Tag: christianity

Advent anticipates the coming of the Word

When I was in elementary school, there was a club for boys called “Junior Deputy Sheriffs.” Besides an ID card, members got a little badge, which many boys wore proudly, usually pinned to the right jeans pocket.  My brother had been a member, and as soon as I was old enough – 9? 10? – I joined and pinned on my badge.  We felt important, part of the team, though our duties consisted only of attending a monthly meeting.  Looking back, I think the unspoken primary goal was to help prevent us from getting into trouble. 

The meetings were in the auditorium after school, maybe once a month.  It was led by an aging deputy, who helped us learn more about law enforcement. I think he may also have been a part-time preacher. Each meeting began with a “devotional” in which he read or had one of us read the first verses of the beginning of the Gospel of John – “In the beginning was the Word . . .”   I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who found this passage confusing.  And when I got chosen to read one time, it was challenging even though I was always among the best readers in my grade.   When I aged out of the organization, there were things I missed. Having to listen to John 1 was not among them.

Yet many years later, I led Morning Prayers in Appleton Chapel at Harvard on a day early in Advent.  It’s a short service, allowing 2-3 minutes for the homily. The text I chose to discuss — John 1. 

Then, many more years later, during the COVID-19 pandemic, a sheltered part of my family held our own Christmas Eve service.  For the homily, my son (by then a Harvard Divinity School graduate) spoke about “The Prophecy” and I “The Fulfillment.”  As I began my preparation, I felt led to rely on – you guessed it – John 1. 

Here’s what I said in the 1970s service at Harvard:

This, as you may or may not have been able to decipher through all the tinsel, is the season of Advent.  The word “advent” comes from the Latin roots ad – “to or toward” – and vent from venio – “to come.”  Thus, this is a season to celebrate the coming to us of someone or something. 

There are a number of ways of interpreting the meaning of Advent.  Parades beginning before Thanksgiving, in big cities, small towns and in between, interpret Advent to mean “the coming of Santa Claus.” 

I want briefly to offer the fourth gospel’s interpretation: the coming of the Word of God into the physical realm of existence.   I also want to attempt to suggest what “Word” means and what it is. 

John 1:14: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”  The concept of “The Word,” or Logos in Greek, as found in much of the religious thinking of the 1st Century Mediterranean world, is a topic for more time than I have, if not also more understanding.  Suffice it to say, it meant more than mere letters on a piece of parchment or an uttered sound.  Words were believed to be the essence of whose words they were.  “The Word was with God, and the Word was God.” (John 1:1)

I suggest that the Advent of the Word-made-flesh means we are free.  We are liberated.  Jesus said, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth and the truth will make you free.”  (John 8:31-32)

The Word came from God’s world — i.e., realm of being — to our world.  So, we know that God’s world exists.  We get a glimpse of it. This knowledge of a realm beyond our existence frees us from a lot of anxiety and uptightness.  It gives us the freedom to, as it were, “transcend” things such as institutions, customs, prejudices of this world that would seek to entrap us.

This knowledge does not, however, free us from responsibility toward this world.  Rather, it frees us to be responsible.  For, because of the Advent, our world is joined with God’s world, as the Word becomes flesh.  The difference between the two worlds is not a difference between “here” and “there,” but a difference between “here” and “more than here.”

We are freed not from having to love our fellow beings.  We are freed to love them.

And now to my suggestion of what the Word is: St. John tells us that the Word and God are one.  He, or someone with the same name, also tells us, “God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him.”  (1 John 4:16)

How this word was translated into human experience is the subject of all four gospels, but it can perhaps best be summed up into the word, “Love.”  The Word is God, and God is Love.  Love as exemplified by Jesus.

Another John — with another Paul — of our own time – that is Lennon and McCartney – express the whole idea in a song called “The Word”:  
“Say the word and you’ll be free” and “Have you heard, the Word is Love.”

______

Here are the thoughts I shared in our home service, Christmas Eve 2020:

At Christmas time in 1952, a couple of months before I turned 6, a sister of mine who was then in high school, joined with some of her friends to “adopt” a local family that would otherwise have a limited Christmas, at best. 

I wanted to help.  I dug five dimes out of my bank and gave them to her.  That 50 cents would be $4.88 today.  As I thought more about the needs of that family as compared to ours and about how surprisingly good I felt giving the money, I wondered if I was willing to do more. 

