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28.12.14

"Wait for the LORD": Advent sermon, Isaiah 64:1-9

I confess that I sang Christmas carols during Advent, so perhaps it balances things out by posting this Advent sermon during Christmas season. And though Christmas has come, I believe this message is still relevant. I preached it at Southeast Church of the Nazarene on the first Sunday of Advent, 2014.  



Isaiah 64:1-9
 
Isaiah was a prophet who proclaimed God’s message, mainly to Judah, about 700 years before Christ. This was during the time the Assyrian Empire had conquered Israel and Judah.

Many believe that Isaiah’s disciples continued proclaiming God’s word in Isaiah’s footsteps, and that this occurred centuries after Isaiah died. If this is true, it is likely that our passage tonight was written in the 500s, after the Babylonian Empire had defeated the Assyrians and captured the Israelites, and then after the Persian Empire had conquered the Babylonians. In 538, the Persian leader Cyrus the Great allowed the Israelites to return home from captivity. It may be during this time of return from exile that our passage was written.

Unlike many passages in the book of Isaiah, which tend to be God’s messages to Judah or the surrounding nations, Isaiah 64:1-9 is part of a prayer to God.

So it begins:

“Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down,
that the mountains would tremble before you!
As when fire sets twigs ablaze
and causes water to boil,
come down to make your name known to your enemies
and cause the nations to quake before you!
For when you did awesome things that we did not expect,
you came down, and the mountains trembled before you.”

The prophet prays that God would show God’s power through great supernatural, destructive acts—that God himself would come down, and by descending, cause the earth and its nations to tremble in fear! The prophet writes on behalf of a people returning to a home that is alien; their temple, their walls, their fields are ruinous and barren, and the great hope they had been expecting—God’s deliverance—wasn’t as they imagined it to be. The prophet asks God to reveal himself so that the nations would know of God’s power and the source of Israel’s strength. He asks God to reveal himself maybe also so that the Israelites themselves would again believe. 

On one level it is difficult for me to relate to this. To my knowledge, neither I nor my immediate ancestors have lived as prisoners and refugees and then returned home, only to find our home disappointing.

Yet I have felt disappointed, have felt that my expectations of reality did not match my actual experience of it. As a member of the body of Christ, these words in Isaiah seem to unearth feelings I did not realize I had. We as Christians have returned home from exile, the exile of sin; we have been returning home ever since Jesus declared “It is finished” on the cross. And when he rose again, he showed us that God has already begun creating a new heavens and a new earth, planting streams and a garden in the desert, preparing a banquet to feed all nations. 

Yet we have dwelled in this age that is supposed to be our home for thousands of years—and it is disappointing. In many places the temple seems to be crumbling, the walls are brittle, and the land is dry and cracked. Yes, the church has done much good over the centuries, but she has also been faithless, joining hands with empires more powerful than Assyria or Babylon. So often she is difficult to distinguish from unjust rulers. Yes, many of us are secure, but often it is a security not in God but in what we have mastered with our hands, walls made of sand. Yes, we may be fed, but so much of the world is not, and the earth and many of its people are crying out. 

And where is God? If only God would show himself as he once did, with fire and wonder! If only God would show our enemies—would show us—that God still performs miracles to save us. If only God would finally live among us and make things right, once and for all! Hasn’t enough time passed? 

Maybe we too have whispered this prayer from Isaiah:

“Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down,
that the mountains would tremble before you!
As when fire sets twigs ablaze
and causes water to boil,
come down to make your name known to your enemies
and cause the nations to quake before you!
For when you did awesome things that we did not expect,
you came down, and the mountains trembled before you.”

The prophet continues:

“Since ancient times, no one has heard, no ear has perceived,
no eye has seen any God besides you,
who acts on behalf of those who wait for him.
You come to the help of those who gladly do right,
who remember your ways.”

This is who God is: God works for those who wait for him, and helps those who gladly do right and remember God’s ways. 

Throughout the book of Isaiah we see what it means to wait for God, to gladly do right and remember God’s ways. It means to be still and trust God. It means to release unjust burdens and cancel debts, to care for strangers and welcome them into our homes, to not hide from our families.

Now that I have spoken those words, I find the prophet’s next words to be almost comforting. They speak on my behalf as someone who needs to wait upon God, to gladly do right, and remember God’s ways.

Verses 5-7:

“But when we continued to sin against them, you were angry.
How then can we be saved?
All of us have become like one who is unclean,
and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags;
we all shrivel up like a leaf,
and like the wind our sins sweep us away.
No one calls on your name
or strives to lay hold of you,
for you have hidden your face from us
and made us waste away because of our sins.”

The prophet cries that God has hidden from God’s people because of the people’s sins. That is why God will not come down; that is why God has not acted and helped God’s people. That is why God’s people have decayed.

How then can we be saved?

The prophet looks not to other people, and not to himself, but to God for salvation.

Verses 8 and 9:

“Yet, O LORD, you are our Father.
We are the clay, you are the potter;
we are all the work of your hand.
Do not be angry beyond measure, O LORD;
do not remember our sins forever.
Oh, look upon us, we pray,
for we are all your people.”

The prophet’s hope is in God—the parent who gave birth to and has guided Israel; the potter who has sculpted her into a beautiful jar fit for service; the one to whom Israel belongs, the one who is responsible for Israel. 

We are here tonight because we know that God did answer the prophet’s prayer: God did come down, though in a way no one expected. The mountains trembled beneath singing in the sky, and mighty leaders quaked at the news that a King would be born—that God would come in the most vulnerable of forms, as a baby. God did act on behalf of those who waited for him, and did help those who gladly did right and remembered his ways. 

But we are in Advent, not Christmas. First we must wait. This is why some people don’t sing Christmas carols during Advent—they wait until Christmas, or until they can hold out no longer, whichever comes first. During Advent we wait with Israel, given a promise that God will bring salvation, but uncertain if the promise will be fulfilled.

What helps us identify with Israel is that we are in a similar situation. We too are waiting—for Jesus to come a second time, and for God to completely deliver us from sin and transform the world, replacing weeping with laughing. And like Israel returning home from exile, we too may find that home—this age we live in—is not as we imagined it to be. We are glad to be home, don’t get me wrong, but it is not the home we were hoping for, at least not yet. Jesus has not yet returned. And some of us may wonder where God even is, why God does not seem to be doing anything, and if Jesus ever will return. 

Like he did to Israel, the prophet encourages us in our time: wait for the LORD, and he will act on your behalf. Gladly do right and remember God’s ways, and God will help you. Find your strength in quietness and trust, and as you watch for the morning, shine your light by sharing with those who have little and by comforting the restless. 

Advent reminds us that we are called to wait for God. This isn’t passive idleness, or complete absence of thought; when we wait for someone, we keep our eyes out, alert and expecting to find that person around the corner. If we don’t wait, we might miss the arrival. If we don’t wait, we might not be ready to welcome the homecoming. Maybe, through our waiting for God, we begin to reflect the character of God, and so become vessels through which God works in the world.

