We Three Kings?

My head is exploding. The Birth of the Messiah's commentary on the magi's visit to Jesus in Matthew 2:1-12 is fascinating and somewhat troubling. We sing "We Three Kings" reverently but uncritically. The magi are never said to be kings, nor specified to be only three in number, and furthermore the point of the story is that Jesus is the only real king. I do enjoy that hymn, but perhaps popular understanding of the magi has obscured what the gospel is trying to say.

One of the most important pieces of the story is that Jesus was born in Bethlehem, the town where David was anointed by the prophet Samuel as king. Thus the Micah prophecy is fulfilled. Again, Jesus fulfills the prophecies, the hopes and dreams of every heart. But Jesus is king from his birth; David must wait and wait for God's proper timing for his anointing. 

Throughout Jesus' lifetime there is a dual motif of acceptance/worship and rejection/persecution. Even as an infant, he is not universally loved. There is something comforting about this. If even Jesus Christ, the Son of God, is disliked by some, can we really expect anything different? 

Interestingly, it is the priests and Sanhedrin who correctly quote Scripture, that the Messiah is to be born in Bethlehem and will shepherd Israel. They know the Bible backwards and forwards. But they miss out on the miracle of Christmas, while the pagans meet the infant Son of God! How tragic! Why? They aren't paying attention. Following God is about way more than just knowing the right answers, reading your Bible and listening to the sermons. It's also about keeping your eyes open to see what God is doing. Christmas asks that we have a real, living faith that is sensitive to God's actions in the world. We have to keep our eyes peeled and our ears on alert, or we just might miss out on Christmas like the priests did. Christmas, Immanuel, comes every day if we are looking.

Furthermore, "You shall shepherd my people Israel," God says of the coming Messiah. Originally, God spoke these words to King David upon his crowning. Matthew says these words are rightly to be applied to Jesus. Thus, Jesus is the only true Shepherd and King. Herod is not the king; the priests are not the shepherd. Christmas demands, then, that we ask ourselves, like the magi did, who the kings of our lives are and dethrone them, prostrating ourselves instead before the Son of God. For American Christians, the "king" is probably not our government, unless we are putting our faith in the government, which unfortunately a minority of Americans do. Instead, our false kings could be career, money, even family. For me sometimes it's good grades or ambition. Similarly, our true Shepherd is Jesus Christ. God does call some people to be pastors, shepherds over the church. But that's always shepherd with a small "s." We can't put our trust in pastors. And pastors can't trust themselves as the ultimate shepherd, because only Jesus can really care for people's souls, and care of the soul ultimately means connecting people to the Great Shepherd. This, too, is a lesson of Christmas.

There is a lot of OT background in the story of the magi. There's a passage in Isaiah 59 that says, "Be enlightened, O Jerusalem, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen (like the star in Matthew is said to have risen) upon you... The wealth of the nations will come to you, all those from Sheba will come bringing gold and frankincense, and proclaiming the salvation of our Lord." God's promise is faithful. Ultimately, as the magi come to Jesus, as Jesus' advent ultimately incorporates the Gentiles more thoroughly into the people of God than ever before, Israel is ultimately edified. When "outsiders" worship Jesus, the "insiders" gain wealth, the "insiders" hear the word of God's salvation. The church has to remember that. We are no longer the Gentiles. Every person who we don't think belongs in church is a Gentile, and when they worship Jesus we experience salvation in new ways. I pray that the church today just won't be like the priests in the story of the magi and miss out on it all.

But we are not just the Jews in this story. We are also the kings, especially the rich American church. Although my bank account has lately seemed like a leaky faucet, I am ridiculously wealthy and privileged by global standards. I'm a twenty year old female without a bunch of babies. I'm going to graduate from college. I don't go to bed hungry, except when I'm so busy I forget to make it to the dining hall. I must humble myself before the boy-king. I have to admit that my money, good luck, and brains are really nothing compared to the glory of the Son of God. I have to bring the best that I have for him and know that it's nothing, nothing, next to what he did for me the first Christmas, at Cavalry, and every day of my life. 