In my prized monetary hoard were two 50-cent pieces I was saving for no reason other than that I liked having them.  Could I possibly part with one?  Would I feel sad?  Dimes were a lot easier to replace.  Ultimately, I found myself taking out one of the 50-cent pieces and doubling my contribution.   What I felt was the direct opposite of sad. 

Then I read John 1:1-5:

1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being 4 in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overtake it.

“Word” here doesn’t mean speech.  It’s the Greek word logos, which in Greek philosophy refers the controlling principle in the universe.  I’ve heard it suggested that we translate it here as “God’s creative energy.”  This text also calls it life and light.  It has always existed and was exhibited in human form through Jesus.  This is the introduction to the story of Jesus as told in the Gospel of John.   It doesn’t start with shepherds and a manger, but with the Word — creative energy — of God becoming flesh — taking on human form.

So, here we have a guy who is God’s Word-creative energy-light in flesh and blood.  

Whew!

So, where do I fit in? 

The next couple of verses suggest an answer.  Verse 6 introduces John the Baptist.  It says, “He was not the Light but came to bear witness to the Light.”

I realize now that’s what I did that time back in ’52 (and I hope at other times since) — reflected that Light.  (And I would note that when something is reflecting light, it is also lighted by it — and often warmed as well). 

That’s our job, as we are reminded at Christmas — to bear witness to God’s Light.  Our pastor put it this way in his streamed sermon last Sunday: 

“You don’t have to be the Messiah to make yourself useful.”

Trying to re-find Paradise generated arts-based theology

During a summer ministerial job when I was in theological school, I led a weekend retreat for young adults and older teens.  It was a good group experience, with shared recreation, group-building exercises and thoughtful conversation.   A short time afterward, I was talking with a guy about my age who had participated.  He began to delve further into my being a seminary student.   Being skeptical but searching, he asked me the inevitable question: “Who or what is God?” 

I thought for a few moments and remembered one of the more significant exercises we had done on the retreat.   Each person takes a turn lying face-down on the floor while others tap firmly but gently on them, head to toe for a minute or so.  They press down, then roll the person, who remains limp, over and raise them high above their heads.   The feeling that one gets up there is beyond explanation.   One experiences many things, including complete trust. You know that — no matter what — those people won’t drop you.  That works even for certified acrophobes such as I.   So, I said, “You remember how you felt when you were up in the air in that exercise on the retreat?”  (And it’s worth noting he was the largest participant.)   He smiled and said, “Yeah.”   I replied, “That’s God.”   His response: “Dig it.”   

This guy is one of countless individuals I’ve encountered who are trying to know God.  I’m in this group, and I’m confident the ones I’ve encountered represent a small sample of those on this journey.   Often this search is for a limited God, not unlike one maybe heard about in Sunday School and/or John Milton’s “Paradise Lost.”   This search is, at best, incomplete; at worst, disillusioning.  

My religious upbringing was not completely fundamentalist but still quite “orthodox.”  It was slightly altered along the way though never shaken for 19 years.  But then one night during the spring of my freshman year in college, I was reading “Paradise Lost” for an English class.  Ironically, it was this that started a chain reaction in my mind, so that in about 10 minutes, the beliefs I had held my whole life to that point were wiped out.  Milton’s picture, so similar to what I had learned in Sunday School, was just so nice, that I suddenly realized it couldn’t be that way.  No three-level universe, no war in heaven and, to my horror, no Ruler in heaven.  The image this experience still brings to mind is that of a sandcastle disintegrating in the rising tide.  It just shows how shallow my faith really is, I thought at the time.  I’ve since learned it wasn’t shallow, just immature. 

I immediately began to try frantically to piece my theology back together and/or rebuild it.  I figured if there were a God, I’d better find “him” PDQ.   So, I directed a lot of attention and energy to trying to define “God.”  Every now and then, I would come up with some very systematic, step-by-step theory of what it was all about, just what “God” meant.  And the very moment I got the theory all spelled out in my head, I immediately realized it was baloney.   

This miserable time of being an atheist-wanting-to-be-a-theist went on for two or three years.  In my quest, I fell into some patterns that I suspect hinder a lot of people in the same situation.  I was trying too hard.  Yes, we do need to be diligent in trying to figure things out, but there’s a point of diminishing returns.  Sometimes we may be searching so hard for “God” (or the meaning of life, or Shalom or whatever term works for you), that we miss a small but significant clue that is right there.  Often, we base our search on a narrow concept of God.  Again, incomplete and potentially disillusioning.   

