The Baptism of Jesus

“What happened to Jesus at his baptism…was given its counterpart in the church when the Holy Spirit sent by the Father in the Name of the Son came down upon the Apostolic church, sealing it as the people of God redeemed through the blood of Christ, consecrating it to share in the communion of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and sending it out into the world united with Christ as his Body to engage in the service of the Gospel.”

-T.F. Torrance, Theology in Reconciliation

Confessions Of A Political Junky Seeking Audacious Hope

I admit it, I’m a bit of a political junkie. I frequent sites like Politico and Drudgereport all day long. I time my gym visits so I hit the treadmill during Hardball. And like many self-styled progressive, trendy, yearning to be cosmopolitan Mac users, I’m an Obama fan. (In my defense, I was an Obama fan when it was just trendy, not uber-trendy like it is now.) So today is a pretty exciting day for me. It has a Super-Tuesdayesque kind of character. I was up early sipping coffee and watching the pundits on CNN and MSNBC all say the same thing different ways. Then I opened up my prayer book and was struck by the words of the lectionary’s morning Psalter selection, Psalm 146:

3Do not put your trust in princes,
in mortals, in whom there is no help.
4When their breath departs, they return to the earth;
on that very day their plans perish.
5Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob
whose hope is in the LORD their God…

Obama has raised political interest and excitement and even seems to have eroded, albeit ever so slightly, so of the overwhelming sense of American cynicism where all things political are concerned. He’s bright, articulate, and might be the sort of candidate that could unite Americans in what is one of the most divisive political seasons in recent memory. All this is good. But Obama, like Hillary Clinton and John McCain is a mortal prince in whom there is no help. His plans and policy objectives may be good but their goodness is limited like that of all created things in the shadow of the Fall. One of the tragic aspects of the human condition is that we are constantly trying to attain lasting hope from good but fleeting things. Craig Barnes describes this sense of restlessness in his book Searching for Home:

Whether we want to admit it or not, the longing for home is welling up from the soul. This may even be the most enduring trace of God upon our lives. It’s as basic to the biblical literature as Adam and Eve who long for paradise, Abraham who leaves home in order to find a promised land, the exiled Hebrews who are stunned to be stuck in Babylon, and the prodigal son to whom the memory of the father’s house returns. The entire biblical story depicts men and women roaming from one disconnected experience to the next, unable to be at home where they are, uncertain that they will ever find where they ought to be…When we awaken to the identity of this one who is with us, we discover that paradise has found us, along the way. And in that rests all our hope.

So much of our lives are lived looking for the next thing that will give us a sense of deep and lasting fulfillment and hope. But inevitably whatever we thought would do it for us doesn’t, be it a job, a house, a lover, or a cause. We are still left with the profound sense of longing that always characterizes human existence. No created thing can put our restlessness to rest. Only our Creator who comes to us as Redeemer can do this.

So whatever the outcome today, it’s importance is relative. The enduring reality and truth that Dante discovers in his spiritual pilgrimage remains the same:

Everywhere He reigns, and there He rules;
there is His city, there is His high throne.
Oh happy the one he makes his citizen!

-Dante, The Inferno, I.

 

 

To Consuming Moderns I Become…?

Today’s Lectionary Epistle is from 1st Corinthians 9:

19For though I am free with respect to all, I have made myself a slave to all, so that I might win more of them. 20To the Jews I became as a Jew, in order to win Jews. To those under the law I became as one under the law (though I myself am not under the law) so that I might win those under the law. 21To those outside the law I became as one outside the law (though I am not free from Gods law but am under Christs law) so that I might win those outside the law. 22To the weak I became weak, so that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all people, that I might by all means save some. 23I do it all for the sake of the gospel, so that I may share in its blessings.”

I was instant messaging with a friend today who said this: “… it’s kinda weird when all ur worlds start to intersect and somehow they find their way onto your facebook.” We then wound up in an interesting “discussion” (I put discussion in quotes because Instant Messaging seems like something a bit different than conversation) about how the modern (or postmodern or hypermodern depending on your preferred nomenclature) condition is one of rootlessness and disintegration. We’re always on the move, both daily and in life. We are, most of us anyway, mobile all the time. We work one place, play in another, worship in another, meet potential life partners in another, connect with family in yet another, and so forth. And then many of us will uproot and move to another part of the country, or perhaps even another country altogether, and find a whole other set of places and networks and relationships and start the whole process again. We are forever putting on and taking off different selves. Our work selves, our play selves, our dating selves, our family selves. This is perhaps why boundary language is such a part of our culture. We’re always trying to figure out when and where one self ought to end and where and when another should begin. Then comes a website like Facebook where we can look at all our selves and the networks they inhabit all at once, and it can be downright arresting. This is so different from the existential situation of so many of the people who have ever lived, who by and large lived, worked, worshiped and died with the same people in the same place.

This led to my thinking about what the Gospel speaks into this situation. My guess is that most people in Center City Philadelphia where I work and live aren’t deeply driven by the question of how they might possibly be reconciled to a righteous and holy God. This probably was a dilemma in 16th century Europe, but not now, not for most urbanites anyway. What does it mean to become “all things to all people” in the here and now?

My guess is it has something to do with the promise of a God who wants to know the whole us and create a place and space where we can know and be known. The trap of modernity is that we are always constructing ourselves. Our identities are always in flux. Identity is the last and ultimate consumer good. More like a consumer project actually. This is why advertising so seldom sells a product, but an identity. If you buy this car, or these clothes, or consume this convivial beverage then you will enter into the world and scene that comes with them. Our consumer choices become bound up not merely with our material needs, but with our desire to construct that self that will end the sense of longing that leads to senseless spending. But this is false hope. The failure of each consumer constructed identity leads to a more gaping hole than previously existed. So many of us find our selves longing to create a self that gives us peace at the same time being caught in the midst of our selves and all the contexts in which mere segments of us are known at any given time. In the Gospel we meet a God from whom we cannot hide, a God before whom we can stop the quest for the consumer self. For this God knows us in Christ better than we can know ourselves and the gift of his grace is the gift of our true selves that we can never create but only receive and live into in the Spirit. This God journeys with us in our nomadic state, uniting us with other modern nomads who have received the promise of membership in an Eternal City where everybody knows our name, and more than our name, our deepest truest selves.