Similarly, the word "homage" which Matthew uses hearkens back to the royal Psalm 72:10-11, "May the kings of Sheba and Saba bring gifts; may all the kings pay him homage." But the point is that the kings of the earth worship Jesus, and so Jesus is the realest, truest king. There is so much in this story! So much. I guess I'll keep singing, "We Three Kings," while praying that I and the church worship Jesus as King. 

Conceivably

"Conceivably" is a word my father uses a lot to just mean "possibly," so I grew up using it too. It took me a long time to realize that conceiving refers to something more than simple possibility. And yet the infancy narratives are pregnant (pardon the bad pun) with possibility, like a Christmas tree with shiny gifts beneath that you know will be exciting and wonderful, but exactly what they are, you don't yet know. Jesus is always that way; we will never exhaust his possibility, power, or splendor.

I have been reading the commentary on the conception in Matthew's gospel in the Birth of the Messiah book I'm tackling over break. It has some big surprises, parts of which make slightly uncomfortable. For instance, the angel says to Joseph that Mary is "with child through the Holy Spirit." Raymond Brown, the author of this book, explains that this "through" emphasizes Jesus was conceived in a non-sexual way. Furthermore, the Holy Spirit was feminine in Hebrew and neuter in Greek, so there's no hint that the Holy Spirit is a male agent impregnating Mary. Jesus is conceived through the creative action of the Holy Spirit.

Why does this make me uncomfortable? Because Christians are continually, and often rightly, accused of being uncomfortable with sex. (Of course, the Bible does celebrate sex as one of God's good gifts, the Song of Songs being a primary example.) A virginal conception that deliberately avoids sex does not help our bad image in this regard. I guess the answer is that Jesus is fundamentally different from all of humanity. Jesus, although fully human, is not like the rest of us, so he had to be conceived differently. It's not that sex is dirty, but that Jesus is ontologically (philosophy coursework is coming in handy!) other from the rest of humanity. I'm still a bit uncomfortable with the virginal conception. I admit it. I'm hoping reading and reflecting further will help me understand.

The angel goes on to command Joseph to name his son "Jesus," because "he will save his people from their sins." The original meaning of the Hebrew name "Yeshua," the Greek equivalent of which is "Jesus," was "YHWH helps." But popular etymology led people to think it meant "YHWH saves." That's one of many examples of the fact the Bible is not a history or science book. The angel graciously speaks in the idiom of the people to communicate the saving power of Jesus. Just like Matthew uses a genealogy, which would have been important to Jews of his day, his angel uses popular, not linguistically proper, etymology, to convey the good news. So churches and Christians have to find new ways that speak to people today the timeless unchanging gospel.

