that we get from Karl Barth, of God as infinitely superior to us and in charge, sometimes that’s what we really need. It can bring us true and genuine comfort.
But sometimes it doesn’t. It doesn’t work when what we need is to feel less distance between us and God, when we need to feel like God is closer to us than high up on a throne. If God is king, then it means we are subjects, distant servants. If God is all-powerful up there, it means that we are power-less down here. For those of us who find meaning in a God who is closer and less distant than a monarch, this image doesn’t always work.
But we have another image, a more personal one, that of the Good Shepherd. Our reading from Jeremiah today gives us this image, God saying, “Then I myself will gather the remnant of my flock out of all the lands where I have driven them, and I will bring them back to their fold, and they shall be fruitful and multiply.” This image of God is seen in Psalm 23 - the God who cares for us, leads us to still waters, good pastures, protects us from wolves. The shepherd God lays down with us in the fields like all good shepherds do, goes searching for us when we’re lost - remember the parable in Luke? - picks us up when we are lonely little lambs and cares for us ever so gently and tenderly. God as shepherd is a lovely, pastoral image, that brings great comfort when we’re in need of personal gentleness and nurturing. It’s one of my favourites.
Sometimes. Sometimes it doesn’t work for me at all. Sometimes, to be honest, I don’t want to be a sheep. Sheep are kind of dumb, they don’t think for themselves, they’re defenseless in the face of violence, they’re like perpetual children - never growing or maturing or developing. The image of God as a shepherd is certainly much more personal than that of God as a monarch, and yet it’s still one that upholds a hierarchy. They are both images that highlight the authoritative nature of God’s relationship with us. They’re both images that maintain a power differential between us and God.
Well, our Gospel reading from Luke today most definitely gives us a more democratic image. The passion stories all give us an image of the suffering and crucified Christ. This image shows us God in all weakness, co-sufferer with us, one of many victims of oppression. This image helps us live through times when we’ve been victimized, helps us to know that we are not alone in our suffering, gives us a reason to endure the trials of life because we know that God is with us. God as the crucified Christ is an image that works very well in liberation theology, an image that upholds the solidarity between God and us, and one that has given comfort to many people who have felt alienated by more powerful images of God.
On the other hand, though, as feminist theologians have rightly pointed out, this image of God has the potential to lead us to “idealize weakness and passivity” and lead us to “unjust suffering,” as Catherine Keller puts it. It can make suffering seem heroic. This image of God has been used to encourage victims to stay in their place, to suffer as Jesus did, it has unfortunately been used to keep the victims of domestic violence at home, under the thumbs of those who beat them. Not a very comforting image in those particular cases, is it?
There’s one last image of God that I want to look at today, this one also from Luke. Do you remember the story of the disciples on the way to Emmaus after the crucifixion of Jesus? There are two disciples leaving Jerusalem to walk to Emmaus after the events of Good Friday. They’re depressed because Jesus has been crucified, but as they walk along, a man appears to them who walks with them along the road, helps them to understand what the story of their crucified leader is all about, shares bread with them, and then disappears, but leaves them feeling hopeful and empowered to carry on to the rest of the disciples with the good news of Jesus’ resurrection. This image is of Christ as a relational companion - God walking with us in our journeys, not making decisions for us, or telling us what to do, but acting as a companion who offers us guidance and walks where we choose to walk. This God lives with us through change, relates to us as equals on the road, definitely works for those of us who feel the need for companionship on our paths of self-determination and independence. On most days, this is the image of God that I feel most in relationship with.
Which is not to say that this image of God is the best one. I know, it sounds like I can’t make up my mind, but my intent this morning hasn’t been to establish a hierarchy of images, to say that one particular image of God is better than any other. The relational image of God has its own problems: it doesn’t work for people who need more authority and clarity. It doesn’t work in situations when we don’t have the confidence to walk on our own, or when we feel like every decision we make is the wrong one. When we really need to know that God is taking care of us, this image can cause immense stress, leaving us feeling alone and abandoned in our time of need. This image, like all the rest, doesn’t work for everybody all the time.
