“Hope” is the belief that something good is on the way, something that might give at least a brief respite from the trouble and mundanity that we too often find ourselves in.
If I could find a way to package and dispense hope, I would have a pill more powerful than any antidepressant on the market. Hope is often the only thing between [a person] and the abyss. As long as a patient, individual or victim has hope, they can recover from anything…
However, if they lose hope, unless you can help them get it back, all is lost. One thing I can tell you is that hope is an emotion that springs from the heart, not the brain. Hope lays dormant until its amazing strength is beckoned, supplying a sheer belief that you will overcome, you will persevere, and you will endure anything…
As a Jesus-follower, I’ve had a hard time in this arena. For many years I believed that very specific things would soon come: fun relationships, exciting careers, material goods, etc. Some did, most didn’t. Now, in my late 50’s, I have a different kind of hope.
If I think about my future, I have no idea what’s coming. All I can see is grey, like a fog. I know that good things are out there, that I might be surrounded by them, but there are no specifics, nothing to wrap my mind around.
When I look at the past – the whole past, not just the bad parts – my memories are full of powerful, life-changing moments, enough to give me hope that there’s more to come. I might not have specifics, but whatever’s on its way will carry with it joy, peace, comfort, friends, meaning, and more hope.
Below is a video that outlines hope – as it is presented in the ancient Jewish and Christian scriptures – from The Bible Project, a group that seeks to take folks on a PhD-level journey through the scriptures, clearing up all of the cultural and not-so-Christian chaff that have worked their way into our understanding.
I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it adds to the meaning of your Advent season.
I know that I’m addressing a mixed crowd this morning, and I’m sensitive to what my non/not-so-Christian friends have to endure at Christmastime. But for the next 10 minutes or so, would you entertain the idea that the Nativity story actually happened? That’s an understandable leap for many, even for seasoned Christians, but live with me here for a moment: there’s a truth in the story that only lives if the story is true.
When we’re finished, you can return to your regularly scheduled ontology, and I’ll think no different of you, always thankful that you’re here each week.
In August of 1927, newly converted to Anglican Christianity, T.S. Eliot wrote The Journey of the Magi, a poem that attempts to pull his reader into what could have been the personal experience of one of the “Wise Men” in the Bible’s Nativity story
I read this poem for the first time last week, mentioned in a Sunday morning sermon (listen below). The ending gets into something I had never considered before:
“…were we led all that way for Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death, But had thought they were different; this Birth was Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.”
It’s interesting to note that the Nativity story doesn’t mention anything about the wise men being wealthy, nor does my armchair study on the financial portfolio of your average, everday μαγος. Nowhere in the passage are they called “kings” or “rulers.” Maybe us modern Westerners assume, since these guys are laden with expensive gifts, that they must be extremely powerful. Maybe they are, but given the context of the story, it might be that they’re not wealthy, but so overthrown by the idea of Judaism’s Messianic hope that they are giving a portion of their wealth that’s much larger than commonly believed. When scripture says “they bowed down and worshipped,” maybe they truly did.
Regardless, as Eliot alludes, the trip must have been a very long, arduous nightmare, even for the wealthiest traveller.
“…the camel men cursing and grumbling and running away, and wanting their liquor and women, And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters, And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly And the villages dirty and charging high prices: A hard time we had of it.”
The story also doesn’t mention how long these men stayed. Once they dropped off their gifts, they were warned in a dream to steer clear of Herod, so they went home via a different route. The route they came in on must’ve been difficult, but most likely the easiest way. Anything different would have been much harder.
Why endure such a long, painful, risky ordeal only to lay a ton of money at the feet of a baby in a back alley surrounded by a handful of Israel’s greatest rejects, then leave? Aren’t they worried that the money will get stolen? Why not stay and try to find a lucrative role in the new administration? At least stick around for a few weeks and see what happens.
Was “worship” their only agenda?
It might be that the magi believed that this baby would somehow be the most powerful king the world had ever seen. That’s what the Jews believed: one day a king – Messiah – would come, conquer Israel’s enemies, and set up a government to rule the entire world:
For a child has been born to us, a son given to us, and the government will rest upon his shoulder, and the wondrous adviser, the mighty God, the everlasting Father, called his name, “the prince of peace.” ~ Isaiah 9:5
“…I will make the nations your heritage, and the ends of the earth your possession.” ~ psalm 2:1-9
This expectation wasn’t limited to the ancient Jewish world. Roman historian Suetonius, in De Vita Caesarum wrote:
“There had spread over all the Orient an old and established belief, that it was fated at that time for men coming from Judaea to rule the world.”
