On Being Children of God

An excerpt from “Anna’s Song” from An Outback Christmas (Words by Norman Habel):

Lift this child to the sun, raise this child to the sky;
God has come from above, come to earth from on high.

Lay this child on the ground, one with us, one with earth;
let God know in his Son, human clay, human birth.

Place this child in the shade, hang this child ‘neath the tree;
with his hand on the wood, may this child set us free.

Give this child to the world, let him be common folk;
God has come to be born as an ordin’ry bloke.

Lift this child to the night, to the silence of God;
let this child cry for us, and the silence be heard.

Well, it’s time to present Jesus to the world in the Gospel of Luke. The baby is taken to the temple, circumcised, named and heralded by two old prophets who are also there that day. As Kim Jong-un was paraded before the North Korean public and declared "supreme leader of party and army and people", heir to his father’s, Kim Jong-il’s authority; so Jesus is, in a sense, paraded before the people and especially the religious establishment as the heir—the heir of God’s promises of redemption to the people; the inheritor of God’s pledge to the people of Israel for them to be a light to the nations; the beneficiary of the hope in which Israel has lived for so long. Luke metaphorically lifts the baby Jesus up and presents him to his hearers: “Here he is. This is the One! The heir, the promised one of Israel! Jeshuah-Joshua-Jesus—Yahweh is our salvation! The one God is our redeemer! And this is God’s Son!”

But this son is a poor one—not rich and powerful or carefully groomed over a lifetime. This heir has doubts about his legitimacy hanging over his head; and his parents can only afford the offering for his presentation allowed of the poor. They offer birds rather than a sheep. “Here he is. This is the One! The heir, the promised one of Israel?!”

The moment is bitter sweet, as are the songs of Anna and Simeon—a child destined for great things; a child given for salvation—but a salvation which will expose all that needs saving to the open. Give this child… to the world!

Most inheritances of any value don’t come cheap. I wonder what the 28-year old Kim Jong-un thinks about his inheritance. Would he prefer to be focussing on finding his own niche in his society; or having the freedom to travel the world; or simply being another anonymous citizen? What regrets might a Lachlan Murdoch have about the legacy which is his?

I’ve managed to watch several episodes of Country House Rescued on the ABC recently. The children who stand to inherit those large English country estates have huge expectations, debts, problems and dilemmas facing them. Most inheritances of any value don’t come cheap.

And the inheritance for which Jesus is proclaimed as heir is an even more ambiguous one. The promises of this legacy are the fulfilment of hopes unrequited; the culmination of the final salvation of the people; the intangible, immaterial things for which we humans yearn so strongly and fail to know how to achieve so dramatically. And as we all know, where there are grand hopes, there are grand and competing expectations; and where there are grand and competing expectations, there is so much room for misunderstanding, miscalculation, misinterpretation and outright disappointment. Most inheritances of any value don’t come cheap.

“Here he is. This is the One! The heir, the promised one of Israel! Jeshuah-Joshua-Jesus—Yahweh is our salvation! The one God is our redeemer! And this is God’s Son!”

Here is God’s sacrificial lamb paraded before the people. The family cannot afford a sheep for his presentation; but there is no need for one—the sacrifice is the child himself! Give this child to the world!

The moment is bitter-sweet; and yet in this moment, we are meant to find our salvation, our redemption, our liberation. In this moment, we are urged to submit our hopes, our yearnings, our desires to the possibility that we might be set free. Here in this moment, way before we get to the cross—way before we know just what it means for God to submit himself to his Creation, we are asked to understand what the value of this inheritance really means. Give this child to the world!

And that brings us to our text from Galatians, where Paul is trying to unpack what Christ’s inheritance means for us. Paul writes:

My point is this: heirs, as long as they are minors, are no better than slaves, though they are the owners of all the property; 2but they remain under guardians and trustees until the date set by the father. 3So with us; while we were minors, we were enslaved to the elemental spirits of the world. 4But when the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, 5in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children. 6And because you are children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, ‘Abba! Father!’ 7So you are no longer a slave but a child, and if a child then also an heir, through God. (NRSV)

Paul is begging us to let the baby Jesus grow up—to let God’s heir be God’s heir; and as a consequence to grow up as the heirs of God ourselves—co-heirs with God’s son, Jesus. This is our freedom. This is our salvation. This is our liberation. And this is our sacrifice. That we will allow ourselves to be utterly enfolded in God’s will.

