Category: Theology

A Disruptive Christmas

On January 12, 2025

Once again Christmas gives rise to glorious celebrations including music and carols, Christmas trees and candles, and gifts given and received. The actual stories, however, expect more. Take a look at Matthew and Luke. Most people know the cast: Mary, Joseph and Jesus, shepherds and wise men. Less known are Elizabeth and Zechariah, the parents of John the Baptist, born a few months before Jesus. Then there is King Herod, who rules by permission of Roman occupying forces, and finally an old man, Simeon, who gives a blessing.

Key to the stories is the tension between the angelic announcements and responses of those involved. The announcements proclaim new acts of salvation which will restore the nation, bring release from enemies, revelation to the Gentiles and peace on earth. The responses are quite varied: the women display confusion and fear, leading to excitement and praise of God, while Zechariah is so disturbed that he is struck speechless. There is fear among the shepherds, and even King Herod is so afraid that he plots to destroy all new born males if he cannot find the child predicted to be king. The wise men wish only to bring gifts and avoid aiding Herod’s plans. Zechariah recovers his speech to sing a new song, but only after allowing his wife to give his son the name of John, rather than his father’s name according to tradition. Then there is a final blessing by Simeon, who was granted his wish to see the salvation promised by God. There’s a lot of things packed into these stories and you may be able to identify with some aspect. No wonder the Christmas carols show no limits in joyfully celebrating reconciliation and peace at the appearance of the Messiah.

What we have, then, are stories of great joy mixed with fear and death of new born children and a final escape in the night taking Jesus to safety in Egypt. It is obvious that the writers could not forget that the salvation revealed in Jesus generated resistance and conflict. Indeed, the New Testament is dominated by the question: If Jesus really is the Son of David and the Christ, why did he die? It is therefore fitting that the story includes fear and resistance because the birth of Jesus intends to disrupt things as they are. In the songs of Mary and Zechariah there is the contrast between the humble, the faithful who fear God, and the hungry (or poor), versus the proud, the rulers and the enemies. The contrast between light and darkness represents the difference between the peace generated by faith and righteousness versus the violence and warfare of the world. .

Some of the songs intend to calm our fears. First, we are reminded that what will happen is in line with the promises to Abraham and the covenant of Moses. Time and again the fears of parents and shepherds are allayed by the assurance that God is faithful to the oath sworn to Abraham and our fathers. Bringing John’s birth into the story of Jesus is a step toward uniting the followers of John and Jesus. A dramatic move is the way Mary, who is young, unmarried and without child, ends up singing a song derived from Hannah, the mother of Samuel. Mary is therefore connected not only to Hannah, but also to Sarah, Rebecca and Rachel, the patriarchal wives, who all bear children late in life as promised by God. Since Mary is not old or barren, the point seems to be to place Jesus’ birth in this history of children born by God’s unexpected grace against human doubt and fear.

Assuring us of God’s faithfulness does not rule out that God intends something radically new. The references to rulers, the proud, and enemies probably refer to the current ruler who has collaborated with the Romans in occupying Israel. Besides being a political and economic burden, foreign occupation violates religious law, meaning that everyone has been compromised and in need of ritual purification. No wonder that John the Baptist will end up preaching repentance and washing in the Jordon as the first step toward true religion. Likewise, Zechariah’s reference to light and darkness can refer to keeping or violating the law. So he proclaims that the rescue from their enemies enables the pursuit of holiness and righteousness. Such liberation is, according to Simeon, extending light to the Gentiles and peace to Israel, or as the angels said to the shepherds, God is glorified in heaven and there shall be peace on earth.