Here's something else interesting here. Matthew is writing against adoptionist Christology that says Jesus was only Christ, or only God's Son, at the time of the resurrection or baptism by John the Baptist. By including the infancy narrative and the virginal conception, Matthew emphasizes that Jesus was the Son of God during his whole time on earth. Interestingly, there's a grain of truth the adoptionist heresies. Orthodox Christians should affirm that Jesus was uniquely exalted upon his resurrection and ascension into heaven. And the biblical accounts of Jesus' baptism portray, in my view, Jesus accepting his unique vocation of sonship and God the Father affirming that vocation. (Good to know it took Jesus until thirty to discern his vocation! That should comfort those of us who go back and forth on what we think we are called to do. Which reminds me; I don't know if I've ever heard a sermon preached on Jesus' baptism, and I think you could easily wring a good month of sermons out of that story and change hearts in the process. Anyway...) But Matthew says Jesus always was the Son of God. Now, according to Raymond Brown, Matthew and Luke do not espouse preexistence Christology like that of John-- "In the beginning was the Word." They don't deny preexistence; they just don't advance it. I'm not sure I agree completely with Brown given the Jewish conception of deity and certain aspects of Matthew and Luke's gospels. Both implicitly and occasionally explicitly highlight Jesus' divinity. Can a divine being have a beginning? I don't think a Jewish monotheist could say yes. 
But I'm getting off into the weeds. The point is that the biblical authors should be read in dialogue, with each other and with false teaching. The church has to listen to the biblical witnesses together and separately, and apply the timeless gospel to the false teachings of the day. I don't think there are many adoptionists, per se, in our midst today. But there are people who insist on the humanity of Jesus in ways that tread on his divinity. Christmas holds together the paradox of Jesus, son of David, son of God. I'll continue to think about other contemporary issues the Christmas story can address.
Here's another controversy in Matthew, one that conservative Christians and skeptics have woefully misunderstood. He quotes Isaiah 7:14 in reference to Mary and writes in Greek: "The virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel, which means, God with us." Now, the Isaiah passage in Hebrew reads "young woman," not virgin, and does not refer to an extraordinary child at all, let alone a Messiah. The child, conceived and borne quite normally, is supposed to be a sign to Israel to continue hoping in God. That's all. So was Matthew just stupid? Was his copy of the OT messed up? This gets into some complicated textual issues I don't understand about the LXX (Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible) and Syriac translations.
But the lessons for the church are manifold here. Most importantly, Jesus is the ultimate sign of God's presence and the fulfillment of all prophecies and signs. I could never say it in my public liberal arts college philosophy and religion courses, but I do believe Jesus Christ is the true fulfillment of all these prophecies and religious hopes. Muslims find hope in the sunna of Muhammad, a perfect man to show the way. Sound like Jesus, anyone? Plato thought to agathon, the good, is the highest Form that holds all things together, holy and inscrutable, knowledge of which is salvation. Sound like the Trinity, Which is Love? Of course Jesus is the best fulfillment of the Isaiah prophecy, and any prophecy. Jesus is God with us. 
Also, the Greek Matthew uses in his citation of Isaiah 7:14 says en gastri hexei (found to be with child), which is not present in the LXX verse but is a phrase throughout the LXX referring to births of important patriarchs and judges. Jesus is like them, incorporates their greatness, and yet surpasses them. Isaac was not God-with-us in the same way Jesus is, and to the extent that Isaac was great or important or utilized by God, this is only because of Jesus. En gastri hexei-- the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.
I have hundreds of pages left to read, so there's plenty left to say about the infancy narratives! I haven't even gotten to questions of historicity yet; I'm definitely talking and thinking about them soon, though. 
More to come! Let's see if I can finish the book by Christmas! 

Peace Out?

Lately I've been thinking about peace. I've been feeling a lack of peace in my life lately. I guess the relentless onslaught of papers and reading assignments and the constant feeling I'm not doing enough-- whatever "enough" is-- have been getting to me. 
In frustration, during the group prayer at my campus ministry worship service, I prayed, "God, give us the peace of Christ, in our hearts and among us." I might have sounded calm, but on the inside I was really challenging God, demanding he give us peace. 
God, make me patient right now! God, I want peace right now! God, give me a Spark Notes spirituality, a whack-em-on-the-counter biscuit bread of life. 
Thanks be to God, who does not give me everything I want. 
Listening to the Truman orchestra play, I felt God's presence in a way I had not felt for a long time. We did not need many words, mostly just my attention. One of the songs was called "Pas de deux," which I thought looked kind of like "Peace of God," although apparently it's some special ballet term. Whatever. My poor French led me to think, together with the Holy Spirit, about what God's peace is as I sat and listened.
And in the music I felt the ebb and flow, the movement, quick terms, devastating falls and heavenly heights... That is where the peace of Christ is.
In the gospel of John, Jesus promises to give his peace to his disciples. When I have felt overwhelmed, depressed, alienated from God, or simply stressed by the stresses of life, I've thrown this promise sarcastically back at God. You promised me peace, didn't you? Then why am I feeling this way? The prayer after worship on Thursday was one of those times. 
Tonight, in God's presence in the performing arts hall, God reminded me Jesus said those words before he was to betrayed and led to the cross. The peace of Jesus, then, is anything but naive and easy. 
It is, I think, the trust to live in the anguish, depression, stress, conflict, whatever that God calls us to. And in that trust, to believe that we can do everything through Christ who strengthens us. That Jesus died to forgive our sin, and the Holy Spirit is bringing good through the bad situations. That we are never alone, never forsaken, will never die. And that God is closer that our own racing hearts. 
That is the peace of Christ.
We are not called to peace out, to naively check out of life and in the name of peace pretend problems do not exist. Instead, we are called to face them, to perhaps suffer with our long-suffering God, with hearts that trust. If we pray for that kind of peace, our prayer is always answered. And that's not my promise, it's Jesus' promise. 