As we wait for the promised day when Jesus comes down for a second time, may we find that through his Spirit he is present with us individually and as the church, making his name known, causing the nations and mountains to tremble, and doing awesome things that we do not expect. May God forgive us anew for times we have failed to live up to our calling, and may God fulfil in us God’s word because God is our Father and our Maker, and we are God’s people. 

Many Christians practice a form of worship called waiting worship. After I close, I invite us to spend some time waiting, together, for God. By waiting together here for a short time, we can strengthen each other to become people who wait with our whole lives. If you feel prompted to speak a word for the whole group, you are welcome to do so. We believe that when we wait for the LORD, God acts--though in ways we may not always understand. Our time of waiting will end with our final song. May we be refreshed in the Lord’s presence as we wait for him.

19.12.14

Why I haven't been blogging lately

Yesterday my friend Alec told me he noticed I haven't been blogging lately. I told him that in large part it's because I do not know who reads my blog, and who I am writing to.

I started this blog when many of my friends were blogging. I read their interesting thoughts and wanted to share my own thoughts with them. Some thoughts, maybe, have been interesting, and some not so much. However, most of those friends no longer blog, or at least not regularly. Still, I have often shared my thoughts on this blog when I felt inspired to do so. I haven't felt that way lately (except, apparently, for this blog post, but this is a little different).

It's been six years since I first wrote in this blog. During that time I've grown and changed, and the way I express my thoughts and experiences has also changed. On one hand it's nice to keep up a blog for such a long time, but on the other hand I feel more embarrassed with each new post about what I once wrote. If I am to write as a form of ministry, I believe my writing must ultimately love, serve, and bless God and the readers. But not all of my posts have been intended to be for ministry. Many of them have been simply for fun or personal expression, and sometimes they have been sloppy.

So these are things I'll be thinking about. Maybe I'll start a new blog and focus on writing as ministry, a blog intended for a wider audience than my friends (but including my friends too of course). Maybe I'll continue writing in this blog but change my approach. In the meantime, however, I am posting this entry to offer some of my thoughts about blogging, and to express gratitude to my friend, perhaps among the very few who will read this, for encouraging me to write.

A Hopeful Advent and a Merry Christmas to all of you.

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5.11.14

Communication and the ministry of songwriting (essay)

I recently wrote the following article about communication and ministry for the Fall 2014 edition of ESR Reports, whose theme was "The Power of Communication." You can hear the two songs I discuss on my Soundcloud.


I graduated from ESR in May as a student in the Ministry of Writing program. I wrote fiction and non-fiction, but discovered my main form of ministry to be songwriting. While a student, I tried to become a better songwriter and musician by taking various writing classes, including a songwriting class. My Supervised Ministry involved performing songs at Roscoe’s Coffee Bar and Tap Room and Common Grounds Coffeehouse at West Richmond Friends Meeting, and volunteering as a musician at the Iona Abbey, Scotland. Since graduating, I have continued practicing and writing music, playing the guitar, and sharing songs. 

Two songs I have written recently illustrate how communication is essential to the ministry of songwriting and singing. “As you led your people in the wilderness” is a hymn, and one which my local church sang during one Sunday service. I wanted to write a song to help the church (local and global) express some fears, joys, and petitions to God. I felt that an appropriate corresponding story to the church today was the Israelites’ journey through the wilderness as told in the book of Exodus.

Hymns are different than other kinds of songs because, rather than being sung by a performer to an audience of listeners, a community of people sings hymns together. Thus, I made the first lines of each verse parallel so that people could quickly follow along and understand the hymn’s direction: “As you led your people in the wilderness. . . / As you fed your people in the wilderness. . . / As you gave your people in the wilderness. . . / As you saved your people in the wilderness. . . . “ I employed rhyme schemes to make the singing more enjoyable and to help singers remember the words. (Besides, rhyming is customary in most song writing.)

Although this hymn is addressed to God, I was also aware that the words we recite shape us, so I considered what I wanted to communicate to people through the lyrics. Hymn writers often focus on either the spiritual or the physical side of our existence, and I wanted to balance both. So, I compared manna to both the “daily bread” with which God satisfies our hunger and “[God’s] Word which makes us whole,” and I compared the water that flowed from a stone to both “living water that will not run dry” and nourishment from “gardens we have grown.”

Also, I wrote this hymn when folks at church, friends, and other people were grieving over local, national, and international acts of injustice and violence. I tried to funnel those emotions into the song: “Deliver us from those who use and harm us / From evil laws and leaders set us free.” While writing, I remembered how our prayers not only form us; they can even compel God to respond.

The second song I wrote is from the perspective of Adam, and is about his yearning to return to the Garden of Eden. In the first verse, Adam connects humanity’s re-entry into paradise with Isaiah’s vision of a world in which people beat their swords into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks (2:4): “Can’t go back / Through the flaming sword / Must work the cursed ground / ‘Til we learn war no more.”

In late September, I performed this song during a service at my local church. I felt it was appropriate given the military conflicts in which our country and others began to engage. I hoped that in communicating a vision in which we relate to our neighbors and even our enemies in peace, I might persuade those who think it is right to attack our enemies to imitate Christ, the second Adam, who did not use his power to destroy his enemies but to bless, love, and ultimately save them.

Because this song is from the perspective of the first human, it communicates that forsaking war is not new, but is at the root of what it means to be human. And though “learning war no more” is prominent, the song is not a protest but a lament and petition to return to our true home, where grows the tree of life whose leaves heal the nations. Such a song can be both prophetic and pastoral, calling people to walk in righteousness and giving voice to our yearnings.

Songs communicate ideas, emotions, experiences, communal memories, and more. Singing is a life-giving activity which can engage our depths. Because we not only listen to songs but sometimes sing them, they influence how and to whom we communicate. Writing songs communicates that there are words worth singing, people with whom to share them, and a God who we believe will listen and act.

27.10.14

Wem of Wister (story)



Since college, I have been writing about the journeys of Dale Tuttle, professor of linguistic anthropology, based much on his Journal. In March, I self-published a print version of the beginning of his encounter of the people on the land of Dulinae in a novella called Wem of Wister. Tuttle believes the story of this young man, Wem, is the most pivotal of all the stories from that land, at least among the stories he learned. Wem of Wister is the beginning of Wem's story about how he helped to remove a curse from the land.

The novella is now available in ebook format: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/487205. Enjoy.

8.10.14

"Jesus is risen!", a resurrection hymn

I have written a hymn about Jesus' resurrection (and our own). The tune is BUNESSAN.

Jesus is risen!
I will go with him
Into the morning
Of the new day
Sorrow to swallow
New paths to follow
As the world opens
In his new way.

Jesus is risen!
All the world, listen:
Done are the days when
Death ruled as king.
Can you believe it?
Will you receive him?
Jesus our Lord
Now fills everything.

Jesus is risen!
We will rise with him
To live the story
Death tried to close.
Praise with your laughter
Praise with your whole life
Praise like the first light
When he arose!

17.9.14

“A Fragrance that’s Not in Such Short Supply”: Resurrection and Life in "A.I. Artificial Intelligence" (essay)

Today I read an article about artificial intelligence and Christianity, and the need for dialogue among the church about the relationship between humans and robots. The article references Steven Spielberg's A.I. Artificial Intelligence, which I wrote a paper about for my Science Fiction and Theology class last year. Here I hope to contribute to the conversation by sharing my paper.