But here’s the hard part: If Christmas is about a new act of redemption, a transformation of the world, and then Christmas will involve changing lives, with tensions and struggles. The early Christians knew this because that is exactly what happened in the story of Jesus. There was resistance, opposition, suffering, and death. We must therefore recognize that the uncomfortable and shocking side of the Christmas story reflects what happened between Christmas and Jesus’ death on the cross. So in our time there is resistance to the celebration of Christmas if it means disrupting things as they are. Either the promise of Christmas is confined to a limited time and space, or the promise is adjusted downward so that it does not threaten the world, be it those in power or average folk who would rather leave things as they are instead of having them change.

To illustrate the disruptive nature of Christmas, consider the way Christmas intends to transform time and space. For us in the northern hemisphere, our calendar consists of twelve months, all properly named and associated with the four seasons. Days of the week have specific names and repeat themselves every seven days. Time is organized and regulated as to what we should do and expect. Then along comes Christmas, always on the 25^th of December, but not the same day of the week. It sets up a distinctive configuration of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day—this year being Tuesday and Wednesday. We are not accustomed to have sacred things on Tuesday or Wednesday, but maybe Sunday. Suddenly two days of ordinary time are the stage for changing the world. Ordinary time tells you when to work or attend to personal interests. It tells you that some own most of everything and others are supposed to be happy with little food or health care. It reports where wars are destroying children and cities but not when they will end, since they are considered a normal way of doing business. Sacred time tells you that God is near, mandating repentance, reconciliation and peace. Thus Christmas is disruptive, since even we who are worn out by ordinary time are not sure we want things to change. Of course shepherds are afraid since they have little to say about anything, but so are rulers, who fear losing power, even to the point of killing children. Mary is called to accept a role in God’s plan without knowing how this is possible. Like Abraham, long ago commanded to kill Isaac, she must trust God. Then, almost in comic relief, but not quite because it too is so serious, against tradition Zechariah allows his wife to name their child and regains his speech. These things do not happen in ordinary time but are made possible because the sacred is disrupting things.

In a similar way our space is changed. A tree is brought into the house, decorations change the interior space, and at the center of this sacred space is a manger with a child surrounded by people summoned by God to bear witness to what God is doing in this world. Words and actions confined to the sacred space of churches now appear in our homes but also public squares and the airwaves. Recall again how the carols talk about some very heavy stuff: God being near, people reconciled, peace on earth. All this is very threatening to those who rule according to their own interests, as even today they would keep to their schedule of killing children in Ukraine and across the Middle East. They resist the encroachment of the sacred, but since they are unwilling to declare outright war on it, they try instead to confine it to a few days in December or to small sacred spaces. They ask us to capitalize on the joys of shopping and parties in the hope that you will have a “Merry Little Christmas.” The very words make one wonder what a Big Christmas would look like. Nevertheless, Christmas, with its fear, sorrow and joy, resists being confined in the hope that we will dare to celebrate a world transformed. In spite of the cultural forces organized to mute the message, it still intrudes with news of peace on earth, good will among all people. In one sense what defines the church is precisely this: it is a community on earth that persists in living in the reality of God’s reconciling love all the time.

Let me close with two things. First, my son and editor, Nathan, in these days of remembrance of President Jimmy Carter, ran across these words of Carter from his speech upon receiving the Nobel Peace Prize: “War may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other’s children.”

The second is a memory of mine from our years living in the Chicago area. On the roof of the Merchandise Mart in downtown Chicago, every year they would light a big sign proclaiming Peace on Earth during the Christmas season. Then I discovered that the sign was there all year, only the lights were not on. It made me wonder what would happen if they were left on all year. It was culturally acceptable to have the lights on in December and part of January and to then turn them off so we could get back to ordinary time. A little bit of disruption is acceptable but having the lights on all year would be too much. That, no doubt, would raise all sorts of questions. And that is why Christmas is disruptive.

A Favorite Verse

By Peter Schmiechen

On November 22, 2024

In Grace, Nature, Theology

On my opening page is a verse from Psalm 104 in the Jerusalem Bible. Allow me to share with you why it is so decisive for me. But first, here is the complete Psalm, which may make it obvious.