Secret Pinboards

I am not yet on Pinterest. Well, I have an account, but I don't pin anything. It seems too intimidating, and Facebook alone wastes a lot of my time. But I know  a lot of people who really enjoy it, and I've definitely benefited from the crafts, recipes, jokes, and inspiring sayings my friends pin and use. When I have to cook for myself, I'll probably use Pinterest for the recipes. As of right now, my recipe repertoire is somewhere between the number of pieces of Halloween candy I have left in my stash and the number of classes I'm enrolled in. Which is to say, not many. 

Anyway, my friend Amanda has started talking about secret pinboards-- places where you can pin and nobody sees your pinnings. Ironically enough, she shares some of the things she's pinned on those boards. Some might say it's a contradiction. But I think it's the right way to live.

We have to share the secret things on our inner pinboards, the places we pin quiet hopes, deep disappointments, dreams we don't yet know how to articulate expect for an inexplicable feeling those dreams define who we are. Of course, we shouldn't share everything on the inner inboard; we don't want to overwhelm  people by oversharing. And some of the pins might hurt people's feelings, and others don't really belong on the inner pinboard so much as they belong on the "Things I've Thought About That Don't Define Me" board.

But the point is, a lot of the things on the secret pinboard deserve to be shared with at least some people, and they're far more interesting than the mundane things we tack to our outer pinboards, the way we present ourselves to the external world. I've learned that's something I need to work on. I need to keep asking people, gently, with love, about the things on their secret pinboards, and share more about what's on mine. That's the way Amanda's been doing it. I should follow her example. That's the way you get to know people. The way you build friendships that are meant to last a lifetime, not just a Marine Corps tour, and not just a college career.

So anybody who's reading this, ask me about my secret pinboard. And I'll try to ask you about yours. 

