Words Half Heard: Eichenberg

Showing posts with label Eichenberg. Show all posts

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Invitation to the Cross

As part of my Lenten observation this year, I'm taking a break from writing new blog posts and updating and re-posting earlier material. Today's post was first shared on April 1, 2012. For another Holy Week post from the past, consider also Thank You for the Cross, April 17, 2011.

Black Crucifixion, Fritz Eichenberg, 1963, New York

And God held in his hand
A small globe. Look,

he said.
The son looked. . .

On a bare
Hill a bare tree saddened
The sky. Many people
Held out their thin arms
To it,
As though waiting
For a vanished April
To return to its crossed
Boughs. The son watched
Them. Let me go there, he said.
(from "The Coming," R. S. Thomas)

There is something unsettling about the story of Palm Sunday. Crowds gathered to cheer a likely candidate, one of their own who could draw a crowd, who could take back Jerusalem from the evil empire, who could promote their agendas and ensure their safety.

It’s easy to picture the crowd. The objects waved might be different (flags? pennants? streamers?), but the energy is the same.

It’s not so easy to picture Jesus, riding the donkey through the crowd. Luke says, "as he approached Jerusalem he wept.”

Not normal hero behavior.

Did the crowd notice? Did they wonder why?

With the cheers of the adoring crowd echoing in his ears, Jesus went on to the temple, where he upset the economic order by throwing over tables: money changers, merchants of sacrificial doves, commerce sent scrambling. The accommodating (well-recompensed?) religious leaders were enraged: how dare he?

From there, he went on to tell a series of stories meant to alienate the insiders, the holders of power, those most convinced of their own righteousness.

Then the Passover meal, with talk of sacrifice and death, and the embarrassing scene with the bowl and towel.

Foot Washing, Gunning King, 1936, UK

It’s an odd story, shifting from adoration, to alienation, to anticipated grief.

There’s nothing in the story that sounds invented, “mythic,” polished.

It’s told in each of the gospels with a sense of quiet amazement, with a raw honesty unexpected in religious text. Facts outlined, dialogue sketched, strange stories reported as the lauded candidate for coming king deliberately dismantles the grand expectations of friends, followers and crowd.

.Vinoth Ramachandra, a Sri Lankan who has written and lectured extensively about pluralism, world religions, and the uniqueness of the Christian faith, notes in The Scandal of Jesus: Christ in a Pluralistic World:

If you wanted to convert the educated and pious people of the empire to your cause, whatever that cause may have been, the worst thing you could ever do would be to link that cause to a recently crucified man. To put it mildly, that would have been a public relations disaster. And to associate God, the source of all life, with this crucified criminal was to invite mockery and sheer incomprehension! This was indeed the experience of the first Christians

This message, if true, subverted the world of religion. For it claimed that if you wanted to know what God is like, and to learn God’s purposes for God’s world, you had to go not to the sages, the lofty speculations of the philosophers or to the countless religious temples and sacred groves that dotted the empire, but to a cross outside the walls of Jerusalem. The world of the first Christians was every bit as pluralistic, if not more so, than ours- culturally and religiously. But for the Jews a crucified Messiah/Saviour was a contradiction in terms, for it expressed not God’s power but God’s inability to liberate Israel from Roman rule. For pious Greeks and Romans, the idea that a god or son of a god should die as a state criminal, and that human salvation should depend on that particular historical event, was not only offensive, it was sheer madness.

This message, if it were true, also subverted the world of politics. It claimed that Rome’s own salvation would come from among those forgotten victims of state terror. Caesar himself would have to bow the knee to this crucified Jew. It implied that by crucifying the Lord of the universe, the much-vaunted civilization of Rome stood radically condemned. The Pax Romana was a sham peace. Like all imperial projects, it was built on the suffering of the many. And God had chosen to be found among the victims, not the empire-builders. Little wonder that the Christians’ ‘Good News’ (‘Gospel’) was labeled a ‘dangerous superstition’ by educated Romans of the time.

Now, it is the madness of this ‘word of the cross’ that compels us to take it seriously. I am a Christian today because there is something so foolish, so absurd, so topsy-turvy about the Christian gospel that it gets under my skin: it has the ring of truth about it. No one can say that this was some pious invention, for it ran counter to all notions of piety. And nothing was gained by it. All who proclaimed it suffered as a result.