“A Fragrance that’s Not in Such Short Supply”: Resurrection and Life in A.I. Artificial Intelligence

Can a machine love a human—and be loved in return? These questions guide the movie A.I. Artificial Intelligence, directed and written by Steven Spielberg. In the story, a child machine named David becomes a “real boy” by loving and receiving love from his human mother. To reunite David and his mother Monica, advanced machines resurrect Monica. Although Monica is the only main character raised from the dead, the subjects of life, death, resurrection, and everlasting life emerge in various forms throughout the film, often reflecting New Testament portrayals of resurrection and life.[1]


Life, Death, and Resurrection

The story begins with a narration describing a world damaged by climate change: “Those were the years after the ice caps had melted because of the greenhouse gases, and the oceans had risen to drown so many cities along all the shorelines of the world. Amsterdam. Venice. New York. Forever lost. . . . Hundreds of millions of people starved in poorer countries.”[2] Robots, who do not consume many resources, have become expedient servants to the humans who can afford them.

Most of the story’s beginning occurs in New Jersey, where the Cybertronics Corporation entrusts Henry and Monica Swinton with the corporation’s first production of a child “mecha” named David, who is programmed to love Monica. The Swintons are selected in part because their son Martin is, in the words of the Swintons’ doctor, “merely pending”[3] in a frozen chamber.

As David grows in love for his mother, he begins to realize that she will not live forever. In one scene, after seeing how perfume attracts Henry to Monica, David pours it on himself. Monica holds the empty bottle in despair and David asks, “Mommy, will you die?”

“Well, one day David, yes, I will.”
“I’ll be alone.”
“Don’t worry yourself so.”
“How long will you live?”
“For ages. For fifty years.”
“I love you, mommy. I hope you never die. Never.”[4]

This scene resembles the story in the Gospel of Luke in which a woman anoints Jesus with a jar of expensive ointment in preparation for his burial. In both stories, the extravagant outpouring of perfume is a waste or an expression of love, depending on one’s perspective. Also, the perfume prepares us for the deaths of those anointed—Jesus, Monica, and even David.

As David and Monica bond, the Swinton family learns what Monica calls “the most wonderful thing in the world”[5]: Martin returns to life. Martin’s stasis and recovery foreshadow David’s freezing and restoration at the end of the film, as well as Monica’s resurrection. David and Martin become brothers and rivals and eventually, after David threatens Martin’s life to protect himself, the Swinton family banishes David. Instead of returning David to the corporation to destroy him, Monica takes pity and leaves him and his supertoy Teddy in the woods.

David and Teddy stumble upon a gathering of mechas in the middle of the night scrounging through a pile of discarded machine parts. Here the machines reincorporate dead and disconnected parts into their bodies, restoring functionality to the pieces and to themselves.

Hunters catch David and other mechas and bring them to a Flesh Fair, where humans who fear mechas’ increasing power in society gather to destroy them. One of the human entertainers implies that mechas are not living beings: “We are alive, and this is a celebration of life!”[6] The ring leaders execute the mechas similar to how the Romans crucified or publicly executed their prisoners. David, Teddy, and their new mecha friend Gigolo Joe escape because David’s resemblance to human children evokes the crowd’s pity and anger.

David, who overheard about the Blue Fairy when his mother read the story of Pinocchio to Martin, asks Joe where they can find the Blue Fairy. David believes that, like she did for Pinocchio, the Blue Fairy can make David into a real boy, and then his will mother love him. Joe, a “lover robot,” brings David to Rouge City, a city of the lusts of the flesh.

In Rouge City, David sees a statue of Our Lady of the Immaculate Heart, wondering if she is the Blue Fairy. Joe explains: “The ones who made us are always looking for the ones that made them. They go in, look around their feet, sing songs, and when they come out, it's usually me they find.”[7] Joe may think he is godlike because of his ability to provide physical pleasure. But he may also think that he and other mechas are divine because of their superiority to humans and because of their endless expiration dates. After David and Joe learn where to find the Blue Fairy, Joe explains why the humans hate the mechas: “They made us too smart, too quick, and too many. We are suffering for the mistakes they made because when the end comes, all that will be left is us.”[8] Perhaps the humans hate the mechas because the mechas have what the humans want: endless life.

In Manhattan, however, when their quest is almost over, the police catch Joe for a crime he has not committed and magnetically draw him into their helicopter. As he ascends, his last words to David are, “When you become a real boy, remember me to the ladies when you grow up. . . . Goodbye, David. I am. I was!”[9] Joe’s self-professed divinity ends when his life ends. Joe will not live forever.

Joe realizes, however, that he may live beyond death if David remembers him. In A.I., memory and resurrection are entwined. When the advanced mechas find David frozen in ice two thousand years later, they reconstruct David’s world through his memories: “There is nothing too small that you didn’t store for us to remember.”[10] David is the link between the frozen world of the advanced mechas and the former world of the humans.

The mechas desire to learn about humans because they want to understand “spirit” and the meaning of existence. As one mecha, also the narrator of the story, explains to David, “Human beings had created a million explanations of the meaning of life in art, in poetry, in mathematical formulas. Certainly, human beings must be the key to the meaning of existence, but human beings no longer existed.”[11] Whereas the humans had envied the mechas’ life spans, the mechas seek humanity’s spirit and potential to understand the purpose of life.

In their search for meaning, the mechas developed the technology to recreate a human life based on DNA samples and traces of memory resonating with a resurrected body. In the process, they discovered that “the very fabric of space-time itself appeared to store information about every event which had ever occurred in the past.”[12] Memory was necessary to raise the dead, and not only did a person’s body have memories; the universe itself remembered everything.[13]  Just as the mechas mine David’s memory to reconstruct the past, they had also discovered a way to search fragments of the universe to resurrect a person’s life.

This resurrection technology, however, has limits: a resurrectee can live for only one day before being lost completely. “So you see, David, the equations have shown that once an individual space-time pathway had been used, it could not be reused.”[14] Despite this time limit, David asks that they resurrect Monica, which they do. David is complete.

*

The mechas’ resurrecting Monica resembles some forms of resurrection in the New Testament. In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus commands his disciples, among other things, to raise people from the dead.[15] When Jesus dies, “the tombs also were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised.”[16] Here, as in other places in the New Testament and in A.I., falling asleep and rising from sleep are metaphors for dying and being raised to life. In the Gospel of John, Jesus raises Lazarus from the grave.[17]

Although we do not know what happens to Lazarus or the other people who rise again, it is likely that, like Monica, they die again. This is because in the New Testament, Jesus’ resurrection, which is everlasting, overshadows the resurrection of all others. Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”[18] Jesus also tells his disciples he is with them always, “to the very end of the age.”[19] Further, New Testament writers such as the author of Colossians call Jesus “the firstborn from the dead,”[20] meaning he is the first among many others who will rise from the dead and live everlastingly.