Faceplant

I presented at Truman's Philosophy and Religion Conference. I was really excited about the resume booster and the chance to be a real scholar, presenting my scaling of the academic heights. I practiced. I made a PowerPoint. I got up early to put on a blouse and makeup (that never happens except for Sunday morning!)
I clickity-clacked my way in brown leather heels over to the presentation room, greeted professors with a tight-lipped smile, and daintily ate a complementary bagel. An attractive, tweed-blazer clad student from Missouri Western got up before the podium. 
He's cute, he looks professional, but MO Western? Truman is way better! How good of a presentation is this going to be?
Thirty seconds into the presentation, and the answer became apparent: Very. He sounded like a professor, full of philosophical theories that soared way above anything I'd ever heard of. 
After what seemed like a long time but no time at all, it was my turn to set up my presentation while everyone else chatted and headed for the buffet table. And so began Calamity #1. In my exhaustion the night before, I accidentally downloaded my paper to the flash drive instead of the PowerPoint. Well, because I hadn't brought any notes, because I never speak with notes, there was no way I was going to be able to give this speech. No way.
Trembling, I went up to the conference coordinator. "Um, my flash drive is saying my file is corrupted," I lied, voice strained with forced calm. "I don't know what happened."
Just then, the next presenter, equally attractive and snazzily dressed, walked in. "Uh, hello. I'm having some technological difficulties and I'm wondering if you'd mind switching with me."
"No problem," he replied with a toothy grin.
Trying to smile back, I nodded and half-walked, half-jogged in my heels back to my room and downloaded the PowerPoint. It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay, I kept telling myself. 
Finally I made it back to the presentation room, in time to hear an extremely intelligent sounding presentation combining the story of Abraham sacrificing Isaac with feminism, semiotics, and psychoanalysis. "Of course, there's really no objective reality in this story, no white bearded god in the sky telling Abraham what to do and making everything all right in the end," the presenter said as a kind of aside, as if this were obvious. But I know the God of Abraham is real. I talk to him every day. I sing his praises every Thursday and Sunday. 
And then, it was my turn. After a minor calamity of the projector briefly not working, the computer finally projected my PowerPoint. I grinned. It was going to be okay!
And so I began to give my presentation. I heard my voice fill the room, slightly trembling, anxious. I've never liked the sound of my own voice, and hearing it reverberating around the room was a little frightening. As I kept talking, it was easier to continue, as long as I blocked out the fact that my presentation was so much more simple and informal compared to everyone else's. Finally, thankfully, the thing was over. 
"Any questions?" I asked.
The hand of one of my philosophy professors shot up into the air. And that was the beginning of Calamity #2. 
"Yes?" I asked, hoping for a softball. 
I don't remember exactly what she said, and I don't want to. I just know she shot right through my argument, tore it in two. Well, not all of my argument, but a good 20% of it. I tried to argue back politely, even though I wasn't convincing myself.
"No, no," she said sharply. "No. You're wrong. I can help you go back and fix this paper. But this is wrong."
She said this in front of everyone: all the philosophy and religion professors from Truman, faculty from other schools, Attractive Snazzily Dressed Egghead Male Philosophy Presenters, two friends who came, a couple students in my classes, some freshmen logic students. Everyone. Everyone. 
Luckily, there were more questions, most of them much easier to answer. Although at one point a professor and a student started talking to each other and ignoring me, and I didn't know how to break in.
"David," one of my favorite religion professors said, "let Jessica talk, please."
I was embarrassed but grateful to have control again of the session. I gave what seemed to me like a satisfactory answer. A student tried to jump in, but the conference coordinator announced that we were out of time. 
Thank God! I thought. I ejected my flash drive, grabbed my purse, and walked quickly past the professor who shot my presentation. Luckily, she was too engrossed in conversation to talk to me. The way I felt at that moment, I didn't want to talk to anyone. 
I thought I was a scholar. This conference proved that I am not. I am a college student, and a pretty good one at that. But I'm not an academic, and probably never will be. Learning that really hurt. 
But here's the thing.
Jesus still loves me.
My family and friends still love me.
I am still going to have communion at church (today, now that it's after 1 AM).
I will still graduate from Truman. 
And God still has a place for me in his kingdom, given me gifts and graces by which I can contribute to his church.
But I'm still upset. I guess it's high time I accept that I will never be an academic, that I'm not as intelligent as I wish I were, and that in God's kingdom, intelligence is nice, but not really worth all that much. Just like Attractive Male Philosopher who said the story of Abraham isn't really about God because there is no God. In the eyes of the world, A.M.P. said something intelligent. In the eyes of God, A.M.P. is missing out on grace. 
Grace is more important than intelligence. I long ago traded my dreams of Yale, theology, musty books, critical acclaim, for something bigger. 
Let me, God, hold babies before you, lift the dead up to you, bring your good news to the poor. 
I would rather live inside the church than write about it. Not that I'm judging any academics; I admire their passion, their smarts. But God did not give that to me.
Instead, through this awkward conference experience, I have learned about what I am and am not. I learned that it's important to try new things, and know that failure isn't a big deal in the grand scheme of things, because the grand scheme of things is held by God. 
I'm okay. Yeah, maybe I got Augustine all wrong. But, by God's grace, I haven't gotten Jesus all wrong. In God's eyes, that's what counts. 

Baby Boys

I love my baby brother. But if he knew I'm calling him "baby," he might try to strangle me. He's twelve, going on thirteen. I feel that he has always been a part of my life, and there is nothing he could do to make me love him less. Plenty to annoy me, yes, but I'm his big sister for life. I was seven when he was born, and I loved him instantly. I still can't believe he's nearly a teenager. Where did his babyhood go? Where is the boisterous toddler who ran everywhere, with cars and dinosaurs in tow?