Ramanchandra goes on to explore further the subversive nature of the cross: it subverts not only our ideas of religion and political power, but of self, autonomy, family, tribe, national identity:

White Crucifixion, Marc Chagall, 1938, Russia

"When illustrating what it means to belong to the kingdom of God, Jesus takes as his paradigmatic examples those who had least status in his contemporary society. In a world where children had no legal rights, economic possessions or no social standing, he makes them the model for those who receive the kingdom of God (Matt.18: 1-4; Mark 10: 13-16). When, on the eve of the crucifixion, he washes the feet of his disciples like a household slave, and requires them to do the same for each other (John 13:3-15), he makes slaves the paradigms for leadership in the kingdom of God. If the kingdom of God belongs to people such as slaves, the poor, and little children, then others can enter the kingdom only by accepting the same lack of status. The cross brings all human beings, men and women, rich and poor, religious and irreligious, to the same level before God. It is at the foot of the cross, that all human beings, without exception, are revealed as the objects of God’s forgiving and re-creating love. This is the egalitarian politics of grace."

Jesus doesn’t invite us to Palm Sunday, to a triumphal politics of power, a proud exclusionary religion of exceptional righteousness.

He invites us to the cross, to the foot of the cross, to align ourselves not only with him, but with every marginalized, forgotten, condemned person who ever lived. He calls us to set aside status, entitlement, self-justifying argument, self-protective agenda, and find a new home in his family of grace.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, struggling to understand the call of the cross in the face of Nazi fascism, wrote:

“The Cross is not the terrible end of a pious happy life. Instead, it stands at the beginning of community with Jesus Christ. When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” (from Discipleship and the Cross )

Come and die.

Christ of the Homeless, Fritz Eichenberg, 1982, New York

Jesus said “greater love has no one than this than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. . . This is my command: Love each other.”

The Christian faith is more than words, buildings, organizational structures, theological frameworks, philosophical exposition, like-minded people sharing like-minded values. At its core, the Christian faith is a community of deeply broken, deeply loved people, knit together by allegiance to a dying friend on a distant hill, choosing each day to sacrifice personal preference and self-fulfillment for the needs of a deeply wounded world.

Come and die. Not great ad copy. Not a catchy campaign slogan.

Yet that call sounds across the centuries, and we can trace the outlines of history through the lives of those who have understood and answered that call.

Please join the conversation. Your thoughts and experiences in this are welcome. Look for the "__ comments" link below to leave your comments.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Making Peace: What God's Children Do

Too long have I lived
among those who hate peace.
I am for peace;
but when I speak, they are for war. Psalm 120

This week was the tenth anniversary of the war in Iraq, an occasion marked by bombs in Baghdad, reports of chemical warfare in Syria, continuing argument about drones, guns, foreign policy.

Jesus said “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the sons of God.”

From all I can tell as I read the gospels, the book of Acts, the epistles to early churches, peace-making isn’t an add-on, optional activity for a few fringe followers of Christ. It’s visible evidence of family membership. It’s what God’s children do.

St. Francis, Fritz Eichenberg,
1952, New York

Seek peace, we’re told.

Pray for peace.

Live in peace.

Go in peace.

Offer peace.

Turn the other cheek.

Forgive seventy times seven.

Love your neighbor as yourselves.

Love your enemies.

Do good to those who curse you.

Peace-making is at the heart of the good news Jesus offers: reconciliation between God and man, between warring factions, between those traditionally included and empowered and those too long treated as invisible and unworthy:

There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3)

Here there is no Gentile or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all. . . Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace (Colossians 3).

James, Jesus’ brother, insisting that faith reveal itself in a consistent, loving life, taught that followers of Christ would express his peace in their inner dialogue, their daily attitudes, their thoughtful, respectful words:

But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere. Peacemakers who sow in peace reap a harvest of righteousness. (James 3)

From Old Testament to new, a sure sign of idolatrous paganism was trust in chariots and swords, military schemes, unsanctioned alliances with brutal neighbors. God’s people were expected to trust in him, not the latest military toy. His wisdom demonstrates itself in peacemaking that brings righteousness (not "rightness," but something far beyond it)

The trust in God that vanquished fear and allowed believers to live in peace was so striking to observers of the early church that many, weary of Roman brutality, were drawn to the Christian faith, setting aside their own hatreds and weapons. Athanasius of Alexandria, ( 296-373 AD), asked:

"Who is he that has united in peace those who hated each other, if not the beloved Son of the Father, the common Savior of all, Jesus Christ, who in his love submitted to all things for our salvation? For even from of old it had been prophesied concerning the peace ushered in by him, the scriptures saying, 'They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into sickles, and nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither will they learn any more to wage war' (Isaiah 2:4).