Jesus’ resurrection differs from Monica’s in its permanence. Their resurrections are similar, however, in at least three ways. First, just as the mechas raise Monica, God raises Jesus;[21] neither raise themselves. Second, both Monica and Jesus rise as bodies, not spirits or holograms.[22], [23] Third, Monica spends her day with David in ways similar to how the resurrected Christ spends time with his disciples: they catch up,[24] eat together,[25] and say important words. At the end of the day, Monica tells David, “I love you David. I do love you. I have always loved you.”[26] Monica’s telling David three times that she loves him resembles Jesus’ asking Peter three times, “Do you love me?”, perhaps a sign of forgiveness for Peter’s denying Jesus three times.[27] After each affirmative response from Peter, Jesus gives Peter the mission to feed Jesus’ lambs.[28]   Monica’s expressions of love for David do not give him a mission; rather, they complete his mission.

Monica falls asleep, and so does David. The narrator concludes: “And for the first time in his life, he went to that place where dreams are born.”[29] The piano sonata in this closing scene echoes its first appearance, which accompanies Monica reading Pinocchio. In the story, Pinocchio dreams he sees the Blue Fairy, who forgives his misdeeds because of his good heart. “Then the dream ended and Pinocchio awoke full of amazement. You can imagine how astonished he was when he saw that he was no longer a puppet, but a real boy, just like other boys.”[30] The music signifies that, like Pinocchio, David is now a human. We also know this because David has done something mechas do not do: sleep. David’s sleep is, according to film composer John Williams, also his death.[31]

*

We do not know how the mechas resurrect people, exactly, but it seems to involve cooperation with the supernatural. The narrator mecha’s explanation to David about “the very fabric of space-time” remembering every event echoes Joe’s statement to David in Rouge City in which Joe wonders about the nature of the Blue Fairy: “The supernatural is the hidden web that unites the universe.”[32] Together, these statements suggest that the advanced mechas resurrect through the power of the supernatural realm.

Earlier, Martin’s recovery from his illness seems supernatural, too. Martin’s return surprises us because, according to the doctor, his illness was “beyond our science,”[33] and we are not told how Martin heals. Further, when Henry calls Monica to tell her the news, Henry says, “Oh my God, Monica,” and Monica later replies with “Oh, God,”[34] attributing divine power to the event. Resurrection in A.I., as in the New Testament, is miraculous.

The New Testament says that God raised Jesus and will raise believers through the power of the Holy Spirit. As the Apostle Paul writes, “If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you.”[35] A key difference between A.I. and the New Testament is that in A.I., the mechas manipulate that which is beyond them and which they do not understand. Thus, their results are flawed. In the New Testament, however, God raises the dead through God’s own power, and this resurrected life is perpetual.

The instances of life, death, and life from death throughout A.I. culminate in Monica’s resurrection. As miraculous as her resurrection is, however, it is David’s becoming a “real boy” through his mother’s love that reveals the quality of everlasting life.


Everlasting Life

In Rouge City, after Joe tells David that the supernatural binds everything in the universe, Joe says, “Only Orga [organic beings; humans] believe what cannot be seen or measured. It is that oddness that separates our species.”[36] This is a strange statement for Joe to make because if it is true, then he should not believe what he cannot see or measure, yet he has just professed the existence of a supernatural force binding the universe together. It is further contradicted by the fact that, in the future, mechas seek “spirit” and the meaning of existence, things they cannot see or measure.

David, then, is not the only mecha looking for something. Just as David has sought his mother, the mechas are seeking their makers. Through David and Monica, the mechas learn that the human spirit, and what makes David human, is his love for his mother and his reception of her love for him.

According to Professor Hobby, who designed David, the kind of love that creates dreams and life is not sensual love. In the beginning of the film, when Hobby asks a lover mecha to define love, she lists physical responses of attraction. This does not satisfy Hobby. “I wasn't referring to sensuality simulators. The word that I used was love.”[37] The love that endures the ages in A.I. is the love between creation and creator.

The relationship between David and Monica reflects the relationship between humans and God. Just as David was created in humanity’s image, humans were created in God’s, as the book of Genesis says. Just as David loves Monica and seeks her love for him, humans seek God’s love and are called to love God. Just as David and the mechas find fulfillment in understanding and being loved by their creators, humans find our completion in loving and being loved by God.

Hobby asks, “In the beginning, didn’t God create Adam to love him?”[38] One may argue for or against Hobby, but in A.I. the twist is that, although Henry and Monica received David so that David would love Monica, in the end, Monica loves and has always loved David. Similarly, Christians believe through Jesus Christ that God is love and that God loves us. Living in this knowledge is everlasting life. In the Gospel of John, Jesus says, “And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.”[39] Just as David becomes real through receiving his mother’s love, humans who receive the love of God in Christ become new people, clothed with Christ. Just as David becomes human, in Christ humans become Christlike and renewed in the image of our creator.

Unlike David, who loves Monica exclusively, humans are called to love not only God but our neighbor as ourselves. Loving God and loving people are connected; the more we love one, the more we love the other, and we love one through loving the other.

Monica and Henry’s relationship reflects love in a variety of forms between people. Early in the movie, Monica puts on perfume and Henry kisses her, saying, “I love it when you wear this stuff.” Monica says, “Will you love me when it’s all gone?” Henry says, “No. . . . But we can get married again and begin with a fragrance that’s not in such short supply.”[40]

When Monica asks if Henry will love her when her perfume is gone, she reveals her knowledge that one day, her beauty will fade, as will her life. Will Henry still love her then? Can Henry love her when she is dead? Is his love everlasting? Is he? Henry’s response expresses his hope that, although the bottle of perfume and life will run empty, they will live and love again with an aroma that does not fade. The church understands this aroma to be the Spirit, of whom Jesus spoke when he said "Those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life" and "Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink. As the scripture has said, 'Out of the believer's heart shall flow rivers of living water.'"[41] Henry points to the everlasting, Spirit-filled life in Christ, the fabric of which is bound by the love between Christ and the church, between the creator and creation, and among creation.

In this love, all people and relationships will be complete just as David is complete and at rest at the end of the story.

*

Although many characters in A.I., human and mecha, return to life from a form of death or live for what seems like an eternity, they do not taste everlasting life in its fullness. Even David, who at last learns that he is loved, experiences joy for only a moment. As complete as his joy is, it runs empty like Monica’s bottle of perfume. Henry’s yearning to Monica for an aroma of living love not in short supply points to an everlasting life more full than any character in A.I. has experienced, one that even the advanced mechas cannot produce, a resurrection and a life only God can bring.

When David at last falls asleep, he joins the entire human race in our fated slumber, where in our dreams we may hope to awake full of amazement.


Bibliography

Cobb Jr., John B. and David Ray Griffin. Process Theology: An Introductory Exposition. United States of America: The Westminster Press, 1976.

Internet Movie Database. “A. I. Artificial Intelligence (2001) Trivia.” Accessed December 17, 2013, http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0212720/trivia?ref_=tt_trv_trv.

Kennedy, Kathleen, Steven Spielberg, and Bonnie Curtis, prods., A.I. Artificial Intelligence. Universal City, California: DreamWorks Pictures, 2001. DVD.

The Kubrick Site. “The Kubrick FAQ.” Accessed December 17, 2013, http://www.visual-memory.co.uk/faq/index2.html.