For Israel, “King of the Jews,” meant “King of the World.” It might have meant this for the magi as well, driving them to worship a foreign king like none of us have ever worshipped, expending their time, energy, safety, and wealth in a way that would seem alien to us.
Upon enterting Judea, the magi went straight to Israel’s sitting king to ask him where the real king was. When they approached Herod, they used words that implied knowledge of the Jewish prophecies about how/when/where Messiah would be born. “Where is the one born King of the Jews?” they asked. “For we saw his star in the east.”
“Nations will come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn. …The wealth on the seas will be brought to you, to you the riches of the nations will come… And all from Sheba [east of Israel] will come, bearing gold and incense and proclaiming the praise of the Lord.” ~ Isaiah 60:1-6
“I see him, but not now; I behold him, but not near. A star will come out of Jacob; a King will rise out of Israel.” ~ Numbers 24:17
You have to wonder what they expected to see. In their minds, “king” meant palace, wealth, opulence, great thrones, a huge army, and a spiritual backing from the heavens. In this part of the world, religion and regime were always closely tied together – if this king was to be king of the world, there would be a deity presiding over him, more powerful than any god previously considered, rendering all other religions subservient at the least.
You can imagine their expectation, and what died inside when they reached Bethlehem’s cattle yard. No palace, not food, no luxurious accommodations.
Yet they still left a ton of money. They still bowed. They still worshipped.
They believed.
They believed before, in an ancient near-eastern system, in gods that dealt in power, wealth, position, sex, and politics, not unlike the Jewish system under Herod.
If you’re a religious person, you know that your religion isn’t just something that speaks into purely spiritual, metaphysical things, it shapes how you view your world, how it works, and what your place in it might be. These were religious men, make no mistake, and the debacle of the manger – the one they whole-heartedly embraced – didn’t just annihilate their view of religion and regime, it affected everything.
What they worshipped was vulnerable, dirty, outcast; the opposite of the power, position, wealth, and politics of the system that they now previously worshipped, the religion and worldview of their youth.
There is no room in the mind for the worship of power and the worship of whatever it was that was happening in Bethlehem that night. You can embrace one or the other, not both.
One has to die.
When wealthy, powerful men who have travelled so far to simply bow and lay a fortune at the feet of a baby in a cow stall – surrounded by people of ill repute in a sketchy part of town – you can bet that something just died, and something else, something much different, took its place.
In the winter of 1843, Charles Dickens published a similar story, one where the worship of power is violently dispatched so that something much more powerful can fill its void.
The first run of his book hit the shelves on December 19th and was sold out by Christmas eve. It turns out that humanity loves a good death and resurrection.
I read it every year.
There’s one scene that, far as I know, has never made it into any of the film adaptations. It’s the best scene in the entire book.
Just before the first ghost, Marley, departs, he invites Ebenezer (Hebrew for “stone of remembrance”) to look out the window, where ghosts of past jackasses are flying around in mourning and sorrow. One ghost in particular is wailing piteously because he is unable to help a wretched woman with an infant. He could’ve done it in life, powerless now.
Scrooge is confronted that night, over and over again, with the true power of a universe where he has played the simpleton. The ghosts can’t force Scrooge to change, that’s not how the universe works. They instead confront him with a different reality, the one that he’s spent his life defiant of. Scrooge might not be a religious man in the metaphysical, spiritual sense, but he has a religion and a subsequent worldview, nonetheless. If it doesn’t have to do with money, specifically his money, it has no purpose.
Scrooge wakes up Christmas morning, filled with the knowledge of a universe that doesn’t revolve around power, wealth, etc. Freed from his former religion, he’s ready to embrace something much more filled with life, ready to spend his time, money, and energy on what truly matters to this new world he’s been born into.
None of that would have happened apart from a painful, horrifying death.