Bless Yahweh, my soul. Yahweh my God, how great you are!
Clothed in majesty and glory, wrapped in a robe of light!
You stretch the heavens out like a tent, you build your palace on the waters above;
Using the clouds as your chariot, you advance on the wings of the wind;
You use the winds as messengers and fiery flames as servants.
You fixed the earth on its foundations, unshakable for ever and ever;
You wrapped it with the deep as with a robe, the waters overtopping the mountains.
At your reproof the waters took to flight, they fled at the sound of your thunder,
Cascading over the mountains, into the valleys, down to the reservoir you made for them;
You imposed the limits they must never cross again, or they would once more flood the land.
You set springs gushing in ravines, running down between the mountains,
Supplying water for wild animals, attracting the thirsty wild donkeys,
Near there the birds of the air make their nests and sing among the branches.
From your palace you water the uplands until the ground has had all that your heavens have to offer,
You make fresh grass grow for cattle and those plants made use of by man,
for them to get food from the soil: wine to make them cheerful
oil to make them happy and bread to make them strong.
The trees of Yahweh get rain enough, those cedars of Lebanon he planted,
Here the little birds build their nests and, on the highest branches, the stork has its home.
For the wild goats there are the mountains, in the crags rock badgers hide.
You made the moon to tell the seasons, the sun knows when to set;
You bring darkness on, night falls, all the forest animals come out:
Savage lions roaring for their prey, claiming their food from God.
The sun rises, they retire, going back to lie down in their lairs
And man goes out to work, and to labor until dusk.
Yahweh, what variety you have created, arranging everything so wisely!
Earth is completely full of things you have made:
Among them vast expanse of ocean teeming with countless creatures,
Creatures large and small, with the ships going to and fro
And Leviathan whom you made to amuse you.
All creatures depend on you to feed them through the year;
You provide the food they eat, with generous hand you satisfy their hunger.
You turn your face away, they suffer, you stop their breath, they die and revert to dust.
You give breath, fresh life begins, you keep renewing the world.

Glory for ever to Yahweh! May Yahweh find joy in what he creates,
at whose glance the earth trembles, at whose touch the mountains smoke!
I mean to sing to Yahweh all my life, I mean to play for my God as long as I live.
May these reflections of mine give him pleasure, as much as Yahweh gives me!
May sinners vanish from the earth and the wicked exist no more!
Bless Yahweh, my soul.

Ever since I saw this translation of Ps 104, I was hooked. In lively, poetic language it invites you to see all the wonders and terrors of creation. In its variety and wise order, “Earth is completely full of things you have made.”(v. 24) At times Ps. 104 brings to mind Gen 1, though my hunch is that the Psalm came first, since it is more poetic, less formal and shows less interest in logical order. It also avoids the sweetness of Walt Disney and refuses to gloss over instances of nature in tooth and claw. Our life, suffering, or death are placed in dependence of the God who gives or stops the breath of all living things. There is no apology or retreat from that cluster of affirmations so essential to the Jewish world view: All things are created by God and they display wondrous variety and order. There is no attempt to cover up frightening stuff or only talk about what we might think is the good stuff. And, this is interesting, what was once created continues to exist only by the sustaining power of God. The world is not a wind up clock. God is not beyond the world, uninvolved or unaffected by what happens. Finally, this is our intended home. We are not to long for a spiritual existence void of work or physical sufferings. We are a part of this world, capable of rejoicing in God, just as God rejoices in the wonders of creation.

Ps. 104 is in the form of dramatic poetry with wonder filled images. Can such metaphorical images be a basis for descriptions of God, the world and human life? In my life time, one school of thought has insisted that the Hebrew mind was simply not interested in what we would call the nature of things, especially in terms of philosophical analysis. This meant that the Hebrew Bible was interested in the history and the salvation of Israel but not discussing God or the world in technical terms. Now, the issue here is not the use of poetry or metaphorical language, since both forms of speech might convey something to be true in a descriptive way. For example, liberals object to Gen. 1-2 as a literal account of creation not because it uses poetry but because it does not accord with our view of the created order. So what are we to do with Ps. 104?