[1] Many works of science fiction explore resurrection and everlasting life. In Battlestar Galactica, for example, Cylons develop a technology which enables some of them to transfer their memories into a resurrected body when their host bodies die. As in A.I., this technology has limits. In Star Wars, Qui-Gon Jinn discovers the ability to communicate from the dead and live eternally through the Force. As in A.I. and Battlestar Galactica, Qui-Gon Jinn seems to develop this skill through a process, as though it involves experimentation. In The Matrix, Trinity resurrects Neo through her love, although beyond that, the process is not explained.

[2] Kathleen Kennedy, Steven Spielberg, and Bonnie Curtis, prods., A.I. Artificial Intelligence (Universal City, California: DreamWorks Pictures, 2001), DVD.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Ibid.

[10] Ibid.

[11] Ibid.

[12] Ibid.

[13] This understanding of the universe and resurrection resembles process theology’s understanding of the universe and resurrection. Process theology proposes that the universe consists of infinitely small units of space-time called “events” which are simultaneously independent from and interdependent with other events. It proposes that God is at the root of each of these events, and thus God too is independent and yet interdependent upon everything in the universe. God’s intention is that every event fulfills its purpose and awareness to the maximum degree in an experience called “enjoyment.” Like A.I.’s fabric of space and time, God too remembers every event that occurs in the universe, and because God remembers them, God saves them and may even have the power to resurrect them—not only within God’s own mind, but within each of the minds of the subjects that create those events.

In process theology, God remembering and thus saving events is necessary because the greatest evil is the fact that our experiences are temporary. Because they are impermanent, we cannot truly enjoy them. Thus, if God were truly loving and desired the maximum enjoyment of events, God must be able to remember these moments so they are not lost. As John B. Cobb, Jr., and David Ray Griffin write, “God’s responsive love is the power to overcome the final evil of our temporal existence. Because of God, life has meaning in the face of victorious evil. That meaning is that both in our own enjoyment and through our adding to the enjoyment of others we contribute everlastingly to the joy of God. That meaning is simultaneously that we are always safe with God” (Process Theology: An Introductory Exposition [United States of America: The Westminster Press, 1976], 123).

[14] Kennedy et. al.

[15] Matt. 10:7-8.

[16] Matt. 27:52.

[17] John 11:38-44.

[18] John 11:25-26, NRSV.

[19] Matt. 28:20, NIV.

[20] Col. 1:18, NRSV.

[21] Acts 2:32. 

[22] Luke 24:40-43, John 20:26-27.

[23] Stanley Kubrick, who created the idea of A. I. and asked Spielberg to direct it, intended Monica to be a reconstruction of David’s memory and not actually resurrected (“The Kubrick Site.” “The Kubrick FAQ,” Accessed December 17, 2013, http://www.visual-memory.co.uk/faq/index2.html).

[24] Luke 24:13-35

[25] Luke 24:41-43

[26] Kennedy et. al.

[27] John 18:15-17, 25-27

[28] John 21:15-19

[29] Kennedy et. al.

[30] Ibid.

[31] “A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001) Trivia.” Internet Movie Database, accessed December 17, 2013, http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0212720/trivia?ref_=tt_trv_trv.

[32] Kathleen Kennedy, Steven Spielberg, and Bonnie Curtis, prods., A.I. Artificial Intelligence (Universal City, California: DreamWorks Pictures, 2001), DVD.

[33] Ibid.

[34] Ibid.

[35] Rom. 8:11, NRSV.

[36] Kennedy et. al.

[37] Ibid.

[38] Ibid.

[39] John 17:3, NRSV.

[40] Kennedy et. al.

[41] John 4:14, 7:37-38, NRSV.

18.8.14

My Turn (thought)

I wake up at 4 a.m., still thinking about that message I heard four months ago.

“Jesus Christ died for you.”

It sounded like it belonged in a Billy Graham Crusade, but I had heard it while sitting in a Scottish abbey with about seventy-five other people, huddling together or dispersed throughout the large stone church.

At the end of the service, the preacher repeated the phrase: “Jesus Christ died for you. . . because he loves you.”

But I was expecting the preacher to say something that sounded more profound. After all, this was the Iona Abbey on the Isle of Iona, where saints, pilgrims, kings, and strangers have traveled from around the world for centuries. People had been telling me that Holy Week was the peak of the year there, and I came to this Good Friday service expecting some revelation from God.

The preacher said the simple phrase a third time. Was that really the main point of her homily? No deep spiritual insight? No poetic epiphany? The words sounded out of place, like someone posting a Facebook status with the lyrics of a love song.

Maybe every Gospel message is a love song: though no two are the same, every song is about the same thing.

One of my final assignments in seminary was to write an essay answering a question of my choosing. Mine was “What is the Gospel, and how does the Church proclaim it?”

The Gospel, I wrote, is that through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, we can live everlastingly. The Good News is that the God who created and loves the universe continues to transform it from chaos into completeness. The Good News is that God desires to heal us, to make us whole. That everyone is invited to Christ’s banquet, and that the outcasts of our communities, those with disabilities, without work or homes, who are wounded and don’t fit in, have first choice at the table.

Yet months after writing the essay, I continue wrestling with the Gospel. I can explain what the Good News is, or what I think it is, and in so doing momentarily convince myself that it is the greatest message anyone in the world will ever hear--yet I don’t feel motivated to share it, and I don’t remember the last time I did. Unless I include writing the essay for class.

*


I stand in line, and when it’s my turn, I pinch a small cube of bread with my left hand. The pastor says, “The body of Christ.” With my right hand I pluck the plastic thimble carrying grape juice from the silver tray as the pastor says ”The blood of Christ.” I return to my chair, where I wait for everyone else.

“On the night that our Lord was betrayed, he was gathered in the upper room with his disciples, celebrating the Passover meal.” In this small church in San Diego, California, communion seems to be the climax of the service, around which revolve the singing, praying, tithing, fellowshipping, and preaching.

“Then he took the bread, and after breaking it, he said, ‘Take and eat. This is my body, broken for you.’” The bread tastes salty; Jesus’ sweat?

“In like manner he took the cup and said, ‘Take and drink, for this is my blood, poured out for you, for the forgiveness of sins.’” The remnants of chewed bread catch the juice in my mouth.

How can the body and blood of Christ--the Word of God in flesh, who stilled storms by speaking and who healed people by touching them, whose anger overturned rules and whose compassion fell like wheat from heaven, and who now fills the universe--be contained in such tiny portions?

*


I want to be true, like the prophet Jeremiah, the Apostle Paul, and the good preachers I’ve heard. I want to proclaim the Gospel not because I think Christians are supposed to, but because the Word of God has been trapped in my bones like a fire, making me too weary to keep it in any more.

I get out of bed, sit in my chair, and write. Now it’s my turn.

Jesus Christ died for you.

Jesus Christ wants to live in and through you.

And God loves you.

20.7.14

Rhythmic rhyme in "Stand By Me"

This week I have been reading the hymn "Stand By Me," written by Charles A. Tindley in 1905, and I have been noticing something strange, literally. Though most of this post is about a literary observation rather than the hymn itself, the lyrics are powerful, so I'll share them here. While you read them, too, you might notice what I noticed.