"And such a thing is not unbelievable, inasmuch as even now the barbarians . . . while they still sacrifice to their idols, rage against one another and cannot bear to remain without a sword for a single hour, but when they hear the teaching of Christ they immediately turn to farming instead of war, and instead of arming their hands with swords stretch them out in prayer.” (On the Incarnation)

Other early church historians echo this: “Christ, in disarming Peter, unbelted every soldier,” wrote Tertullian.

Clement of Alexandria agreed: “If you enroll as one of God’s people, heaven is your country and God your lawgiver. And what are His laws? You shall not kill, You shall love your neighbor as yourself. To him that strikes you on the one cheek, turn to him the other also.”

According to St Basil the Great, “Nothing is so characteristically Christian as being a peacemaker.”

For Athanasius and other early writers, the courageous peacemaking of the disciples of Christ was visible evidence of God’s power and of the truth of the gospel.

Peacemaking points us back to the Hebrew word “shalom.”

Shalom is more than an absence of war, cessation of conflict, appeasement of the enemy. Shalom as described in scripture includes good health, safety and security for all, lack of fear, absence of violence or danger, harmony with nature, joy in doing what’s right, economic justice, ample harvests, wise and equitable leadership, restored relationship with God and others.

Peaceable Kingdom, Fritz Eichenberg, 1950

Seek that.

Long for that.

Pray for that.

Yes.

But make that?

How?

In reality, none of us are able, on our own, to make peace.

Not even a tiny fraction of peace.

Even in ourselves, our own hearts and minds. Our own homes and yards. Our own small circles of influence.

God is the one able to create shalom – to tear down walls of oppression, restore harmonies long destroyed.

And yet he invites us to work alongside him, sowing small seeds of peace, waiting for him to bring fruit.

Just yesterday, caught in the middle of adolescent mayhem, listening to generations of anger bubble up in ill-considered words and not-so-idle threats, I found myself praying to be a maker-of-peace.

There is no recipe. No magic wand.

The tools we’re given are love, mercy, patience, a listening ear – not just to words spoken and unspoken, but to cries of the heart, too long buried, and to the Holy Spirit’s leading.

And service. Sometimes service is an avenue to peace, a way of showing love, of gently dismantling walls.

And prayer - silent prayer, spoken prayer, active, participatory prayer.

Yesterday’s scene took some troubling turns, skidded several times toward disaster, then resolved, miraculously, with cups of tea around the dining room table, thoughtful conversation about the mysteries of the human heart and personality, then lighthearted talk and happy, healthy laughter.

I had some small part in that small breath of shalom, but the blessing was seeing God at work. Watching him bring hints of health as I offered my obedience.

I’m mindful, today, Palm Sunday, of the darkness and division inside us all. The same voices that cried “Hosannah!” to the Prince of Peace riding into Jerusalem cried “crucify him” days later, when he refused to pick up a sword and lead a rebellion against the Romans.

We pray for peace, then look for ways to smash our enemies. We say we trust God, then watch our defense budget swallow funds more wisely used in feeding the poor, or building better schools.

We hear the command to love our neighbors as ourselves, then close our ears to discussions of waterboarding and drones, and thoughtlessly repeat what we’ve been told about the groups, parties, nations we’ve come to believe must remain our enemies.

I aspire to be a peacemaker. I’ve had numerous ambitions over the years: a tenured position at a liberal arts college. Write the great American novel. Shatter the glass ceiling in the youth ministry profession. Run a mile without dying.

Thinking and praying about peacemaking this week, I’ve realized: this is what I aspire to most. In my home and extended family. In my half-acre habitat. In the families God has called me to serve, in the unjust systems and troubled regions that are part of my daily cycle of prayer.

I long to see shalom: real health for people, places, communities; just systems of production, distribution, education; genuine love where anger, distrust, exclusion hold sway.

I’m blessed by those who share my aspiration: young adults giving sacrificially of time and energy to be agents of peace in racially divided neighborhoods, an aging social worker going far beyond the call of duty to offer stability and hope to fractured families and children in distress.

I’m nourished by stories of people like Pierre Nkurunziza, of Burundi, or Leymah Gbowee, of Liberia, who dared to forgive, to pray, to insist on setting aside hatred and anger and model a new way forward, a way of peace.

Where to start?

There's no "peace-maker" degree I can earn.

No job opening I can apply for.

It's a daily calling - not just for me, but for all of us who claim to follow Christ.