According to Paul, God submits himself to his Creation. God’s Son submits himself to the religious Law in order that we, the people, might be freed from the Law—not because the Law has not been important or because we are not called to live ethical lives; but because really inheriting what God promises us means that the Law will be unnecessary because we will know and love and do the will of God without it.

New Testament scholar, Bill Loader puts it this way:

Paul [is] … convinced that the implications of God's action in Christ is that [the] … requirements [of the Law] are set aside and that now what matters is faith in Christ and living out that faith and only that… the Spirit [working within us] will … more than fulfil any legitimate demands contained in the law...

Paul assumes that when people enter into a relationship such as he describes, that of a grown up son to a father, then there is a oneness which generates continuity between what the father wants and what the son wants. It is a first century ideal of family life. [The heir inherits everything that is the ancestor’s in all its fullness.] Applied as an image to Christian living, Paul [argues] … that the Spirit generates God's life in and through the believer and it will show. By contrast, to perpetuate submission to the Law, even though it was given by God and is in the Bible, is to perpetuate a form of slavery which—and here he is quite daring—is not much better than serving other gods! [http://wwwstaff.murdoch.edu.au/~loader/BEpChristmas1.htm]

For Paul, the life, death and resurrection of Christ offers a relationship with God that was hitherto impossible—the relationship of fully adult heirs, co-heirs with Christ.

For Robert Hamerton-Kelly (Sacred Violence pp. 77-81 as interpreted in http://girardianlectionary.net/year_b/xmas1b.htm), the passage from Galatians is saying that:

Christ came to redeem us, to win us back from Satan's power that we might come to live under God's grace as children. Christ redeems us to become children of God. To do so Christ submits to the curse of living under the law, thus becoming a willing victim to its sacrificial mechanisms. Rather than the idea of taking the punishment of God's wrath for us, Christ reveals to us our own wrath and its violence, that we might live by God's true power, which is love, not wrath.

Here, there are echoes of Simeon’s words: “the inner thoughts of many will be revealed” (Luke 2:35). God’s submission to the world God created exposes our lack of submission to God.

This truly is a great Christmas season text… it … express[es] all the basics of the incarnation, of why it is that "God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law." … because Jesus could fulfill his mission as Son of God, that same Spirit of Sonship is given to our hearts that we might also truly become children of God, freed from the slavery of sin. http://girardianlectionary.net/year_b/xmas1b.htm

“Here we are. We are the Ones! The heirs, the promised ones of God! Fully redeemed, fully alive, fully liberated—Yahweh is our salvation! The one God is our redeemer! And we are God’s children!”

Go then to take up your inheritance!

Giving Birth to Jesus!

There’s always expectation around the birth of a baby: When will it come? Who will it look like? Will it be healthy? A boy or a girl? And just as there are expectations about the baby, there are also expectations about the mother: Will she be a good mother? Will she cope with the baby? Does she know what she’s in for?

There are all sorts of myths about motherhood and babies: motherhood comes naturally; if you’re a proper woman, you don’t have to work at being a mother; good mothers do this, that or the other; if you don’t do this, that or the other, you’re not a good mother; if you’re not a mother, you’re not a proper woman; whatever problems the child may have, it’s all the mother’s fault. You could probably add some of your own.

All kinds of messages are played in our heads about what motherhood should or shouldn’t be, is or isn’t, especially for those of us who are women.

Most of these myths are simply untrue: images created by the idealisation of both babies and mothers. Motherhood isn’t any easier than any other parts of women’s lives; neither for that matter is fatherhood for men; nor is being a parent a compulsory act. Just as marriages and all our relationships require decision, commitment and hard work so too does parenthood—even a very part time stepmother (and grandmother) like me knows that.

Yet in our world, we are swamped by pictures of perfection in parenthood. Gaily smiling, very together women swan platters of elegantly prepared food onto tables surrounded by perfect families to the strains of the margarine jingle “You oughta be congratulated, Mum.” Whiter than white clothes are produced immaculately ironed straight from the washing machine so that Joan and John can make the next sporting fixture just in time. Again you can probably fill in some more examples for yourself.

