|
You’ve made it
through the holidays; you’ve feasted, shopped, enjoyed the mirth
and songs that tell the story of our savior’s birth.
And now we step into a brand new year, with fresh perspective
on the joys and struggles that we share, to venture forth, to dare some
new thing on our path to find the “word made flesh.”
So here’s a question that applies to any people on “the way”:
How, and when, and where will Christ appear in our own day?
This is a mystery worthy of attention.
If Christ has come to earth, to be the savior of us all,
Why does evil hold its grip upon the human soul?
If God has spoken, truly, in the prophets’ visions and in Joseph’s
dream,
Why does humankind still look so unredeemed?
Certain kinds of progress we have made since Jesus’ birth.
Democratic constitutions, medicine, and women’s basketball have come
upon the earth.
We can walk upon the moon, and cure malignancies.
But many nasty things remain. Bombs fall. Pain is felt.
Lost and tortured souls still wander on the streets.
Why, even centuries after Jesus birth,
does Jesus’ Kingdom take so long to come to earth?
And when it does appear, why such groans and labor to endure?
Why won’t Jesus just come back, to work his will and make the cure to
bring about the good we lack?
Consider, for example, just these minor flaws and fears.
Those of you who suffer through your teenage years,
longing to be popular, and free to get your bodies pierced as God
intended them to be—
why must those squares who raise you, who are so un-cool,
need to know whom you hang out with after school?
Or you adults, well dressed, well-coifed, well-fed,
perhaps not rich and famous, but at least not deep in debt,
wouldn’t life be nicer on your little plot of ground
if your spouse or friend would play the saint that you would like to
have around?
Our lives feel cursed by little grating imperfections.
The car breaks down, the kids are sick, your back is weak,
the mobile phone you coveted and bought turns obsolete.
But these are trivial and nothing much to dread
compared to torments in the larger sphere that hang above our heads:
Terrorist attacks, lost jobs, deficits, Fox News’ vicious tone,
and our famous Senator, Joe Lieberman, with that whiny nasal drone.
Why does God permit such menaces to rise and to persist?
Is God too weak, indifferent, or just unwilling to resist?
Anyone can see the ills that plague the world —violent and corrupt.
Why won’t God send Jesus once again, to clean it up?
But wait. Perhaps there is a deeper message to be heard.
Maybe we should be less quick to put our God on trial for being absurd,
or unjust.
Maybe God is hoping for some action out of us.
And so, I interject this foolish notion:
Imagine that our true devotion is to be Jesus for each other.
You heard me right. Jesus for each other. In this place and time.
Could such a far-fetched notion lead us to the heavenly design?
Consider: God has come disguised, in human form, with human face,
Not to bring about what we would call perfection in the human race,
Not to end all woe, or make all struggles cease.
God gives us a task, one simple and within our reach.
We are Jesus for each other, when we show up here,
to sing the hymns, to pray our prayers, to listen, and to be aware
of all that drives our spirits up or down, in joy and woe.
Jesus will come, but like a thief, at an unexpected hour
So we will have the chance to act with mercy, love, and power.
The God who came to earth in Jesus Christ is not a tyrant, not a
screamer,
Forcing us to be what we are not. God is subtle, like a dream or dreamer
Gently nudging us toward life, healing what is torn,
Bringing forth the Christ in us, when that Christ is willing to be born.
The universe is pregnant in this sense —
Great with power and with mercy, longing to take form.
So as we ponder Christ’s appearance, Christ’s Epiphany on earth,
let us not await the second birth as something from on high.
In this drama of Christ’s kingdom that breaks forth in human life,
God has given us the roles of bride, and of midwife.
When we are here, holding up each other,
imperfect as we are, damaged, burdened, or disgraced —
Here God’s love is born and takes a human face.
And when this life is over, whatever joys or trouble it may hold,
This we say, in hymns and creed and stories that are old,
When our life is finished, when our work and play are done,
whether we were cheerful or grumpy with our part,
we fall exhausted, perhaps still blind but with a heart,
perhaps still foolish, but richly blessed,
to find our place, to find our peace, at last in God’s arms, and in
God’s rest. |