Some might be put off by the suggestion that the world is surrounded by water—an image which reappears in the flood story of Noah, where the flood occurs because the waters of the deep rise to cover everything. Or, were the large sea monsters (Leviathan) really created to amuse God? Or again, one might ask why there is no rationale for giving or taking away the breath of life: are we at the mercy of divine whims or is there some clear purpose to the divine providence? These are legitimate questions and we should note that they assume that poetry in praise of God can convey descriptions of God and the world.

For myself, I have never been convinced that material like Ps. 104 speaks only to the heart and makes no claims about God or the world. The Psalms affirmed God the creator of all things and that humans were created for life with one another, nature and God. That such affirmations are embedded in poetic language of praise only makes them more powerful, since they are statements about God and the world bound up with faith and love toward one another and God.

If, on the other hand, the Psalms do not give us statements about God and the world, then a different kind of problem is created. Where are we going to find descriptions of God and the world to fill in the picture? If you know Christian history and theology, you are probably laughing. In an effort to give the Psalms a surer foundation, Christians in every age have borrowed language to fill in the void in the hope of giving the Psalms a surer foundation. Too often, they turned to Greek philosophy, which relies on the sharp distinction between the real and unreal, the infinite and finite, the spiritual and physical. For example, the great debate over the Trinity basically was a clash between Platonic versus Biblical assumptions regarding God. Could the Infinite God, who created all things actually enter this world of finitude and fallen creatures. Arius said No, and Athanasius said Yes. The modern variation on such a view is the attempt to protect the majesty of God from the way God is portrayed in this Psalm. God is the absolute and infinite, is above and beyond the created world, does not need to be entertained by monsters in the sea, nor is God willing to get involved in the complications of this messy world. God created everything but now lets it run and is watching, as the song says, from a distance.

At other times, elements from non-Christian views crept into the church to compromise the Psalmist’s perspective. In the early church opposition came from Gnosticism, which held that this world is fallen, prone to decay and death. The solution is to escape to the ideal realm of truth and light. This is made possible by the secret knowledge given by a divine messenger. The world is not our home but the problem. The other great option in the ancient world which nullifies Ps. 104 is cosmic dualism, which offers a simple explanation for the presence of good and evil. The answer is that there are two gods, one good and one evil. But the Psalmist will have nothing to do with this kind of polytheism.

These are the kinds of things on my mind when I read Ps. 104 and yes, that says something about me. But they are also a part of our culture: on the one hand, the world is a mixture of good and bad stuff and the best we can do is stay close to the good and avoid the bad. Then along comes Ps. 104 and shocks us with a powerful set of affirmations. There is one God, not two or many, in constant warfare. This one God creates the heavens and the earth, things majestic and wonderful and the sorrowful and sad. There is no attempt to divide the world between good and evil, nor any hint that we are spiritual creatures exiled to planet earth. Human existence is not to be explained by using two separate categories of spirit and matter, since physical things appear to be enlivened by spiritual power, yet are still made of dust. You can’t imagine how much religion that excludes. Then there is the insistence that creation is not a once for all deal, but whatever exists continues to exist only by the power of God. That certainly is an invitation to some interesting discussions. And finally, there is a total disregard for placing God on a pedestal beyond this world, free from whatever happens and totally unaffected. God takes pleasure in the creation and rejoices in it. Certainly, not all questions are answered, but it is clear that the rich poetry makes multiple claims about God and the world.

All this brings us to the ending. Verse 33 proposes that singing is the appropriate response to the God who has created all things, including us. Singing wakes us up, pierces the heart and elevates us to a higher level. It is important because when done from the heart it is not utilitarian but offered as a gift to God. It’s not elevator music. When needing to praise God, