A Christmas Meditation

Katharine from Rich­mond, Vir­ginia asks: What is it about this Jesus that you find so com­pelling? When I hear the Chris­tmas story from the Bible I believe that I am lis­tening to fairy tales. Stars do not announce the birth of a human being. Angels do not sing to hill­side shepherds. Vir­gins do not con­ceive and give birth. Is there something behind the old mythology that I am mis­sing? Can you still, with any integrity, refer to Jesus as “the son of God”?

Dear Katharine,

Thank you for your ques­tions. Not only are they impor­tant ones but they give me the oppor­tunity to articulate my deepest con­victions about this Jesus in the column that will go out to my subscribers on Chris­tmas Eve. So I shall frame my ans­wer to you in the form of a Chris­tmas meditation, for this Jesus has always both fascinated and attracted me.

My deepest self-definition is that I am a Chris­tian, by which I mean that in Jesus of Nazareth I believe I see the meaning of God most clearly. This experience of an in-breaking divine presence is what I believe created the Chris­tmas traditions that you refer to in your ques­tion. Cer­tainly during this season they are omnipresent.

It was more than two thousand years ago that the his­toric figure we call Jesus lived. It was a life of relatively short duration, only thirty-three years. At most only three of those years were devoted to a public career. Yet, that life appears to have been a source of won­der and power to those who knew him. Tales of miraculous power sur­roun­ded him. Words of insight and wisdom were believed to have flowed from his lips. Love and freedom seemed to be qualities that mar­ked his exis­tence. Men and women found them­selves called into being by him. Those laden with guilt discovered, somehow, the joy of for­giveness in him. The alone, the insecure, the war­ped and twis­ted found him to be a source of peace. He pos­ses­sed the courage to be who he was. He is described in terms that por­tray him as an incredibly free man. Jesus seems to have had no inter­nal needs that drove him to prove him­self — no anxieties that cen­tered his atten­tion on him­self. He rather appears to have had an uncanny capacity to give his life away. He gave love, he gave sel­fhood, he gave freedom, and he gave them abun­dantly — was­tefully, extravagantly.

Lives touched by his life were never the same. Somehow life’s secret, its very pur­pose, seemed to be revealed in him. When people looked at him they were somehow able to see beyond him, and even through him. They saw in his life the Source of all life that expan­ded them. They saw in his love the Source of love and the hope of their own ful­fill­ment. This kind of tran­sfor­ming power was something they had not known before.

Freedom is always scary. People seek security in rules that curb freedom. So his enemies cons­pired to remove him and his threat to them. From one per­s­pective it might be said that they killed him. When one looks more closely at the story, however, it might be more accurate to say that he found in him­self the freedom to give his life away and to do so quite deliberately. He died caring for those who took his life from him. In that moment he revealed a love that could embrace all the hos­tilities of human life without allowing those hos­tilities to comp­romise his ability to love. He demon­strated rather dramatically that there is nothing a per­son can do and nothing a per­son can be that will finally ren­der any of us either unlovable or unfor­givable. Even when a per­son des­troys the giver of life and love, that per­son does not cease to be loved by the Source of love or called into life by the Source of life. That was his mes­sage or at least that is what people believed they had met in this Jesus. Such a life could not help but tran­scend human limits. For this kind of love can never be over­whel­med by hatred; this life can never finally be des­troyed by death.

Is it any won­der that people had to break the bar­riers of language when they sought to make ratio­nal sense out of this Jesus experience? They called him the Son of God. They said that somehow God was in him. So deeply did people believe these things that the way they per­ceived his­tory was changed by him. To this day we still date the birth of our civilization from the birth of this Jesus.

They believed that he was able to give love and for­giveness, accep­tance and courage. They believed that he had the power to fill life full. Since people ten­ded to define God as the Source of life and love, they began to say that in this human Jesus they had engaged the holy God.