But that’s really the point of what I’m trying to say. The point is that there is no one single image of God that is perfect, no one single image of God that will work forever and for all situations. But that’s because God is more than just one image. God is more than just the king, more than just the shepherd, more than just the sufferer, more even than our friend. God is all of these things, and more. We don’t have to restrict ourselves to proclaiming only one image of God - Christ the King, for instance - because God gives us more than one image. As we see so clearly now from the Scriptures, God gives us a multitude of images to relate to. And God does it because God wants to be with you wherever you are. God wants you to feel that God is in relationship with you no matter what your situation. From up on high to down with us, God wants you to know that God is with you, always. Thanks be to God, Amen.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Our Children are not God - ULC Chapel, Berkeley
Genesis 22:1-14
Romans 6:1b-11
Matt 10:24-39
Boy, the story from Genesis today is deeply disturbing, isn’t it? It shouldn’t be - this is not the first time in the Bible that death has been demanded. The whole population of the earth, minus Noah and his family, has already been drowned in forty days and nights of rain. By contrast, Isaac is just one person. But he is a child. And I think that’s what really gets us - that a child’s life hangs in the balance. We are deeply troubled, and perhaps even outraged, that not only does God demand the sacrifice of a child, but that Abraham, this child’s father, obeys without protest - odd, given that he protested the destruction of Sodom quite aggressively - and that Sarah, this child’s mother, is silent. Or silenced, however you want to interpret her absence. This story is deeply upsetting for the way in which Abraham is to end the life of his “only son,” the one whom he loves, by knife on a pile of wood for a burnt offering. It is terrible when Isaac addresses Abraham so trustingly as “Father,” only to have his father dissemble, and it is horrifying when Abraham has gone so far as to have the knife in his upraised hand before God intervenes. From beginning to end, this story flies against every survival-of-the-species instinct we have, and it is deeply upsetting.
Oh, and mind you, it’s not just the Genesis text that does this, either. The Matthew text is no better, with father set against son, mother against daughter, no peace but the sword, and “whoever loves father or mother … or son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.” It’s not as graphic as the story of Isaac, but it’s just as bad. Once again we are faced with the death of children - perhaps grown children, perhaps not, and we are told that those of us who would try to love our children the way that seems natural - as the most important thing in our life, are being less the people that God wants us to be.
So what are we to make of these readings? How are we to interpret God’s commands, and Abraham’s swift reaction? How are we to understand these words of Jesus that seem to contradict his message of love? Well, when it comes to the Genesis reading, we could say that these are patriarchal texts that are meant to reinforce the male authority of both religion and family, which is why Sarah is left out of the picture. Or we could say that this is one of those rare examples in the Bible that is meant to show us the frailty and weakness of Abraham and is a model of “how not to parent” more than anything else. We could argue that the text in Matthew is a later addition, and that Jesus never actually said that. Or we could say that the author of Matthew was writing during a time of persecution, and so his Jesus takes on the tone of times.
I’m going to propose, though, that we take Jesus’ words and Abraham’s story at face value. That this morning we keep the interpretations simple, that we trust that this is like many other stories, though not all, that are trying to teach by example, and that what it says is what it means. I am going to propose that both of these readings are about the First Commandment - You shall have no other gods before me.
So, let’s look at that First Commandment, and in particular, Luther’s explanation of it in the Small Catechism. “You shall have no other gods before me. What does this mean? That you shall fear, love, and trust only God.” You shall fear, love, and trust only God. What Luther is saying is that the things we fear, the things we love, and the things we trust become our Gods. The things that we think about constantly, the things that we worry about, the things that we put all our efforts towards making happen, the things that we will do anything for, all these things become our Gods. What would you do to protect the things, and the people, you love? What would you do to prevent from happening the things that you fear? How far would you go? Would you break the commandments? Violate God’s covenant of love? Put aside God completely in order to “do what you have to do?”