When the storms of life are raging,
Stand by me
When the storms of life are raging,
Stand by me
When the world is tossing me
Like a ship upon the sea
Thou who rules wind and water,
Stand by me.


In the midst of tribulation,
Stand by me
In the midst of tribulation,
Stand by me.
When the hosts of sin assail,
And my strength begins to fail,
Thou who never lost a battle,
Stand by me.


In the midst of faults and failures,
Stand by me
In the midst of faults and failures,
Stand by me
When I've done the best I can
And my friends misunderstand
Thou who knowest all about me,
Stand by me.

When I'm growing old and feeble,
Stand by me
When I'm growing old and feeble,
Stand by me
When my life becomes a burden
And I'm nearing chilly Jordan
O thou Lily of the Valley,
Stand by me.
(Tune: STAND BY ME)


The structure of each stanza is ABABCCDB (see Fig. 1), with the A lines repeating, the B lines repeating (always "Stand by me"), the last words of the C lines rhyming with each other (for example, "assail" and "fail" in the second stanza), and the D line sharing the same meter with the A and C lines but not rhyming with either of them--at least not as we traditionally understand rhymes. I'll get back to that in a second.


Fig. 1: Structure of stanza one
1  When the storms of life are raging,  (A)
2  Stand by me  (B)
3  When the storms of life are raging,  (A)
Stand by me  (B)
5  When the world is tossing me  (C)
Like a ship upon the sea  (C)
Thou who rules wind and water,  (D)
Stand by me.  (B)

Further, each line is trochaic, meaning the stress falls on the first beat of each foot (see Fig. 2). In each stanza, lines A, C, and D are tetrameter--they contain four feet--and line B is dimeter, with two feet.

Fig. 2: Meter of stanza two
/  x  /  x  /  x  /  x 
/  x  / 
/  x  /  x  /  x  /  x 
/  x  / 
/  x  /  x  /  x  / 
/  x  /  x  /  x  / 
/  x  /  x  /  x  /  x 
/  x  / 
/ = stressed syllable
x = unstressed syllable


Dictionary.com defines rhyme as "a word agreeing with another in terminal sound." Based on this definition, in each stanza, the only line that doesn't rhyme is line D, since its final sound does not correspond with any other final sounds in the stanza. However, when I read line D, particularly in the last three stanzas, I feel that somehow it does rhyme. In stanza two, for example, it seems like the word "battle" rhymes with a word that comes earlier, though I cannot locate that word.

I believe the rhyming sensation comes from the fact that, though line D ends in a word that doesn't rhyme with any other, line D--like lines A and C-- is tetrameter, whereas line B is dimeter. The movement from dimeter to tetrameter back to dimeter (in Fig. 1, lines 4 through 8) creates a sensation of rhyme when we reach line D's last foot. It is not line D's word or words themselves ("battle," "about me," or "Valley") which rhyme with other words, but their placeholder value, their nature as trochaic feet at the end of a tetramic line. Basically, their feet rhyme with other feet. But the words are important too, since we would never hear the feet without the words that inhabit them.

Some nuances in the hymn slightly change this rhyming effect. The first stanza is the only one containing a line D consisting of seven rather than eight syllables:

Thou who rules wind and water 
/  x  /  /  x  /  x 

Thus, while the line is still trochaic, it doesn't correspond exactly with the other tetramic lines in that stanza, which all have eight syllables. This mismatch eliminates the sensation of rhyme when we reach the word "water." The lines D of the second and third stanzas, however, have eight trochaic syllables, which is why their final words, "battle" and "about me," rhyme both with each other and with the other tetramic lines.

In stanza four, line D also has eight syllables. What's different, though, is that whereas in the first three stanzas lines C contain six syllables, here in the fourth stanza lines C both contain eight syllables, just like line D. Though here line D's contrast is not as distinct from surrounding lines as in the second and third stanzas, line D still rhymes. This suggests that we hear rhythmic rhymes clearly when lines of diverse rhythms surround it (the dimetric nature of lines B is in this case very helpful) and when the rhyming line's stress pattern corresponds as closely as it can with its parallel lines. Here, those parallel lines are the A lines, whose repetition further strengthens the rhyme effect of line D because line D's final word surprises us by being something different than line A's final word.

Because rhythm is integral to sound in poetry, we can broaden the definition of rhyme to include words that correspond with each other through their rhythmic structure. 

Tindley's hymn asks God to stand by us when storms thrash us, tribulations attack us, friends misunderstand us, and death looms around us. We might see in the lines of this hymn an image of God standing with us: although lines D end with words that do not traditionally rhyme, the lines still belong in the hymn because they correspond rhythmically with lines A and C and contrast rhythmically with lines B, creating a new kind of rhyme. Further, their differences emphasize the message of their words. When we are disjointed or feel out of step, may we discover God standing by us, empowering us to rhyme.

6.7.14

Hymnflection: "I'll Go Where You Want Me to Go"

If you're ever wondering if God is calling you to do something, a song you may wish to consider singing is "I'll Go Where You Want Me to Go," written by Mary Brown in 1892.

It may not be on the mountain's height,
or over the stormy sea;
it may not be at the battle's front
my Lord will have need of me;
but if by a still, small voice he calls
to paths I do not know,
I'll answer dear Lord with my hand in thine,

I'll go where you want me to go.

I'll
go where you want me to go, dear Lord,
o'er mountain, or plain or sea;
I'll say what you want me to say, dear Lord,
I'll be what you want me to be.


Perhaps today there are loving words
which Jesus would have me speak;
there may be now, in the paths of sin,
some wanderer whom I should seek.
O Savior, if thou wilt be my Guide,
tho' dark and rugged the way,
my voice shall echo the message sweet,
I'll say what you want me to say.

There's surely somewhere a lowly place
in earth's harvest fields so wide,
where I may labor thro life's short day
for Jesus the Crucified.
So, trusting my all unto thy care,
I know thou lovest me!
I'll do thy will with a heart sincere,
I'll be what you want me to be.


(Tune: MANCHESTER)

This hymn encourages us to be open to God's leading in our lives, whether God calls us to move geographically, to speak a good message to strangers, or to commit our lives in service to God. According to the song, God needs us. God may be able to accomplish his will by snapping his fingers and miraculously changing the world, but this song teaches that God needs our help, and that God acts in the world through us.

While God often calls people to new lands, the second verse shows that God may call us to participate in God's mission where we are. When we walk down the street, we may find "some wanderer" to whom God has called us to bring glad tidings. The third verse describes the entire world as "harvest fields so wide." This alludes to when Jesus, having traveled through various towns to teach, preach, and heal, looks on the crowds with compassion because they are like sheep with no shepherd, and tells his disciples, "The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest" (Matt. 9:37-38). Through this hymn, we can ask God to hire us as laborers in God's harvest.