Even our images of Mary, the mother of Jesus, have been tainted by our unrealistic, ethereal mythical pictures of motherhood. The pristinely clean Mary sits immaculately dressed in blue and white in the middle of a stable full of contentedly lowing animals: no dirt or manure to be seen, the straw is fresh and clean. Can you think of any more unlikely scene than that? This woman, the legitimacy of whose child was seriously in doubt, having just arrived in Bethlehem after travelling along unsealed roads and borne her child in a stable, sitting immaculately and serenely? She is pictured as bearing her pregnancy and the birth of Jesus almost without a hair out of place and, of course, how could she have ever had trouble with such an angelic child who apparently never cried (well, at least according to the Christmas carol if nothing else).

But the biblical picture of Mary as the mother of Jesus is not that type of frivolous, froth and bubble falsity of our modern media nor of the immaculate and pristine woman of sixteenth century Italian painters, from whom most of our popular images of Mary come. The biblical picture of Mary is far more down to earth.

She is a Jew living in a land ruled by Romans. She is a woman living in a time in which women were not considered to be as important as men. Her status in the society is somewhat ambivalent. She is betrothed but not married, in transition from the “protection” of one man to another, her father or other significant male in her family of origin to her future husband. She becomes pregnant without the complete legitimacy of marriage. She endures the birth of her first child in a difficult set of circumstances denied the usual support of her family.

It’s certainly not the stuff of margarine advertisements and yet it is a picture of beauty and of strength, but not because Mary is a carbon copy of a supermodel or because she endures everything while remaining sparklingly clean; but because in this simple yet profound everyday experience of the bearing and birthing of a child, Mary participates in a deeply prophetic action. She expects and brings to fruition the coming of Jesus in all the pain and joy, mess and disorder, that a birth can bring.

Mercy Amba Oduyoye, an African woman theologian, writes about such a birth:

At the age of sixteen I watched an eighteen year old woman having her first baby. From that time I understood why an Akan woman was said to have returned safely from the battle front when she had successfully pulled through that whole experience and returned with herself and her baby.

In this culture into which I was born, if news gets to a woman that another woman has not returned from this battle, she is expected to shake the words off her ears. They are not words that a woman should allow herself to hear—defeat at child birth spells the presence of evil. Birth pangs should result in joy, not sorrow.

For the biblical Mary, the pregnancy and birth are joyful experiences, but not because there is no pain, discomfort or difficulties. For Mary, the new life in which she is involved in bringing to birth, is a sign of life not just for one family but for a whole community, in fulfilment of a prophecy given a long time ago. And that new life was indeed birthed in pain as well as in joy, in the earthiness and ambivalence of human life itself.

When we place our ideas about Mary in the biblical context of the story of Jesus as expected, anticipated, joyful, painful birth and trial, then the words which are recorded as Mary’s song of praise in the Gospel of Luke (the song known as the Magnificat), those words become a powerful and prophetic affirmation. They do not come from the mouth of a television representation of a mother whose only concern is that of the appropriate margarine to serve her family. Nor from the mouth of a woman who seems unaffected by the realities of human life. They come from the mouth of a woman who is involved in the struggle of the reality of life.

The words of the Magnificat are not the platitudes of Christmas carols praying “God rest you merry people all, let nothing you dismay.” They are precisely the opposite: disturbing words announcing something new and different, heralding God’s new action in the world for God’s people, and echoing the words of the prophets uttered many years before:

My soul rejoices in God who is doing many wonderful deeds. God feeds the hungry and sends the rich away to fend for themselves. God scatters the proud and remembers the humble. God remembers those whom nobody thinks are important in fulfilment of the covenant promises.

It is the song of someone with great joy in her heart, joy from deep within, a profound sense of wonder and awe at the graciousness of God being brought to fruition and a profound understanding of the pain that is involved in that action: God becoming present through an ordinary woman and the dangerous, precarious act of the birth of a child.

Mercy Amba Oduyoye writes of the uncertainty of the birth of the child in Akan society:

The new life is waited for with prayers, sacrifices and medicaments. But no material preparations are made for the expected child. No amount of that will ensure safe delivery of mother and child from this encounter between life and death. The mystery surrounding the arrival of life cannot be resolved or even minimized with busy buying of pink, blue and white ribbons. It is awaited with fascination and wonder and, above all, with prayer and right living. The birth itself is in the hand of God. The woman, the bringer of new life, is at this point severely alone with her God and the hope of the new life. Others, especially the leaders of the family, are expected to be at prayer, calling all the relations in the other world to join in interceding for her. Others will stay by to encourage and guide but the parting is between mother and child alone.

