FROM THE BOUNDARY
I’m going to write about Jesus and what it is to be a ‘Christian’, and so bring my Lutheran ‘theses’ to an end.
In one of the best known sermons collected in his book ‘Strength to Love’, Martin Luther King refers to the ‘truth’ that no man is strong unless his character exhibits a profound antithesis which he’s able to blend. Then he speaks, like Jesus, of serpents and doves (see Matt 10:16). He tells us that a man should have “the toughness of the serpent and the softness of the dove, a tough mind and a tender heart”. I can think of no more succinct way of sketching the Christian life – though obviously those qualities are not peculiar to Christians – but I’d want to add that a “tough mind” is also prepared to respond to a call to action.
Those qualities were exhibited recently, I suggest, by the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church in the US, Michael Curry, in remarks he made in response to objections made to the involvement of the Washington National Cathedral at Trump’s inauguration. Curry acknowledged that “some of the values that many of us heard over the past year have seemed to be in contradiction to deeply held Christian convictions of love, compassion and human dignity”. But that, he said, was an opportunity for prayer – the work of the dove – just as prayers had been offered “on our knees” for those who’d opposed civil rights. Yes of course: “Father forgive them...” But then, he said, developing the comparison, “we got up off our knees and we marched to Washington” – the work of the serpent. “Following the way of Jesus, we prayed and protested at the same time.” What a wonderful precept. Do we, we Christians here, have the courage for it?
In contrast to Curry, Franklin Graham, Billy Graham’s son, suggested that God had intervened for Trump in his victory “to stop the godless, atheistic, progressive agenda from taking control of our country”. Well that, though wholly one-dimensional, pleased a lot of people. What a shock. Trump is, after all, a prophet, a man of God. He’s of God. He’s godly. God help him – and us.
But tell me, who gives appropriate expression to the voice of Jesus, Curry or Graham? Who properly reflects “the way, the truth and the life”? Indeed what is Jesus’ “way”? Do you think it is believing in this or that, like believing that he was a chip off the old block, the old man up in the sky, or that his Mum really was a virgin, or that he has a divinely appointed representative, the Pope, who, like the king, can do no wrong in a mantle of infallibility? Or is his “way” doing this or that, like going to church, or giving up things in Lent, or reading the Bible daily, like an apple a day? Did Jesus ever say that his “way” was any particular religion, or doctrine, or moral code? I don’t think so. So what are we left with? Well – with his “way”, his ‘take’ on life, a life that was authentically his – embracing it, living it, being touched by it, being drawn to it. It’s a “way” which reaches out to all men and for all time with all the toughness of the serpent and the softness of the dove, the tough mind and the tender heart. That’s how we come “by him” to the Father. And so, you see – shock and horror – you may well be on Jesus’ “way” even if you’ve never heard of him or if the word ‘God’ is meaningless to you.
You see, surely Jesus’ “way” is not belief in a set of fourth century doctrines. It’s not mirroring cultural attitudes long, long since abandoned. It’s not a ‘church’ he’s said to have founded or belief that he was a ‘Christian’. It’s not belief in the unbelievable or in places of reward or punishment. It’s not something rooted in fear, in myths, in primitive ‘God-language’. It’s not faith in books said to contain ‘ultimate truth’.
No. The “way” of love is none of these things. It’s a “way” which is real and rooted in all our lives. It’s a “way” which brings peace to those in anguish and recognises that even sorrow is holy in teaching us what life is all about. It’s a “way” of imagination, wonder and reverence for life which teaches us that all life is a sacred unity, a oneness, and that that this ‘reverence’, rooted in love for life, is the only ‘religion’ worth having. It’s a “way” which tells us that whatever happens to someone else happens also to us. It’s one which teaches us that we weren’t born to wear masks or to glorify the slavery of our attachments, or to be other than our own ‘still small voice’. It’s a “way” which frees us from the chains of the world and brings with it an understanding that no matter all our darknesses the arms of love ever abide with us though we kneel before neither priest nor altar nor cry, in our primitive way, “Lord, Lord”. And it’s a “way” which teaches us that ‘truth’ can’t be found in crowds in market places, but only in our own souls. He calls it God’s ‘kingdom’. It’s one which tells us that forgiving enemies is not for their sake but our own, and that love, for which the wise men searched, ever obliterates hate. The “way” Jesus lived roots us in the present, not the dead past nor the uncertain tomorrow, and it calls us to be joyful, to smile and laugh with all God’s creatures as we dance the dance of life. It tells us too that morality is sympathy not censure, and that love is the only gift worthy of God. It’s a “way” which pits us against the ignorant, the stiff-necked, the self-righteous, the conformists, the unimaginative, the respectable, the blinkered, the puffed-up, the unlistening – all those who seek to control and tyrannise us and turn us poor publicans into Pharisees. And yes, it’s a “way” this supreme individualist invites us to travel with him, to Emmaus and beyond.
Well, there you are. I’m 14 off my 95 theses. No matter. How can I compete with Luther? Besides, 81 reduces to nine, the perfect number – so I’m content. In any case, how can I shrink Jesus, the sacred heart, to a few staccato notes? Do you remember my prayer from the boundary last week: “Lord Jesus let me see your face” – and the answer “Look into the face of the first man you meet”? It really happened, you know. Well then, he’s your face, and yours, and yours no matter who you are or what you take yourself to be. Look at him in the mirror. Look into his eyes. Tell him you love him. Listen to his response.
Go safely, then – until the next time.
Last word from the boundary: “I cannot and will not recant anything. Here I stand. I can do no other.” – (Martin Luther).