Lars and Marge Antisdel built a huge nativity display in
their yard every year for Christmas – and not one of those cheap plastic sets
with Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus either. They went all out. Their
nativity scene included the Holy Family, of course, but they also had sheep and
a shaggy donkey, and scruffy shepherds, and singing angels, all crafted out of
durable resin in Italy. And Lars had them displayed in a crèche he’d built from
distressed lumber and dressed with hay. The whole scene was especially
beautiful at night, illuminated as it was with carefully arranged spotlights
that gave Jesus, Mary, and Joseph nimbuses of light around their heads like
soft haloes of glory. They even hid small speakers in the manger so that folks
who drove by could listen to string arrangements of “O Holy Night,” “Angels We
Have Heard on High,” and other Christmas hymns.
The Antisdel display had been featured on the front page of
the local paper. The Herald Examiner sent out a photographer and a reporter for
an interview with Lars and Marge. “Come to Bethlehem and See” was the headline
of the article.
But this year their display left me disappointed, as
beautiful as it was. And this year they’d even added a trio of Wise Men on
camels far to the side of the manger scene. It should have been delightful. But
it all left me sad because also in their yard was one of those yard signs with
the flag of the United States in blue, black, and white and the words: SUPPORT
OUR POLICE.
I can’t look at the Antisdel’s display without thinking of
Herod’s troops, dispatched to slaughter the children of Bethlehem. I can’t look
at the Antisdel’s display without hearing Rachel weeping for her children; she
would not be comforted because they are not.
I shared this song yesterday with the united method church that I attend. They liked it well enough that they want to sing it as a congregational song this coming Sunday.
Sing a song of winter - now the chill has come we’re trying to remember the warmth of the sun
And even though the ice is freezing
In the streets along our way
We find our hearts are warmer
A little every day.
Sing a song of Advent, a new year’s just begun
We’re waiting and we’re watching for the rising of the sun
So let us all rejoice, amen
The Prince of Peace is here
The King of Glory at the gates
His kingdom drawing near
So sing - sing a song of joy
Sing a song
Sing
Song his song forever; his glory will not end
He pulls the mighty from their thrones and scatters the proud
He fills the hungry with good things
And sends the rich away
Raising up the poor and weak, he is mighty to save.
The moon may be bright but the night is so cold and lasts so long that I can remember neither the sun nor the apricity that warms my soul even when my finger tips are cold.
“Light, and life, and love still win,” she said meaning me now that I’m gone. What's the difference between sarcasm and irony? I don't know.
A new life, an old life, accept it for what it is. Maybe this time it will be all right. I don't know what I've been told about you. Don't believe what you've heard from me.
We have technology to read the prophecies - all the signs of the times. But we can't understand, we cannot comprehend all the times that we sigh.
If I were a monster I'd stay out all night and come to bed at dawn. Light the fireworks, send up the alarm; you're going to miss me when I'm gone.
That’s an exciting way to begin a
sermon. I use it somewhat tongue in check, not to indicate the imminence of
Jesus’ return or the end of the world – though with the gospel reading for
today, it would be understandable if you leapt to that conclusion. But the end
is near – the end of the liturgical year. We are coming to the end of the
church’s calendar and we will soon, with the beginning of the Advent season,
begin a new year. But now, in these last few weeks before advent, the
lectionary readings take a turn toward the eschatological – things related to
death, judgement and the end.
I grew up in an Evangelical church,
and for many evangelical Christians in America there is a peculiar fascination
with all things eschatological. I grew up with those heightened apocalyptic
expectations. I vividly recall being at the church building with my parents and
not knowing where they were and being scared that I had missed the rapture – at
least until I heard their voices again. I still remember dreams that I had as a
young boy of volcanoes and blood falling from the sky, dreams that could rival
the visions of John recorded in the book of Revelation.
As a young minister, I spent a lot
of time studying the prophetic and apocalyptic books of the bible, reading commentaries
on, watching documentaries on the various interpretations, and going
conferences on the topic. I even spoke at a couple of conferences dealing the
study of eschatology. I was fascinated with the subject.
But these days I’m less interested
in apocalyptic speculation. Less interested, but not disinterested., I still am. The novels that I’ve written, especially my first, have a decided influence from the apocalyptic genre. My interest has waned but not disappeared
completely. Meanwhile, the Christian community these days, at least in America,
is fired up on the topic again. It seems to flare up with regularity every time
there is renewed conflict in the Middle East. I see many of my friends on
Facebook and X (formerly Twitter) posting memes and messages about the soon
expected coming of Jesus. When I listen to Christian radio, I hear them talking
about the thrill of “living in these last days…” And, honesty, I find a lot of
what they are saying and posting to be a little disturbing. I’m not sure I
trust people whose religious faith is excited
by the imminent expectation of the end of the world.