T.S. Eliot ends his poem suggesting that his Magi experienced something similar:
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms, But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation, With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death
The Gospel narratives are full of stories like these where someone is confronted with a new reality, one that flies in the face of the one that they formerly embraced and compels them to fall at the feet of true power, the kind that revolves around humility, mercy, grace, forgiveness, generosity, and so many other things that look like they won’t get you anywhere.
To his followers, Jesus is the true King of Israel, the Messiah. Jesus believed this as well, and just to rub it in he mounted a donkey and rode triumphantly into Jerusalem at the start of their sacred Passover festival. This, according to St. Matthew’s gospel, fulfilled an Old Testament passage that many believed prophesied the coming of Messiah:
Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion! Shout, Daughter Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and victorious, lowly and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
Upon entering the city, Jesus went to the Temple, fashioned a DIY whipping device, and violently assaulted this religion’s faith in money. The King gets to do that, by the way. According to Jesus, it was his family’s house to begin with.
News travelled fast, and Jesus was killed for his arrogant assumption. His followers hunted like criminals, wondering how they could’ve been duped into believing that Jesus was the promised Messiah, the conquering king, the one who was supposed to free all of Israel from it’s unholy bondage to Rome.
Then, if you can accept it, he rose from his grave.
From birth to death to re-birth, the life of Jesus begs us to reconsider our ontology, our understanding of the way things work, our allegiances to power, wealth, politics, sex, and the many ways we expend our life worshipping them so devoutly, embarking on long, painful, risky journeys, only to dump our treasure at the feet of nothing.
But to leave those “religions,” our allegiances to them will have to die a death that Jesus’ detractors simply couldn’t consider. Their allegiances were so powerful that they couldn’t recognize their own God, the Messiah that they too hoped would come soon.
I’ll argue that the life of a Christian is full of that kind of death.
But it’s not death that Jesus wants, it’s life, the kind that we’re all scratching and clawing for. To get there, we’ll have to violently assault whatever stands in the way. Regardless of whether or not we embrace religious things, we’re all worshipping, giving power to something. For most of us, to worship what’s truly powerful, our alien beliefs and the hope we place in them will have to die.
Whoever tries to keep their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life will save it. ~ Jesus in Luke 17:33
Borrowed heavily (stolen?) from a sermon
by Michael Hidalgo at Denver Community Church. Listen below
When I re-entered Christianity as an adult, I was at the end of my rope. I told God he could take whatever he wanted if he would somehow rescue me from the miserable life I was living.
Something very unforgettable happened that night, and I decided to dive head-first, like never before, into religion. My first order of business was to try and figure out how to navigate all the rules, especially the ones that allegedly came from the almighty himself. There were many, but I was ready to play the game.
As a young Catholic kid, I believed that God wanted, more than anything else, a deep sense of devotion from his followers. From my very young, somewhat confused perspective, that meant religious observances like saying the rosary, attending mass, taking communion, and many other regular activities intended to show God how serious his people are.
I often wonder how rote religious observance came to dominate the world’s religions. It’s been that way since we first tried to wrap our heads around the concept of God(s). Many assert that it was invented by leaders and people of influence to exert power over the masses, and ultimately get their hands on some money. For sure, religion has lined many a pocket over the millennia, and seated/unseated many an influencer, but I don’t think that’s how it started.
I think, long ago, we were overwhelmed by the power of the cosmos, and couldn’t come up with anything better than “something made this.” Before the advanced sciences came along, few if any believed that the cosmos could create itself. Now that “everything” has received its scientific designation, the magic and wonder that we enjoyed back in the day has taken an unprecedented hit, as did religion.
To the ancient mind however, if something could make the universe, it had the power to do whatever it wanted, and if we didn’t do whatever it wanted, it would get mad. That frightened us. But our world seemed to have a benevolent side to it, providing rain, crops, night, day, life, family, love, life, etc., and that made us thankful. Into this primordial mix of fear, awe, thankfulness, and the very human desire to have life on our terms, religion came into the mix, as did the idea of “devotion” and the rites and rituals that came with it.
It probably wasn’t long after that religion was used by some as a path to power, and religious observances became a tool for control. That shouldn’t surprise anyone. Our history is full of good things being twisted into bad things, why should religion be an exception?