The labouring mother, as Jesus observed, is at her most vulnerable and miserable, but her suffering is the prelude to the birth of a new life, a new beginning.

As the people of God, we are called to bear the Christ child into the world again and again (and not just at Christmas) but every day. If we were to imagine that we could do this with froth and bubble, or without getting our hands dirty, we would be mistaken. The birth of the Christ child in the hearts of God’s people again and again is exactly like the birth of Jesus two thousand years ago, and exactly like that of the birth of any child. It is painful, it is filled with expectations, it is joyful, it is worrying. God enters the world in vulnerability: a mother bearing a child; a child needing the protection of its mother; a follower of Christ coming to grips with the vulnerability and ambiguity of human life.

It is a story and an event which demands wonder and awe, and a deep sense of joy from within which is only possible from the other side of pain. But it is not quite the sort of entrance that most people envisage for God. Many people will still ask for the froth and bubble. Many people will still search for the immaculate Mary. They will be disappointed.

When the baby finally arrived, Mercy Amba Oduyoye was disappointed:

Is that all? She was neither beautiful nor cuddly; in fact, I did say that she was ugly. That is birth. But what potential! The mother smiles. “The ugly bundle” will be nursed into a beauty, with a pair of hands that may one day design cathedrals or perform experiments that will result in health for all [or become the saviour of the world].

This is the miracle of the birth of the Christ child, that God came and comes in pain and with joy, that God came and comes in the vulnerability and ambiguity of human life, that God came and comes to each one of us again and again in the earthy, messy, painful, joyful reality of our lives in Jesus. Is it any wonder that Mary sings with such courage and strength and joy in the midst of Luke’s story of the birth of Jesus in ambiguity and vulnerability? This is a real birth, and in that birth, new life has surely been stirred. Mercy Amba Oduyoye concludes her account of the birth of the Akan baby:

For the present at any rate, the labour pains vanish. God who mysteriously breathed the breath of life into her will supervise and direct that life. The chaos and darkness of the labour ward, the screams, sweat, swearing and the piercing cries are given a new quality. A new Adam has been stirred into life.

And the last word goes to the writer of our Gospel for today: “But Mary kept all these things, pondering them in her heart.” (Luke 2:19).

Teach Us Where the Bucket Is

O God, we gather at your waters, as a hot and bothered crowd
gathers on the beach on a sweltering, summer day.
O God, we drink at your fountain,
as a parched dog laps at the fresh,
running water of a bush creek.
O God, we await your refreshment,
as a tired worker watches for the change of shift.
Quench our thirst, satisfy our longings.
May we be refreshed and restored in you.

It’s one of the Calls to Worship from Uniting in Worship 2, the Uniting Church’s book of model orders of service. I wrote it about 15 years ago when Russell and I were in Stanthorpe in the middle of a drought. We were yearning as people, as a community, as a nation for relief from that drought.

It’s not quite like that here in Armidale today and yet, we yearn too. We yearn for relief—from the continual overcast skies and above average rainfall; from the demands of the lead-up to Christmas and our busy lives; from the uncertainty of a world economy in turmoil and the threatening results of climate change. We want things to change. We want some relief.

The people to whom the passage in Isaiah we read today is aimed were also yearning for relief; and they were yearning for the fulfilment of a promise. Isaiah describes a regime of justice promised to the people of Israel in the Torah, the first 5 books of our Old Testament, the so-called books of Moses. Isaiah describes a community who engages in the practice of Jubilee—a just economic situation where the poor were never to be left bereft for generation after generation.