So I come to this parable of Jesus
with mixed feelings. I like the topic and still find it fascinating. But I also
find it wearisome. Tiring and thrilling
at the same time.I’m difficult. I know.
“The Kingdom of Heaven will be like
this: Ten wedding attendants took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom
and the bride.” This is how Jesus’ parable recorded in Matthew 25: 1 – 13 begins.
And already we have some difficulties to examine. The first thing we should
note is that most English translations stop with “the bridegroom.” A few
include a footnote to indicate that “other ancient authorities add and the bride.” The bride is missing
from some manuscripts, “probably because the ‘bridegroom’ was understood as an
allegorical reference to Christ, and the copyist could see no way of fitting
the bride into the allegory (Johnson 556).”
First – this is a parable and not
an allegory. Allegories need a specific referent. The novel Animal Farm by George Orwell is an
allegory about the Russian Revolution of 1917. John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress is an allegory of the
spiritual life from baptism through trials to heaven. Allegories need a
specific referent. Parables do not. Parables don’t need a point by point
comparison, this equals that, in order to be understood. They are simple
stories that point beyond themselves to greater truths.
But the Church got stuck reading
this particular parable as an allegory of Jesus as the Bridegroom and the
sudden appearance of the bridegroom at midnight as the Parousia - the expected
second coming of Christ, and eventually ‘the bride’ dropped out of the parable.
For how could Jesus, the bridegroom, come with his bride, the church, at his
second coming?
The allegorical interpretation was
fleshed out, point by point, to make the foolish Virgins, or maidens a reference
to Israel and the wise Virgins, or maidens to Gentile believers – further exacerbating
the tensions between Jews and Christians over the years. (Jeremias 51 - 53) Interpreted
thusly, the parable is used to encourage believers to not fall asleep – like the
Jews, or other non-believers, so that we can be ready when Christ appears to receive
his bride at the rapture or the second coming. (Never mind the fact that the
story clearly says that all ten of the waiting virgins, both the foolish and
the wise) fell asleep as they waited…)
Maybe the confusion is to be
expected. After all Jesus said that he taught the people with parables so that
they would not understand. His disciples asked why he taught the people using
parables and Jesus said, “The reason I talk to them in parables sis that they
look without seeing and listen with hearing or understanding. So in their case
what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah is being fulfilled: Listen and listen, but never understand! Look and look, but never perceive!
This people’s heart has grown coarse, their ears dulled, they have shut their eyes
tight to avoid using their eyes to see, their ears to hear, their heart to
understand…” Matthew 13: 10 - 15
But all of this is going astray. If
we keep in mind that it’s a parable – and not an allegory – and that in the story the
bridegroom is coming with his bride we can read it as an occasion of joy and festivities
with shouts of rejoicing and mirth and the voices of the bridegroom and the
bride proceeding through the city. (Jeremiah 7:34). It is an elaborate
procession with the bridegroom and bride decked out as the King and Queen,
carried on a palanquin of wood from Lebanon, with posts of silver and a canopy
of gold. They are surrounded by their friends and families dressed as champions
and swordsmen (Song of Solomon 3: 7-11)
Ten wedding attendants went out to
wait for the procession, but the wedding party was delayed and the attendants
fell asleep. But at midnight, the cry went up. “Look! The bridegroom! Go and
meet him!”
The attendants snapped awake and
readied themselves to go join the festivities. But five of them had come
unprepared, with no extra oil. Their smoking, sputtering, smoldering wicks
would not light. “Share some of your oil with us,” the foolish ones said to the
others who’d wisely brought extra oil. But they replied, “There might not be
enough for all of us. Run quickly to the oil merchant (the oil merchant is open
at midnight?!) and buy some.
And while they were off buying more
oil, the wedding party arrived and everyone went into the house for the feast. When
the foolish attendants returned, with their lamps burning brightly now, they begged
for the door to be opened so that they could join the party. But the bridegroom
said to them. “I don’t know you,” and the door stayed closed.
There’s no need for fearful apocalyptic,
eschatological expectations here. And definitely no need to slur and vilify people of
the Jewish faith. The Kingdom of God is like this: those who are ready and prepared
will enter and be welcomed to the party. Those who are not ready and prepared
will remain unknown and outside the door.
Some might have difficulty with the
seeming finality of that that “I do not know you.” But another teaching of
Jesus recorded in the gospel of Matthew ends the same way. In chapter 7
Jesus told his disciples, “It is not anyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord’ who
will enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but the person who does the will of my Father
in heaven. When the day comes many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not
prophecy in your name, drive out demons in your name, work many miracles in
your name?’ Then I shall tell them to their faces: I have never known you.”