The phrase "life's short day" alerts me to the limited opportunities we have to do good. At the same time, it encourages me to give thanks for every moment, not fearing that it will vanish but delighting in it because of its rarity. Paradoxically, though the day is short, time serving God overflows. Rather than counting time in fear that it is running out, we can count time in thanksgiving, knowing that all time belongs in God. More important than how much time we have left is how we live in that time. My brief experiences with time suggest that time in love for God and others always becomes holy and good, and there is enough time for that kind of time. Also, if God is merciful and if time belongs in God, then time too may be merciful. Though the day is short, the day has not ended, and God may give us grace in the form of time to do God's work even if we have waited longer than we should have to begin working.

Mary Brown says we labor for "Jesus the Crucified," suggesting that Jesus' death is the model for our work. Sometimes that comparison can tempt people to work in ways that are not good for them, and in ways God has not called them to work. For example, in an attempt to help another person, someone may inflict suffering upon herself, even if that suffering does nothing to help the other person. She may think her action was right because Jesus helped others by giving his entire life. Although through Jesus' death we receive life and enter a new relationship with God, his sacrifice is unique and final; there is none like his.

Further, various places in the Bible tell us that God does not require us to sacrifice ourselves, our animals, or our firstborn; instead, God requires that we do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God (Micah 6:8). The sacrifice God desires, the Psalmist tells us, is a broken spirit and a contrite heart (Ps. 51:17).

What helps me understand Jesus' sacrifice is communion. In communion, we share a meal which is Jesus' body and blood given for us. We give thanks for what God did for us in Christ. Jesus' death is like his life in that it was a gift and an offering for the world. Wherever Jesus went, he gave of himself to others, delighting them with stories and teaching them God's ways. His death was the ultimate act of teaching people how to live faithfully and peacefully, proclaiming the good news of God's reconciling love, and healing the world. When we take communion, we welcome the power of Jesus' good work into our lives.

Similarly, we are called to be thanksgiving meals which nourish, strengthen, and give life to others. It may mean moving to the middle of a war zone, or it may mean moving to the middle of a city. It may mean preaching the gospel in a foreign language, or it may mean reaching out to someone we see often but have never looked at in the eyes. God's work for each of us is unique because God has given us different gifts and callings. But we unite in that our model and energy source for this work is Jesus; like him, we can trust our all into God's care, confident in God's love for us. Empowered by his Spirit, we too can go where God sends us, say what God gives us, and be who God calls us to be.

27.6.14

"Just as I am, I make my plea" (song)

Recently I have been reading the hymn "Just as I am, without one plea" by Charlotte Elliott (1789-1871), written in 1835. I know this hymn is meaningful to many people, and I like the idea of coming to God just as we are, but I have never quite related with this hymn. Maybe it's the old-fashioned language; maybe it's because I can't remember singing it in church; it may also be because I have difficulty connecting the message of the song with its prominent image of the Lamb of God. So I have written another version. But first, the original:

Just as I am, without one plea,
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bidst me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.


Just as I am, and waiting not
To rid my soul of one dark blot,
To Thee whose blood can cleanse each spot,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.


Just as I am, though tossed about
With many a conflict, many a doubt,
Fightings and fears within, without,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.


Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind;
Sight, riches, healing of the mind,
Yea, all I need in Thee to find,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.


Just as I am, Thou wilt receive,
Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;
Because Thy promise I believe,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.


Just as I am, Thy love unknown
Hath broken every barrier down;
Now, to be Thine, yea, Thine alone,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.


Just as I am, of that free love
The breadth, length, depth, and height to prove,
Here for a season, then above,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come!


(TUNE:  WOODWORTH


In my version, I draw out the image of Jesus as the Lamb of God in several ways, beginning in the first verse with an allusion to John 1, in which John the Baptist calls Jesus the "Lamb of God." John's disciples then ask Jesus where he is staying and Jesus replies, "Come and see" (v. 30).

Just as I am, I make my plea
to ask if you would welcome me
and in reply you say, "Come and see."
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.
Just as you were, you came to us:
the Child of God, a child of dust
to show us how God's love to trust.
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.
Just as we were, you took away
the sin of the world, our deep decay
and called us to follow the light of your Way
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.
Just as I am, I come to you
though hiding myself, though torn in two
believing that you will make me true.
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.
Just as I am, you welcome me
to join at the feast of your family.
What was grape and wheat we will take and eat:
O Lamb of God, I come, I come!

"Be Thou My Vision"

Written sometime in winter 2014.
 

"Be Thou My Vision," a traditional Irish hymn attributed to Dallan Forgaill from the 8th century, asks God to be the one we see and through whom we see.

Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart
Naught be all else to me, save that thou art
Thou my best thought by day or by night
Waking or sleeping, thy presence my light

Be thou my Wisdom and thou my true Word
I ever with thee and thou with me, Lord
Thou my great parent and I thy true child
Thou in me dwelling and I with thee one

Riches I heed not nor all empty praise
Thou mine inheritance now and always
Thou and thou only, first in my heart
High King of heaven, my treasure thou art

High King of heaven, my victory won
May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heaven's sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall
Still be my vision, O Ruler of all. Amen.

(Tune: SLANE)


This rich hymn begins and ends with the petition that God be our vision. This suggests that the whole song teaches us what it means for God to be our vision. "Naught be all else to me, save that thou art": When God is our vision, the only things that matter to us are God and what matters to God. When we are asleep or awake, God's presence accompanies our thoughts. We remember that God is our loving parent dwelling with us, giving us wisdom and filling us with life. When God is our vision, we do not seek wealth or the high esteem of others, but trust that God will give us all that we need. God becomes the one we seek first.

When God is our vision, our own vision begins to change. I suspect we begin to see the world as God sees it: "The LORD does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart" (1 Sam. 16:7, NRSV). We see beyond the surface to the truth. I recently watched a movie in 3D. During the first five minutes, the screen flashed erratically and the colors were only green and black. Then someone complained and an attendant restarted the movie, fixing the visuals. After that, watching the movie made me feel like I was beside the characters, floating in space. I knew that now I was watching the movie as it was meant to be watched. Seeing with God's vision is probably similar: the world comes into more focus than before.

Seeing more clearly often takes time, though. The Gospel of Mark tells a story of a blind man whom Jesus healed--twice. After Jesus touches his eyes the first time, Jesus asks him if he can see anything, and the man says, "I can see people, but they look like trees, walking." So Jesus touches his eyes again, and this time, the man "looked intently and his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly" (Mark 8:22-25). For this man, seeing clearly was a process. Like him, I need Jesus' healing touch again and again in order to see more clearly.

John writes that "No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us" (1 John 4:11-12). The deeper we live in love, the more clearly we see God. When we love God and our neighbor, God becomes our vision.

May God make us see, and seeing, help us to better love God and our neighbor. May God be the one we seek. May God be our vision.

7.1.14

Standing on the Borders in Joy: "Children of the Heavenly King"

The hymn I am reflecting on this week is "Children of the Heavenly King" by John Cennick (1718-1755).

Children of the heavenly King,
As we journey let us sing;
Sing our Savior's worthy praise,
Glorious in his works and ways.

We are traveling home to God,
In the way our fathers trod;
They are happy now, and we
Soon their happiness shall see.

Fear not, brethren; joyful stand
On the borders of our land;
Jesus Christ, our Father's Son,
Bids us undismayed go on.

Lord, obediently we'll go,
Gladly leaving all below;
Only thou our leader be,
And we still will follow thee.

