At the Threshold of Light

A close friend died on December 22, just past the winter solstice--as the longest night's darkness turns toward increasing light. The date would have meant something to him. He was a practicing Buddhist, and he saw his death as a threshold to something further, some new illumination that was now pending and opening to him.

When his family contacted his friends, they asked that all would pray for white Light to guide Andy. When they contacted us later, it was to let us know when he died. At the time I was hiking a trail near Lutsen, and the thought that was repeating itself in my mind as I stepped along the trail was just a question, "How would Andy's soul find me here if he were dying now?" Somehow he did come to find me on the day that light begins to increase.

In a rather different way, the Christ child has also come to find us, all of us--as the longest darkness recedes and gives way to increasing light. "He was the true light that enlightens everyone, coming into the world" (John 1:9). We ask ourselves, how will he find us; well, he knows us. He loves us, and he comes to find us wherever we are. He is a true friend.

"The Word Became Flesh" and the Body Became Wise

A Jewish poet remarked that we must “unscroll the Torah of our bodies.” The poet meant, I think, that our living bodies are continuous discoveries and marvels for us; only gradually opening, only revealing little by little, the beauty, the truth and the wisdom donated to us by God through the gift of our personal bodily being.

People say they don’t like their bodies. Too fat, too thin, too short, too tall, too wide, too narrow. Paagh! What a blunder! What a mistake! What incomprehension! For this third week in Advent, reflecting upon the ways “the Word became flesh”, we recognize the incredible persistence with which the human body seeks healing and life and meaning. This human body, in its wisdom and perhaps in its homesickness for the divine, hungrily and accurately reaches for the image and healing of the enfleshed Wisdom of God.

Look at Mark 5. A woman with a 12-year chronic illness hears about Jesus. She sees him in her town. She follows him. In the middle of a crowd of people, she inches up to him, closer and closer. As he slows to talk with others, she drops to her knees and humbly, invisibly, out of the depths of her suffering body, reaches out toward his body, toward only the hem of his clothing, as toward healing, toward light, toward life, toward incarnate love. The cure comes. At the same time, Jesus notices communication: he receives a pleading touch; he gives a restorative energy.

It was a cure by incarnation: the incarnation of divine compassion in Jesus, and the incarnation of human yearning, suffering and need in the woman.

In Christian terms, the wisdom or Logos of God, having accepted human life with its limitations and sorrows, will impart the easing and the ending of human suffering. The human body recognizes in the Christ, in his life and in “his wounds”, our hope and our healing. The exilic Isaiah says, and the early Christian community heard, that the Suffering body, the wise Servant, was “pierced for our transgressions…by his wounds we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5, NIV). By his divine Wisdom and compassion, we recognize our own potential to impart ease or to end the suffering of others.

Conversion

We visited the town of Pollenzo, Italy a couple of weeks ago. There are remnants of a Roman town underlying everything there. We did not realize how these ruins still shaped the city until we learned that the "circle" of homes at the center of town actually rested upon the old foundations of a 10,000 seat colliseum. Mysteriously, the enclosed arena of one era's violent and brutal entertainments, gladiator fights and so on, had now become the flower beds and fruit trees of another epoch. The "conversion" of the arena into peaceful gardens may be a sign of true hope.

The Mystery of Orange

“There is not one blade of grass, there is no color in this world that is not intended to make us rejoice.” --John Calvin

When the sun set the other evening, there was a precious, short time when it shone between the cold cloud-line and the treed-horizon. The sun made the most of its single moment that day, setting as a thin, bright orange wall of color between grey clouds and darkening trees. As my wife and I walked, we became burnished, and every plant, sign, and house shone with the influence of the sunset. We were glorified by the incident of nature's timing.

Later, I think, how surprising that I cannot find "orange" in the NRSV translation of the Bible. Something of beauty, truth and goodness exceed our Scripture's expressions. As John Calvin once wrote, “Man with all his shrewdness is as stupid about understanding...the mysteries of God, as an ass is incapable of understanding musical harmony.” The mystery of Orange--and of much, much else from God will be unknown to us. Thank heaven!

The Beginning of Love: Listening

One of the greatest treasures of life is the person who understands you. I opened a phone conversation the other day with the confidence-building words, "Please let me be neurotic for a minute." My friend was completely open to that, listened for the requisite time needed, then brought me back to the normal planet we usually inhabit. Some day, I will do the same for my friend. I know this. We have been through it before. My turn, your turn. It's like the old house rule: "Only one person gets to be crazy at a time." Another way to put it: you'll get your turn. I'll get mine. It will be all right. Bonhoeffer wrote, "The beginning of love for the (brothers and sisters) is learning to listen to them. It is God's love for us that He not only gives us His Word but lends us His ear. So it is His work that we do for our brother when we learn to listen to him.”