To be honest, I don’t know always know the right answer to those questions. Call me crazy, but sometimes I think about what might happen if someone broke into my house with a gun and threatened to shoot my family. I can’t say for certain what I would do, and it’s one reason among a very many that I’m glad I don’t have a gun in the house. I am glad that I have not had to test whether or not I am putting my child before God. I suspect it’s coming pretty close, though. We have an online photo account with pictures of my son that we started when we was born, where we can put up pictures of him for our extended family who is all over the country. After two years, I noticed that we have almost 2,000 pictures up of him, and almost 20,000 “views” or hits on those pictures. A family member’s entire Grade Five class sent him birthday cards. We have hours - days - of video footage of him, that I make into DVDs and send to the family. With all the time and energy we spend on him, if that’s not loving someone more than God, I don’t know what is.
But it’s more than just love. It’s fear, too. For some reason, what children really highlight for us is the fear of death. Their death, and our death. Perhaps it’s the extreme vulnerability of children that reminds us of our own indefensibility against death. Illnesses treat them harder; they are less likely to survive accidents. The thought of my child’s death, of any child’s death actually, paralyzes me. I have to be careful what I read in the news, or what TV show I stop on when I’m flipping through the channels. Anything that deals with the death of a child is enough to ruin my whole night. That whole earthquake thing in China, with all of those one-child-per-family families losing their one child - ugh, I can’t even think about it. I fear it, death. To be honest, I think I actually do fear it more than I fear God.
And I wonder if Abraham was in the same boat as me. Internet-technology aside, how could he not love Isaac, and how could he not fear his death, to the point of idolatry? This was Isaac, after all, his only son with Sarah, his heir, the one who would carry his name and his blood through to the nations after him. Isaac’s death would mean the death of Abraham’s line, the death of God’s promise, the death of everything he had worked for when he left Ur. Abraham had already let his love for Isaac bind him to Sarah’s behaviour towards Hagar, behaviour that resulted in Hagar and Ishmael, Abraham’s first son, being driven out into the desert, where they would have died if God had not stepped in. Flatly stated, it was love for Isaac that allowed Sarah, with Abraham as an encouraging accessory, to attempt murder. There weren’t any “Ten Commandments” at that point, but God’s followers still knew that killing another person was wrong. Abraham was, as parents are wont to do, putting his son above God.
But the truth is that children are not meant to be the be-all and end-all of our existence. As counter-intuitive and counter-survivalist as it might sound, children are not our life. They do not provide an out when it comes to our own death. Only God is capable of that. As Paul reminds us over and over again throughout Romans, God, through Christ, brings us through death to new life. God created us in the very beginning, and God raises us again to new life at the very end. Our children, however much we love them, cannot do that. They are the created, not the Creator.
Which is a good thing. A very good thing. It means, at the very least, that we do not need to fear the death of our children. I remember when I was pregnant, I had just passed the 26 week mark in my pregnancy, and I was talking to a colleague on the phone telling her how relieved I was that it was past 26 weeks. You see, doctors don’t resuscitate babies born before 26 weeks, because there is just too little chance of survival. I remember saying to my friend, “Now I know my baby will have a chance.” And I remember my friend, whose son was born at the 28 week mark, gently reminding me that my baby was not mine, but God’s, and that when she was going through the agonizing process of having her son in intensive care for three months following his birth, and living through the following years of developmental delays, both temporary and permanent, she always reminded herself that her son was not hers, but God’s. And she is right. Our children are not our own, they are God’s. And that means that their lives, and their deaths, are in the hands of God, just like ours are. There are no better arms to care for them, no one more loving, more capable, or better at caring for our children than God.