Finally, I resigned myself to the fact that I did not understand what, if anything, the term “God” meant and might not ever.  In this process, I subconsciously made the decision to affirm what did have meaning for me, rather than constantly being uptight about what didn’t.  That was the first positive step I had taken in some time toward rebuilding my personal theology.

I didn’t even realize at first that these affirmations were helping me understand the concept of “God.”  That realization developed slowly.  I continued to participate in many of the same “religious” activities, including Sunday morning worship at church and various gatherings of a student organization.  The rituals felt rather empty, but I got something out of being with the others.  There was a human connection that was more than human. 

Gradually, I came to understand that the connection with others – in religious and other settings, as well – was an experience of love.  It was real and beyond the physical realm.  I believed in this spiritual connection, whether or not I could define it or give it a name.   

And there was art.

Art in all forms, though especially music and poetry, has always appealed to more than just my five senses.   During that miserable time, I had no trouble continuing to affirm artistic expression and experience.  I didn’t feel miserable when hearing good music or reading a meaningful poem.  I came to appreciate that art has more than a physical dimension.   This reality helped me realize I wasn’t an atheist after all.  

The spiritual nature of human community reinforced this notion.  Finally giving that connection a name – “love” – led to understanding, at long last, the scriptural phrase “God is Love.”  To get to that understanding, I had to flip the phrase.  Reasoning that “if A=B, then B=A,” I said, “Love is God.”   Another piece of the puzzle.   

The arts helped me begin again to rebuild my personal theology.

I think that one way of understanding how we are created in our Creator’s image is that we too can be creators, albeit imperfect ones.  I am not suggesting we can all paint masterpieces, write quality poetry or compose fine music.  But we do have the potential to be creative.  Different individuals have potential that is developed further in particular areas.  We have the potential fully to appreciate art in any of its expressions, be it visual art, music, drama, poetry, etc., even if we are not blessed with the ability to produce it.  Yet, further, creativity, as given to us by our Creator, is not confined to what we think of as art.  Our Creator’s image within us, like our Creator, transcends boundaries and limitations. 

We can and should be creative in our occupation, in our relationships with others, in all aspects of our lives.   That is, we need to be open, innovative, aware of all the possibilities, conscious of what is going on inside and outside of our heads.  We need to utilize all our senses as well as components of our thought processes, without getting stuck in any particular one.   Stated overly simply, we need to avoid operating “in a rut.”  

If we truly become conscious of what is involved in a good poem, a moving piece of music or any other art form, we become aware of something more than this physical world.  To create music or poetry or any kind of art takes a power not of this realm of existence.   Experiencing this art – listening to or performing a song, reading a poem – allows us at least a glimpse of this realm.

Ultimately, what worship is all about is transcendence – not as a means of religious intoxication, but as an impetus and aid to active Christian (or substitute the name of your religion) living.   Through art, through creative expression, through utilization of God’s gift of creativity, we commune with our Creator. 

This understanding of theology evolved for me concurrently with my deepening understanding of the spiritual nature of human community, leading me to be more interested in and dedicated to worship renewal.  

Just as a side note, it is thus impossible for me to see any difference between “sacred” and “secular” when we talk about art.  Begin by looking at the genesis of classical music. Many of the fine pieces used for preludes and postludes were written without words to convey a sense of the presence of God.  Stained glass was put in the church windows not only to tell Bible stories, but also to evoke a sense of the Divine presence via their artistic quality and multicolored light shining through.   Songs don’t have to include “religious” words to connect us with God.

I do think, however, that we do at times need the use of traditional religious symbols.  For while it is good to experience the presence of God, it is even more joyous when we realize more fully that that is what we are doing.  These symbols can do the reminding.  But our dependence on them is due to our limitations.  It certainly isn’t due to God’s.  My spiritual journey over these decades has included redefining virtually every religious symbol, as well as many words and phrases I’ve heard quoted freely in church all my life. 

When I was a student at “the oldest Protestant graduate school of theology in the nation,” one of my favorite and most influential professors was Rabbi Murray Rothman.  In one class discussion, he reminded us – most eloquently – that God is infinitely greater than human understanding.  Any ‘god’ that you can understand could not possibly be God.

As noted earlier, accepting my limitations was a positive step forward.  We do not have to make God be there by searching frantically through the hymnal or the latest version of the Bible.  Nor is the Rock of Ages going to crumble because some people rest on it in “unorthodox” ways.