When they began to write about this tran­sfor­ming experience they con­fron­ted a problem. How could the human mind, which can only think using human vocabulary, stretch far enough to embrace the God presence they had experien­ced in this life? How could mere words be big enough to cap­ture this divine meaning? Inevitably, as they wrote they lapsed into poetry and imagery. When this life entered human his­tory, they said, even the heavens rejoiced. A star appeared in the sky. A heavenly host of angels sang hosanna. Judean shepherds came to view him. Eas­tern Magi jour­neyed from the ends of the earth to wor­ship him. Since they were cer­tain that they had met the presence of God in him, they reasoned that God must have been his father in some unique way. It was cer­tainly a human reference but that is all we human beings have to use. Life as we know it, they said, could never have produced what we have found in him. That is why they created birth traditions capable of accoun­ting for the adult power that they found in him.

Our modern and much less mys­terious world reads these birth nar­ratives and, assuming a literal­ness of human language that the biblical writers never inten­ded, say “How ridiculous! How unbelievable! Things like that just do not hap­pen. Stars don’t suddenly appear in the night to announce a human birth. Angels do not enter­tain hill­side shepherds with heavenly songs. Vir­gins do not con­ceive. These things can­not be true.”

On one level those criticisms are accurate. Things like that do not hap­pen in any literal sense. But does that mean that the experience this ecs­tatic language was created to com­municate was not real. I do not think so.

The time has come for Chris­tians, when we try to talk about God, to face without being defen­sive, the inadequacy of human language. These stories were never meant to be read literally. They were writ­ten by those who had been touched by this Jesus. That is why they challenge our imaginations and sound so fan­ciful and unreal. Our minds are so ear­thbound that our imaginations have become impoverished. Literal truth has given way to interp­retive images. When life meets God and finds ful­fill­ment one sees sights never before seen, one knows joy never before experien­ced, and one expects the heavens to sing and dance in celebration.

The story of Chris­tmas, as told by the gos­pel writers, has a meaning beyond the ratio­nal and a truth beyond the scien­tific. It points to a reality that no life touched by this Jesus could ever deny. The beauty of our Chris­tmas story is big­ger than our ratio­nal minds can embrace. For when this Jesus is known, when love, accep­tance, and for­giveness are experien­ced, when we become whole, free and affir­med people, the heavens do sing “Glory to God in the Highest,” and on earth there is “Peace and Good Will among Us All.” Hence, we Chris­tians rejoice in the tran­scen­dent beauty and won­der of this Chris­tmas story. To those who have never step­ped inside this experience we issue an invitation to come stand where we stand and look through our eyes at this babe of Beth­lehem. Then per­haps they too will join those of us who read these Chris­tmas stories year after year for one pur­pose only: to wor­ship the Lord of life who still sets us free and who calls us to live, to love and to be all that we can be. That is why the Chris­tmas invitation is so sim­ple: Come, come, let us adore him.

How do we adore him? In my mind the ans­wer to that query is clear. I adore him not by becoming religious or by becoming a mis­sio­nary who seeks to con­vert the world to my unders­tan­ding of Jesus. I do it rather by dedicating my ener­gies to the task of building a world where ever­yone in this world might have an oppor­tunity to live more fully, love more was­tefully and have the courage to be all that they were created to be. This is the only way I know how to ack­nowledge the Source of Life, the Source of Love and the Ground of Being that I believe that I have experien­ced in this Jesus. How can one adore the Source of Life except by living? How can one adore the Source of Love except by loving? How can one adore the Ground of all Being except by having the courage to be all that one can be. It is not pos­sible to seek these gifts for oneself and then deny them to every other life. So our task as disciples of Jesus is to live fully, to love was­tefully and to be all that we can be while we seek to enable every other per­son, in the infinite variety of our humanity, to live fully, to love was­tefully and to be all that each per­son can be. That also means that we can brook no prejudice that would hurt or reject another based on any exter­nal characteris­tic, be it race, eth­nicity, gen­der or sexual orien­tation. It all seems so sim­ple to me. God was in Christ. That is the essence of what I believe about this Jesus.

Have a bles­sed and holy Christmas.

– John Shelby Spong

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