This passage comes to us from the part of the book of Isaiah that scholars call “Third Isaiah”. The people of Israel are back in Judah again; but the hope of the justice and peace of the promised land has once again been dashed. Stan Duncan, the chair of the Jubilee Justice Network of the United Church of Christ Massuchusetts Conference in the US writes:

The immediate occasion of the writing of this particular poem is an economic crisis brought about by the financial dealings of the wealthy returnees who used their status and wealth to grab more land and income from both their deported brothers and sisters and from those who had been left behind. They used their economic and class power to influence the application of tax and finance laws of the emerging nation to their advantage, causing huge increases in their own incomes, but also tremendous poverty in others. For example, they would make agricultural start-up loans during times of drought at exorbitant rates, which violated the Jubilee laws of Leviticus 25 and Deuteronomy 15, but which was allowed because they could buy off courts and lawmakers in case anyone complained. If the poor borrower was not able to pay the entire amount in one year, the next year the unpaid portion would be rolled over into a second loan, thus doubling the interest rate. After two or three years of doubling and quadrupling the interests, the poor farmer was effectively bankrupt and had to give up his farm and often his freedom to the loaner. (http://jubileejusticetaskforce.blogspot.com/)

You would have thought that the people would have learnt after their period of captivity in Babylon which Second Isaiah interpreted as punishment from God for the sins of the people. (Remember last week’s passage and God’s promise of comfort because the people had been punished enough!) But no! The hope of God’s realm has been violated again by those who are greedy and ruthless.

In a week when we have seen the nations of the European union trying to work out how they stand together or apart in the face of the economic crisis of nations like Greece, Italy and Spain; in a week when we have seen the 4 major banks in Australia have to be challenged to pass on an official interest rate cut to ordinary borrowers; in a year where we have seen the haggling over a resources tax be dominated by the voices of large multinational companies—what does this passage have to say about where we’re at now? Where is our dream of God’s realm in our world now? What is it that we can hope for; or have our hopes been dashed too?

And yet, this passage in Isaiah is not one of despair, it is one of hope. The prophet still proclaims the hope of a just world in the face of the injustice that engulfs a re-emerging nation: “The spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me… The spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me… [God] has sent me to bring good news” (Isaiah 61:1).

And this good news is for those in need of it most—those who are despairing; those who are prisoners; those who have lost their land; those who mourn for what has been lost. The “year of the Lord’s favour” is the Jubilee year when justice will be done; the land of the people restored to its rightful holders; and a time for the earth to rest. That is the vision not just of Isaiah but of the Law, the Torah, and the book of Leviticus—but as far as we can tell, it has never ever been celebrated—at least not by a whole nation or community—it is just a promise; it is still a dream; it is only or at best or at least, a hope—the hope of justice, peace and freedom for the whole Creation.

The people in Judah are being asked not to expect that they should have already found liberation—not to regret what hasn’t been done by the original returnees. They are being asked to expect that they are the ones being called to work for the promise now.

“So, you expected a land of milk and honey; but that doesn’t come without work. It doesn’t come without attention to that which God has called us. It doesn’t happen simply because we yearn for it to happen. You have to be the ones to do the right thing and to make sure the right things are done.”

Now those with good memories will recall that the words of Isaiah are not just found in Isaiah, they are also placed in the mouth of Jesus reading the scriptures in the synagogue in Nazareth in the Gospel of Luke: “The spirit of the Lord is upon me… [God] has sent me to bring good news.” (Luke 4:18) For at the time of Jesus, the people are still waiting for that just world; and probably still looking for others to bring it about too.

So is that what we are doing today also? Waiting for that just world and for others to bring it about; hoping that governments and nations and communities and companies and people will do the right thing when we already know that human beings have never been very good at acting in and for the common good or working for the dream of justice, especially when that means “just us” might miss out on something that we understand to be our right, or our deserving, or at least what we want very, very much.

Isaiah challenges us again to look around at our world; and not just simply to yearn for justice; but to work for it—never, ever giving up the hope of the promise of God’s realm.

O God, we gather at your waters, as a hot and bothered crowd
gathers on the beach on a sweltering, summer day.
O God, we drink at your fountain,
as a parched dog laps at the fresh,
running water of a bush creek.
O God, we await your refreshment,
as a tired worker watches for the change of shift.
Quench our thirst, satisfy our longings.
May we be refreshed and restored in you;
and teach us where to find the bucket and how to carry it
so that we might draw that water for those who most need it.

Advent Prayer

Beneath the evening sky, weary pilgrims wait for the stars
to give them light and show them the way.
In this season of Advent, we dead-beat disciples
wait to be refreshed in Christ’s presence.
Under these southern skies, we exhausted envoys of God
look for the fullness of the reign of Christ.
Come, Lord Jesus, come.
Come, Lord Jesus, come soon!