Lift your eyes, ye sons of light,
Zion's city is in sight;
There our endless home shall be,
There our Lord we soon shall see. Amen.

(Tune: PLEYEL'S HYMN)

The hymn begins by addressing "children of the heavenly King." This makes me think about the joy of being called children of God: "See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are" (1 John 3:1). John goes on to write that though now we are God's children, what we will become has not yet been revealed. "What we do know is this: when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is. And all who have this hope in him purify themselves, just as he is pure" (1 Jn. 3:2-3). God will be fully revealed, and at that time so will we, and we will resemble God. In hoping for this revelation and transfiguration, we purify ourselves, just as God is pure; in hoping to be like God, we become like God.

It may be this journey towards Christlikeness that Cennick's hymn describes. It is a journey that all children of God are summoned to embark on. It begins "below," or in this current state of existence and the world, and continues always "on the borders of our land," behind us being what is familiar and before us being a mystery. Our destination is "home to God." Even now, if we "lift [our] eyes," we may see "Zion's city," "our endless home" where God dwells--or at least a glimpse of it. What do these glimpses of the Holy City look like?

"As we journey let us sing." Several years ago, three friends and I climbed a mountain. It took us half a day, and one of the things I remember most about the hike was that we sang through some of it. Sometimes we took turns singing each line of a song. We began the hike at night, and as the sun was rising, I began singing "Morning has broken. . ." If I had known the lyrics, I would have sung the whole song. Singing was fun and gave me energy to keep walking when I was tired. On our journey toward God, songs give us strength.

"Sing our Savior's worthy praise, / Glorious in his works and ways." Cennick encourages us to sing in joy and worship for all of the wonderful things God has done--and the wonderful ways God has done them. God has created and continues to create us. God has saved us and is restoring us. On a personal level, God has delivered me from snares and given me many beautiful experiences. Singing about these moments feeds me.

"Fear not, brethren; joyful stand / On the borders of our land." The opposite and antidote to fear, Cennick says, is joy. Sometimes standing on a border can invoke fear. A few times as a college student, I joined a group of people at the border between San Diego and Tijuana, Mexico, to worship God in song, prayer, speeches, and food, with people from both sides of the border. Here was a glimpse of the Holy City: people of different nations, ages, genders, and economic statuses sharing life together. It reflected the unity in Paul's description of God's children: "As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus" (Galatians 3:27-28).

But not everyone who attended saw things that way. Once, a man interrupted the service by walking up to us and shouting at us through a megaphone. Perhaps he and the other men with him were afraid of crossing a border into hospitality by welcoming people from Mexico and Latin America. How would their attitudes toward foreigners change if they stood on the border not in fear but joy because God calls people from all nations to be children of God and members of God's family, and that such a call is an expression of God's love for us? How would my attitude change toward foreigners of all kinds if I stood on the border in the joy of God?

I have stood on spiritual borders, crossroads where I needed to decide between staying where I was or going into a new land. When I face such decisions, choosing can be terrifying because I do not know the consequences of either choice. What are the dangers? What are the blessings? How will I change? Is God leading me in a certain direction? Cennick's words encourage me to stand at such crossroads with joy. Instead of trembling, I can sing.

Jesus Christ "bids us undismayed go on" into God's realm. We can trust that God desires to lead us into God's will, and that in God's time God will give clarity. When God calls us to some specific path, sometimes it is more difficult than the hymn suggests to obediently go, "gladly leaving all below," but I am encouraged when I realize that I journey to God, who is the source of life and joy, and who gives us what we need.

As we journey and stand on borders of various kinds, may God bless us with songs and give us the strength to obediently go further into the life of God.

1.1.14

Let All Together Praise Our God (song)

Today is both New Years Day and the eighth day of Christmas. Although part of me wishes New Years Day fell on the first Sunday of Advent, since Advent begins the new year in the Christian calendar, it is also fitting that New Years Day comes at the heart of the Christmas season because of the newness that God brought to the world in Christ and continues to create in Christ. Also, the the novelty of God's becoming a human in Jesus continues to surprise many people even ages after it happened.

I have a book that gives a hymn each week, and last week's hymn was the Christmas carol "Let All Together Praise Our God" by Nicolaus Hermann of Bohemia (c. 1480-1561). It plainly expresses the creative activity of the Incarnation:

Let all together praise our God
Upon his lofty throne;
For he uncloses heaven today
And gives to us his Son,
And gives to us his Son.

He lays aside his majesty
And seems as nothing worth,
And takes on him a servant's form,
Who made the heaven and earth,
Who made the heaven and earth.

Behold the wonderful exchange
Our Lord with us doth make!
Lo, he assumes our flesh and blood,
And we of heaven partake,
And we of heaven partake.

The glorious gates of paradise
The angel guards no more;
This day again those gates unfold.
With praise our God adore,
With praise our God adore! Amen.
(Tune: LOBT GOTT IHR CHRISTEN; MIDI)

Through this hymn, we can praise God, who reigns from far beyond our realm, for giving to us God's very self in becoming a human. Through the Incarnation, God "uncloses heaven"; in other words, God opens and reveals heaven to us, beginning to unite God's realm with ours.

Further, through Jesus, God "lays aside his majesty / And seems as nothing worth"; the one who created heaven and earth takes on "a servant's form." Many of us would expect God incarnate to be a mighty conqueror, unmoved by our pleas, impenetrable by weapons, temptations, and sin, but Jesus is the opposite: he is born among farm animals, he is moved with compassion by the people who follow him, and he is vulnerable, so vulnerable that he dies at human hands. But through this vulnerability, God empathizes with us, and through Jesus' death humanity is saved from death. Somehow, both Jesus' birth and death reconcile us with God. Perhaps it is Jesus' whole life which reconciles us with God. Because God becomes vulnerable in Christ, we can now "of heaven partake."

The final verse says that through the Incarnation, the gates of paradise, which God had barred after Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit, are now open for humanity's re-entry. The book of Revelation paints a slightly different picture: rather than restoring the Garden of Eden, God gives to the world the holy city, the new Jerusalem, which descends to earth. However, within that city is a kind of garden: flowing through the middle of the city is "the river of the water of life," and on either side of the river is "the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations" (Rev. 22:1-2). No matter the details, Hermann expresses that humanity's entrance into the holy city, the new realm, does not begin on a future day, but began on Christmas Day.

So New Years Day seems to come at a fitting time for Christians. If it came during Advent, we would be jumping the gun, celebrating newness before celebrating the birth of the one who is making all things new. If it came on Christmas Day, we might focus on the newness that Jesus brought when he was born and forget the novelty that he continues to make. Instead, New Years Day comes a week after Christmas, suggesting that newness is a consequence of Christ.

Further, our celebrating New Years Day in the middle of the Christmas season reflects the Incarnation. Just as, on this day, we celebrate two events at once, following two calendars at once, so too in Christ God celebrates both holiness and profanity, Holy Spirit and human flesh, creator and creation at once.

"So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us." 2 Corinthians 5:17-19

Thanks to God for reconciling all things in Christ! May we be open to God's new work in us, and have the courage and willingness to participate in God's reconciliation and work of making all things new.