(Matthew 7: 21 – 23)
Many who think they belong, who are
prophesying in his name, who are driving out demons, who are preaching sermons,
who are waiting for the coming of Christ will find that they have missed the
boat because they haven't been doing the will of the father.
A few days ago – November 7th-
would have been the birthday of the French existentialist philosopher,
journalist, and author, Albert Camus. In a quote that is attributed to him (but
for which I cannot find the source) he said, “You will never be happy if you
continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you
are looking for the meaning of life.”We
won’t know the kingdom of God if we’re sitting around waiting for the kingdom
of God. To know (and be known in) the kingdom of God is to hear the message of Christ
and act on it. Do the will of God. Do the work of the Kingdom. Feed the hungry.
Give drink to the thirsty. Welcome the stranger. Clothe the naked. Visit the
sick and the imprisoned. (Matthew 25: 31 – 46)
The Kingdom of Heaven is like this:
Some of those who are waiting to see it will miss it because they are not ready
to see it. Listening and listening, they will not hear it. Looking and looking
they will not see it. And when the cry goes up, they won’t get in the door
because they haven’t understood. So watch and be ready. Do the will of the father.
Jeremias, Joachim. The Parables of Jesus. New York,
NY: Charles Scribner’s Sons. 1972. Print.
Johnson, Sherman E. “The Gospel According to St. Matthew: Exegesis.”
The Interpreter’s Bible Volume VII. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press. 1951.
Print.
For the past several months I have been working as a United States Postal Carrier in a rural community in central Iowa. It's hard work, but I enjoy it. I'm outside, working independently, and helping the community. It's good work.
And I observe a lot as I carry the mail. All through the month of October I watched people putting up thier Halloween decorations. Now those are coming down and Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations are going up.
One of the things that I've observed at a number of the homes that I deliver to are stickers at the front door that declare: The owner of this property is armed and prepared to protect life and property from criminal offense. There is nothing inside worth risking your life for.
Now - the question I have is is this: IF there is nothing in the house worth dying for AND the owner of the house is still willing to shoot and kill for it - what does that say about the owner of that house?
If none of it is worth dying for - why are they willing to kill for it?
A few days ago I posted a bit of doggerel poetry that I'd written (appropriately enough) using bits and pieces of the dialogue from the stage version of Frankenstein that I'd recently directed for a local community theatre production.
Ordinarily I am insistent about one holiday at a time. I'm frustrated and irritated when I see Christmas decorations in stores before Halloween, but...
I spotted this Hidden Nativity this morning while I was out walking in the rain and it gladdened my irritable little heart, so I took a picture of it.
We are only a breath away, a breath
away from disaster. The wind, the wind is blowing. Can you hear the word of the
Lord?We are breathing, yes, but with
great difficulty with all the smoke in the air, the chemical haze, the
particulate matter thrown into the air by the fires and explosions in Des
Moines.
This death, and a thousand others,
have I suffered. And have you suffered? Are you satisfied yet? But now I will
live my life anew. More than death. More. How much more would you demand of me?
I sing along with the radio, all
the stupid love songs that I used to know. But I don’t feel like myself
anymore. I’m pretending to be who I am. I am a stranger even to myself.Why are you still here? Why are you still
here, when you were never here before? I have a memory – a memory of someone I
never knew.
It was the loudest explosion I’ve
ever heard. Suddenly the lights in the city dimmed and blinked twice before
humming back to light. Then the lights blinked out and left us all in darkness.
I will leave speculation and all
experiments in idle philosophy. I will leave all chemical persuasions even
though I am still exhausted. These are the shared phobias and weak hearts of
unloved children. Leave them. Leave me.
I woke, like fabled Nebuchadnezzar, from a
dream I could not remember and the whole day that followed was filled with
auguries I could not interpret and omens I could not understand:
The day
began with broken plants and scattered dirt. Methodist bells chimed for blood
and ancient sacrifices. The sky was heavy with clouds and the threat of rain.
The air was full of clanging alarms but no trains. There were strange numbers
for unfamiliar places as I walked in circles all over town. I was here before
and will be again. I had time to think, but no time to
write; time to drink and get into fights.
But still I managed to do some of
each. I sent futile messages into the void, hoping for a response of rejection
or repayment. But expecting neither. And at the end of it all, I stitched
myself together as best I could with needle and thread purchased at the dollar
store and made dinner for two. I went for a walk into the gloaming but turned
back before dark.
I am overdrawn and underslept. And
I worry about tomorrow.