You see the First Commandment isn’t there to threaten us. It isn’t there to say, “Love God, or else.” And God’s command to Abraham to sacrifice Isaac I don’t believe was a threat. God wasn’t saying, “You love Isaac too much so now I have to take him away.” Jesus’ words in Matthew, well - I’m still working on those. But in the first two cases, they aren’t threats, but reminders and comforts. We fear, love, and trust God because who else is better at taking care of us? Only God is able, and willing, to bring us back from death. God’s entire message to Abraham, including Isaac’s replacement with a sacrificial ram - let’s not forget that part - was that God was going to protect Isaac, and do a better job of it than Abraham could. God is not malicious - God knows what it is to lose a child - but God does want to remind us that in the face of death, our children’s and our own, it is God who will bring us new life. We have seen God do it with Abraham and Isaac, we see God do with Jesus Christ, and we will see God do it with us. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Romans 6:1b-11
Matt 10:24-39
Boy, the story from Genesis today is deeply disturbing, isn’t it? It shouldn’t be - this is not the first time in the Bible that death has been demanded. The whole population of the earth, minus Noah and his family, has already been drowned in forty days and nights of rain. By contrast, Isaac is just one person. But he is a child. And I think that’s what really gets us - that a child’s life hangs in the balance. We are deeply troubled, and perhaps even outraged, that not only does God demand the sacrifice of a child, but that Abraham, this child’s father, obeys without protest - odd, given that he protested the destruction of Sodom quite aggressively - and that Sarah, this child’s mother, is silent. Or silenced, however you want to interpret her absence. This story is deeply upsetting for the way in which Abraham is to end the life of his “only son,” the one whom he loves, by knife on a pile of wood for a burnt offering. It is terrible when Isaac addresses Abraham so trustingly as “Father,” only to have his father dissemble, and it is horrifying when Abraham has gone so far as to have the knife in his upraised hand before God intervenes. From beginning to end, this story flies against every survival-of-the-species instinct we have, and it is deeply upsetting.
Oh, and mind you, it’s not just the Genesis text that does this, either. The Matthew text is no better, with father set against son, mother against daughter, no peace but the sword, and “whoever loves father or mother … or son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.” It’s not as graphic as the story of Isaac, but it’s just as bad. Once again we are faced with the death of children - perhaps grown children, perhaps not, and we are told that those of us who would try to love our children the way that seems natural - as the most important thing in our life, are being less the people that God wants us to be.
So what are we to make of these readings? How are we to interpret God’s commands, and Abraham’s swift reaction? How are we to understand these words of Jesus that seem to contradict his message of love? Well, when it comes to the Genesis reading, we could say that these are patriarchal texts that are meant to reinforce the male authority of both religion and family, which is why Sarah is left out of the picture. Or we could say that this is one of those rare examples in the Bible that is meant to show us the frailty and weakness of Abraham and is a model of “how not to parent” more than anything else. We could argue that the text in Matthew is a later addition, and that Jesus never actually said that. Or we could say that the author of Matthew was writing during a time of persecution, and so his Jesus takes on the tone of times.
I’m going to propose, though, that we take Jesus’ words and Abraham’s story at face value. That this morning we keep the interpretations simple, that we trust that this is like many other stories, though not all, that are trying to teach by example, and that what it says is what it means. I am going to propose that both of these readings are about the First Commandment - You shall have no other gods before me.
So, let’s look at that First Commandment, and in particular, Luther’s explanation of it in the Small Catechism. “You shall have no other gods before me. What does this mean? That you shall fear, love, and trust only God.” You shall fear, love, and trust only God. What Luther is saying is that the things we fear, the things we love, and the things we trust become our Gods. The things that we think about constantly, the things that we worry about, the things that we put all our efforts towards making happen, the things that we will do anything for, all these things become our Gods. What would you do to protect the things, and the people, you love? What would you do to prevent from happening the things that you fear? How far would you go? Would you break the commandments? Violate God’s covenant of love? Put aside God completely in order to “do what you have to do?”
To be honest, I don’t know always know the right answer to those questions. Call me crazy, but sometimes I think about what might happen if someone broke into my house with a gun and threatened to shoot my family. I can’t say for certain what I would do, and it’s one reason among a very many that I’m glad I don’t have a gun in the house. I am glad that I have not had to test whether or not I am putting my child before God. I suspect it’s coming pretty close, though. We have an online photo account with pictures of my son that we started when we was born, where we can put up pictures of him for our extended family who is all over the country. After two years, I noticed that we have almost 2,000 pictures up of him, and almost 20,000 “views” or hits on those pictures. A family member’s entire Grade Five class sent him birthday cards. We have hours - days - of video footage of him, that I make into DVDs and send to the family. With all the time and energy we spend on him, if that’s not loving someone more than God, I don’t know what is.