But I love him still, all five foot, two inches of him: the one inch taller than me, the dark fuzz growing on his lip, the soft voice he struggles to make deeper, the big brown eyes always full of thought. 

On Sunday I was running the PowerPoint at my church. I was sitting in the sound booth, paying just enough attention to run the PowerPoint properly, since I'd already worshipped in the pews earlier that morning. Beside me sat the man running the sound. He also happens to be a leader for the boys' high school youth activities. He's a big, fierce guy with a booming voice, but kind too, with a booming laugh and propensity to joke. Between us stood two teenage boys who looked barely older than my brother. Before and during the service, they talked to their youth leader, and he talked back. From the election to sports to history, they were having a lively conversation. He told them to be quiet during the sermon, though, and they did. 

My mind was wandering to the large paper I had due which I had barely started,  but I couldn't quit thinking about, subconsciously, how much these boys respected this youth leader. And then, after the sermon ended, he clapped them both firmly, lovingly, on the shoulder.

I started crying silently. I faced the wall and wiped the tears away, trying to get a grip. What was my problem?

And then it hit me. I wished my brother were up in the sound booth. Partly so I could see him, but also so he could be loved and known by this man, every bit as masculine as our former Marine father. For these two boys up here in Kirksville, worshipping and bantering with a man in church who isn't their father is teaching them 1) that real men worship God and 2) that they are children of God who deserve the love and attention of caring adults. 

None of these guys would have thought of it that way. My brother certainly wouldn't. Ironically, if they had noticed my weeping during the offertory they would have thought, "Why are girls so emotional?" as my brother often asks. But it's true. The part about girls being emotional, and the part about men investing in boys making all the difference in the world.

As of now, my brother has no strong male leader with whom to talk politics and video games in church on Sundays, no man to clap his slowly broadening shoulders with pride and affection. Yes, he has our father, and that's important. But boys need to be shepherded by more than just a dad, and more than just a pastor. 

"Jessica's the religion junkie in the family," my brother says anytime something church related comes up. Where are the men to show him church is for more than girls or people who like to study religion? Where are the men to show him that the essence of manhood is serving Jesus Christ?

I don't know. But I love my baby boy. And I want the church to take better care of him. 

The Liturgy of Roadkill

"Carrion" is a pretty word for an ugly thing: roadkill. In my poetry class on Thursday, we read a beautiful poem by Gerard Mansley Hopkins called, "Carrion Comfort," about those times you feel hopeless, like roadkill is the best you'll ever get in life and it's God's fault. I want to write liturgy using this poem, while interweaving it with (mostly) Bible verses. I don't know if this would ever work in church. It might be too raw or too obscure. But it still seems cool. The whole time in class I kept thinking how cool this would be for liturgy. I had to get it out. So here goes:
L: Let us come before the Lord with open, honest hearts.
C: Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee.
L: For in hope we were saved.
C: Not untwist-- slack they may be-- these last strands of man in me.
L: We have this hope, sure and steadfast, the anchor of our souls.
C: Nor, most weary, cry I can no more. 
L: We can do all things through Christ who gives us strength.
C: I can, can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
L: Hope in the Lord! For you shall praise him.
C: But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me thy wring-world right foot rock?
L: Blessed be God! He has not rejected our prayers or removed his steadfast love from us. 
C: Why lean a lionlamb against me? Why scan with darksome devouring eyes my bruised bones?
L: Because of the Lord's great love, we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.
C: Why fan, O turns in tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?
L: His mercies are new every morning. Great is your faithfulness!
C: Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clean?
L: And we know that in all things God works for the good of those that love him.
C: Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod, hand rather.
L: You hem us in, behind and before, you lay your hand upon us.
C: Lo! I lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, cheer. Cheer whom though?
L: Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high, I cannot attain it.
C: Cheer the Hero whose heaven-handling flung me, foot-trod me?
L: He will never, ever abandon you nor forsake you.
C: Or me that fought him? O which one? Is it each one?
L: I pray that you will, together with all the saints, know what is the height and the depth and the width of his love.
C: Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.
L: This is our God, forever and ever, and surely he will be our guide even to the end.
All: Amen