But religious observances, even the ones that call for a financial donation, aren’t necessarily a bad thing. If taking an hour to say the rosary focuses you on what truly matters, and/or brings some level of peace to your life, I’m all for it. Bible studies, regular church attendance, tithing, and many others have been a fundamental part of my life for decades, and I don’t intend to stop.
But, according to the Jewish, Catholic, Evangelical, Baptist, Mormon, Jehovah’s Witness, etc. scriptures, rote, repetitive religious activities aren’t high on God’s list of priorities.
“To what purpose is the multitude of your religious observances?” ~ Isaiah 1:11
“Does the Lord delight in religious observance as much as in obedience to His voice? Behold, obedience is better than sacrifice, and attentiveness is better than your offerings.” ~ I Sam 15:22
“To do righteousness and justice is more desirable to the LORD than religious observance.” ~ Proverbs 21:3
I know a few people who are deeply religious, i.e., they keep an impressive to-do list of rote, repetitive activities. Some are deeply devoted to things like justice, mercy, and humility – what the bible and most of humanity deeply values. Others are miserable and far too self-focused. For some, religious observance brings life and depth, for others, the opposite.
Too many times, the “things we do for God” simply make us feel good about ourselves, but not always for the right reasons. It’s one thing to go to church every Sunday because it connects us to something good, quite another to do it because we believe that it makes us better than others. There might be a “rush” there, but the death that follows isn’t worth it.
Either way, it’s popular within religious cultures to embrace a list of observances, exalt the adherents, shame the “faithless,” and lose sight of the things God truly wants us to do.
Jesus, addressing this issue with a crowd who was much too smitten with the wrong activities, said,
Well has Isaiah prophesied of you hypocrites, as it is written, “This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me. Howbeit in vain do they worship me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men.” For laying aside the commandment of God, you hold the tradition of men, as the washing of pots and cups: and many other similar things you do. You have let go of the commands of God and are holding on to human traditions. ~ Mark 7:6-8
We should be wary of religious expressions that exalt rote behavior. Too many times, these end up supplanting everything else.
Instead, we should think of religion in terms of a relationship. The fact that God took on the form of a human, then went around the Judean countryside gathering all of the losers and building a deep friendship with them should tell us something about what God wants.
The New Testament seems to be, over and over again, an invitation into a deep, intimate relationship with God.
If I spend some time thinking about how relationships work, the last thing I think about is rote religion. For example, If I hide out in my closet every day at 6:00 AM and repeat “I love my wife” a thousand times, it will do little to deepen the intimacy in our relationship. If the only activities I commit to are things like buying flowers, writing cards, making sure her home and car are maintained, working hard to make money for the family, etc., nobody would argue that I’m devoted, but our relationship would be thin at best.
But the analogy falls apart when we start talking about having a relationship with a deity. What does that look like?
I’d rather focus, this morning at least, on what a relationship with God doesn’t look like. Burdensome, boring, mundane, rote, and meaningless gestures are seldom part of any relationship.
But what do you do with all of the passages in the Old Testament where God calls his people into a true morass of repetitive, religious, seemingly nonsensical things? Have you ever read the book of Leviticus? It’s insane. How do I reconcile the OT passages that call for rote observance with the ones that seem to condemn it? And if these requirements were so important, and if Jesus was the same God, why didn’t he call his people into the same thing?
The best relationships call for repetitive things, but when those things become the point of the relationship (weird as that sounds), the behaviors, once good, now threaten everything. You don’t have to go far to find a married couple so wrapped up in the peripherals that they’ve forgotten each other. You certainly don’t have to go far to find a religious person who’s done the same. The Old Testament is full of that story.
But for those of us who can’t (understandably) get our heads around having a relationship with God, and would rather pursue religious observance, Jesus’ brother once penned a note about the rote, repetitive things we should commit to:
“True religion, the kind that God accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after people who can’t look after themselves, folks who are so marginalized and forgotten that their lives are in peril, and to keep yourself from being polluted by the world.” ~ James 1:27
Us religious folks love to talk about the “pollution” that comes from the non-religious world. But in Jesus’ teaching, too many times, the real pollution comes from the world of meaningless religion.
Advent is a time to remember that Jesus’ world is full of hope, peace, life, joy, and much comfort. He didn’t burden his followers with rote lists and benign commandments. Instead, he invited anyone interested into something much bigger.
Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. ~ Matthew, 11:28