But it’s more than just love. It’s fear, too. For some reason, what children really highlight for us is the fear of death. Their death, and our death. Perhaps it’s the extreme vulnerability of children that reminds us of our own indefensibility against death. Illnesses treat them harder; they are less likely to survive accidents. The thought of my child’s death, of any child’s death actually, paralyzes me. I have to be careful what I read in the news, or what TV show I stop on when I’m flipping through the channels. Anything that deals with the death of a child is enough to ruin my whole night. That whole earthquake thing in China, with all of those one-child-per-family families losing their one child - ugh, I can’t even think about it. I fear it, death. To be honest, I think I actually do fear it more than I fear God.
And I wonder if Abraham was in the same boat as me. Internet-technology aside, how could he not love Isaac, and how could he not fear his death, to the point of idolatry? This was Isaac, after all, his only son with Sarah, his heir, the one who would carry his name and his blood through to the nations after him. Isaac’s death would mean the death of Abraham’s line, the death of God’s promise, the death of everything he had worked for when he left Ur. Abraham had already let his love for Isaac bind him to Sarah’s behaviour towards Hagar, behaviour that resulted in Hagar and Ishmael, Abraham’s first son, being driven out into the desert, where they would have died if God had not stepped in. Flatly stated, it was love for Isaac that allowed Sarah, with Abraham as an encouraging accessory, to attempt murder. There weren’t any “Ten Commandments” at that point, but God’s followers still knew that killing another person was wrong. Abraham was, as parents are wont to do, putting his son above God.
But the truth is that children are not meant to be the be-all and end-all of our existence. As counter-intuitive and counter-survivalist as it might sound, children are not our life. They do not provide an out when it comes to our own death. Only God is capable of that. As Paul reminds us over and over again throughout Romans, God, through Christ, brings us through death to new life. God created us in the very beginning, and God raises us again to new life at the very end. Our children, however much we love them, cannot do that. They are the created, not the Creator.
Which is a good thing. A very good thing. It means, at the very least, that we do not need to fear the death of our children. I remember when I was pregnant, I had just passed the 26 week mark in my pregnancy, and I was talking to a colleague on the phone telling her how relieved I was that it was past 26 weeks. You see, doctors don’t resuscitate babies born before 26 weeks, because there is just too little chance of survival. I remember saying to my friend, “Now I know my baby will have a chance.” And I remember my friend, whose son was born at the 28 week mark, gently reminding me that my baby was not mine, but God’s, and that when she was going through the agonizing process of having her son in intensive care for three months following his birth, and living through the following years of developmental delays, both temporary and permanent, she always reminded herself that her son was not hers, but God’s. And she is right. Our children are not our own, they are God’s. And that means that their lives, and their deaths, are in the hands of God, just like ours are. There are no better arms to care for them, no one more loving, more capable, or better at caring for our children than God.
You see the First Commandment isn’t there to threaten us. It isn’t there to say, “Love God, or else.” And God’s command to Abraham to sacrifice Isaac I don’t believe was a threat. God wasn’t saying, “You love Isaac too much so now I have to take him away.” Jesus’ words in Matthew, well - I’m still working on those. But in the first two cases, they aren’t threats, but reminders and comforts. We fear, love, and trust God because who else is better at taking care of us? Only God is able, and willing, to bring us back from death. God’s entire message to Abraham, including Isaac’s replacement with a sacrificial ram - let’s not forget that part - was that God was going to protect Isaac, and do a better job of it than Abraham could. God is not malicious - God knows what it is to lose a child - but God does want to remind us that in the face of death, our children’s and our own, it is God who will bring us new life. We have seen God do it with Abraham and Isaac, we see God do with Jesus Christ, and we will see God do it with us. Thanks be to God. Amen.
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