Yeah, I know I haven't blogged in a month or so, but thanks to those of you who keep checking and hoping for little bits of things I say to tick them off spiritually. I think that's probably formative. You're welcome.
Yesterday I djembe-ed, sang and preached (or lay-exhorted, if that keeps the CRC happy). This blog entry is my attempt to summarize my sermon, and provide a less sojourning way of understanding what I was saying rather than trying to sift through my cruddy rhetoric off the pulpit. Here's the basic gist:
If you haven't read Søren Kierkegaard's parable, "The King and the Maiden", you should now. I will attach it as the first comment on this blog.
Advent has been too far removed from Lent in our Christian minds. We often baptize our gift-giving frenzy at Christmas by saying that we model our gift-giving after God's gift of Jesus. However, the "gift" of Jesus was more like the sacrificial lamb given to Old Testament Hebrew families which ended up being re-gifted to God to satisfy His desire for atonement.
Kierkegaard's parable points out questions we often bury so that it doesn't rattle our spiritual cages: if God is all-powerful, why doesn't he _______? The ultimate of these questions is why would God put the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil in the Garden of Eden? Sadism? Do we tempt our teething infants with razorblades? This is a question Catechism classes have left me with. I have not heard a better explanation than the one I taught Sunday.
The Christian life is God's love story. As with the King in Kierkegaard, God's hands are tied by his kingliness. He could have created us with no option to sin in the garden, but that would have rendered us slaves. Love, which is presumably a creation of God, is, in its own nature, a two way street. Love needs an out. There are two options for relationships such as ours with God: love (or a derivation of love such as hate) OR servitude. Think about marriage. Marriage works because divorice exists. Marriage works because a choice is made. Marriage works because of a choice for love and commitment, BUT it also is dependent on a choice to be made for NOT divorice. Forced marriages, where the wife is required by religious or societal fears and pressures to remain faithful do not foster love, they foster servitude. Can they foster love? Possibly. But, the husband can NEVER know for sure that the wife loves him unless she freely chooses NOT to leave.
The second strain to this story is that the King in this story MUST become a peasant in order to gain love from the maiden. He gives up many things to accomplish this. The King was not the King among people, but the King with people. He had to deal with everything the people dealt with. This is Christ, God himself, coming down to earth to be God with us. Christ was necessary for atonment, for sure. But, if that's all he was good for, then the Father could have had him crucified at age 20, or even 15. But that's far too utilitarian a view of Christ. Christ came to show us the methodology of God's infatuous love for humanity. We see in Christ what love for people means. People who love people like God loves people are attracted to those who suffer, who struggle, and who are despised. If you love yourself, you are attracted to those who can help you, those above you in social standing. Check your temperature in this respect. Christ lived that, as well. Isaiah 53 says there was nothing about Christ that would attract us to him. He was despised and rejected by men. He wasn't just human, he was a loser. His personality and social position was designed to reach those for whom he came. If he had a God entourage, he never would have reached the lepers, the tax collectors, and the prostitutes.
The crux of this message is that the incarnation signals a message of hope for those who suffer through humanity's mess, and a direction for those who are looking to serve. If the Church functions according to God's love story, then the sufferers and the ministers will be connected. For God so loved the world that he gave his only son....
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The King and the Maiden
By Søren Kierkegaard
Suppose there was a king who loved a humble maiden. The king was like no other king. Every statesman trembled before his power. No one dared breathe a word against him, for he had the strength to crush all opponents. And yet this mighty king was melted by love for a humble maiden who lived in a poor village in his kingdom. How could he declare his love for her? In an odd sort of way, his kingliness tied his hands. If he brought her to the palace and crowned her head with jewels and clothed her body in royal robes, she would surely not resist-no one dared resist him. But would she love him?
She would say she loved him, of course, but would she truly? Or would she live with him in fear, nursing a private grief for the life she had left behind? Would she be happy at his side? How could he know for sure? If he rode to her forest cottage in his royal carriage, with an armed escort waving bright banners, that too would overwhelm her. He did not want a cringing subject. He wanted a lover, an equal. He wanted her to forget that he was a king and she a humble maiden and to let shared love cross the gulf between them. For it is only in love that the unequal can be made equal.
The king, convinced he could not elevate the maiden without crushing her freedom, resolved to descend to her. Clothed as a beggar, he approached her cottage with a worn cloak fluttering loose about him. This was not just a disguise – the king took on a totally new identity – He had renounced his throne to declare his love and to win hers.
The King and the Maiden
By Søren Kierkegaard
Suppose there was a king who loved a humble maiden. The king was like no other king. Every statesman trembled before his power. No one dared breathe a word against him, for he had the strength to crush all opponents. And yet this mighty king was melted by love for a humble maiden who lived in a poor village in his kingdom. How could he declare his love for her? In an odd sort of way, his kingliness tied his hands. If he brought her to the palace and crowned her head with jewels and clothed her body in royal robes, she would surely not resist-no one dared resist him. But would she love him?
She would say she loved him, of course, but would she truly? Or would she live with him in fear, nursing a private grief for the life she had left behind? Would she be happy at his side? How could he know for sure? If he rode to her forest cottage in his royal carriage, with an armed escort waving bright banners, that too would overwhelm her. He did not want a cringing subject. He wanted a lover, an equal. He wanted her to forget that he was a king and she a humble maiden and to let shared love cross the gulf between them. For it is only in love that the unequal can be made equal.
The king, convinced he could not elevate the maiden without crushing her freedom, resolved to descend to her. Clothed as a beggar, he approached her cottage with a worn cloak fluttering loose about him. This was not just a disguise – the king took on a totally new identity – He had renounced his throne to declare his love and to win hers.
Very interesting, Mark. I love how your message was a journey that returned to the source... Jesus and his great love for us. :) I'll have to check out more of Kierkegaard's stuff.
What a powerful story, man!
Thanks for the thoughts...
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