St. Gregory’s Church Woodstock
Sunday, 4 January, 2009, Second Sunday after Christmas
The Rev’d Susan Auchincloss
If the Gospel
of Luke were written, not in words, but in musical notes, we would call chapters
one and two the overture. Not until chapter three does the Gospel, proper,
begin. In his overture Luke introduces the main themes of Jesus’ story. Let me
give just a few examples. First, there was no place for Jesus and his parents
in the inn. Luke foreshadows with this detail the kind of life Jesus will live,
always on the margins of society – in, but not of, the world. Here’s another
example: Mary wrapped the babe in bands of cloth. True, mothers did wrap new
born infants in bands of cloth, but so also was a corpse wrapped. The bands of
cloth prefigure not only Jesus’ death, but the symbolic death he brings to all
of us in the sacrament of baptism. And a final example: Mary laid Jesus in a
manger, that is, an eating trough. This detail could scarcely be more blatant;
it tells us that Jesus was destined to become bread for the world, bread for
eternal life.
Today’s episode complete’s Luke’s overture. Details abound here, too, telling us what to listen for in the story to come. For one thing, our ears always perk up when we hear the words, “After three days....” Jesus used the phrase many times to speak of his resurrection, which would take place, he said, “after three days.” In today’s reading Luke tells us that after three days Jesus’ parents found him in the temple. The temple, God’s house, stands for the kingdom of heaven, or the kingdom of God, that is, for resurrection life. So this detail forecasts Jesus’ resurrection. We can go on to say that Luke inserted the phrase, “after three days,” as a hint: those who seek Jesus and the larger life that Jesus makes possible, must seek him in God’s house. This would mean the church, of course, but also it would mean our own, inner place of prayer; we would seek him in a regular practice of prayer.
One other detail calls for our attention, and I want to focus on this in particular; because I dare say it raised questions for all of us. What do we make of a boy – not just any boy but a boy uniquely close to God – who goes off on a lark, apparently indifferent to his parents’ feelings? Is this divine behavior? If we hold the idea that Jesus’ divinity saved him from making normal human mistakes, this episode should set us straight. He did what any twelve-year-old boy does (and others of us besides). As Joseph Campbell would have said, he followed his bliss. The temple attracted Jesus the way the telescope attracted Galileo – both searching for the truth of the heavens; both so passionate for truth that they would risk death. But what does this detail portend for the Gospel, itself, and for us?
Doesn’t it warn us that Jesus would not be an easy person to be around? Isn’t it likely that his parents considered Jesus a problem child? We tend to appreciate children who are swayed by our approval, children who adopt the norms of our family and society; in short, children who conform. Jesus did not; but on the other hand, neither did he rebel. He was not an against kind of person. In fact, he, himself, would later say, “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill.” Jesus was not a rebellious child, and without doubt he loved his parents; yet he loved God and he loved truth more still.
I want to say more about this love of God and love of truth with reference to the film “Water.” Deepa Mehta, a Canadian citizen born in India, wrote and directed the film. It opens with an eight-year-old girl swinging her legs over the back of a wagon that is carrying the body of her dead husband. In keeping with Hindu custom at the time, Chuyia, the eight-year-old widow, will be taken to a compound where with other widows – all much older – she will live, shunned and untouchable, until she dies. A widow’s sins, so the faith believes, cause her husband’s death; and so Hindu sacred teachings equate widows to moral lepers. Even to be touched by a widow’s shadow brings bad luck.
At first Chuyia feels disconsolate, for she has never been parted from her mother; but so certain is she that her mother will soon come for her, that she adjusts to life in the compound quite quickly. As the film goes on, we learn that they keep alive in the compound by forcing one of the widows – one who is still young and pretty – into prostitution. Finally a day comes when this breadwinner commits suicide. How now shall the community survive? The head widow turns to Chuyia, and sends her, all unknowing, in place of the other – Chuyia, who is still only eight years old.
One of the other widows has resisted the rule of the head widow, but it has torn her apart to do so. On the one hand she is a faithful Hindu, so she feels bound to obey. On the other hand, she questions the rule of the head widow, so she resists obeying. But when she realizes what the head widow has done, she breaks every rule and runs out to try to stop Chuyia from being taken away across the river. Too late. When Chuyia is brought back, traumatized, this widow holds her in her arms, sitting on the river bank, comforting her until dawn.
Instead of returning to the compound, the woman carries Chuyia to the railway station; for she has heard that Gandhi is to make a stop there. She hopes that perhaps Gandhi can help; and as it will turn out, a follower of Gandhi’s does agree to care for Chuyia. But here we come to the whole point of the film. Gandhi gives a talk at the station, and he concludes his remarks by saying, “I used to think God is truth. Now I know that truth is God.” We want to say, “God is truth/truth is God” what’s the difference? There is a big difference.
Let me connect this to Jesus in the temple. He has been oblivious to the worry he caused his parents, not because of indifference to them, but because his passion to draw near to God and to truth overrides all other concerns. This detail forecasts Jesus’ mission as an adult; for he had a driving passion to make people understand that truth is God and not vice versa. Perhaps we could put it this way. If no one has ever seen God, how do we know God’s nature? God’s will? Don’t we have to turn to the holy writings? They teach us who God is and how to please God.
The trouble is,
superstition, class interests, and social customs can seep into the holy
writings. That is easy for us to see in the film, because it deals with a
foreign faith. In Jesus’ day, however, it was no different. Think of the
religious prejudice against women, against homosexuals, against Gentiles,
against various eating practices, against sinners. All of these were attributed
to God. No wonder Jesus scandalized people by eating with sinners and social
outcasts, talking to women, picking grain on the Sabbath.... Think, also, of
the fearsome, irascible nature of God that featured so prominently in the holy
writings. Shall we say, then, that God is truth? Jesus knew better. He taught
that truth is God; and so passionately did he teach this, that the religious
authorities crucified him for it.
How did Jesus know what was truth? How can we? Even Jesus could not put truth into words; no one can, for truth is a word from the heart. He could tell when truth was missing, however; and he could tell, not only by studying Scripture, but even more, by steeping himself in prayer. Through time set apart to be alone with God, absorbing God’s Spirit, he became, so to speak, a spiritual litmus paper. He felt throughout his whole being when he was in the presence of truth and when he was in the absence of truth. In the presence of truth he felt warmth, compassion, clarity, peace and joy. He knew then that he was in the presence of God. He knew that truth is God.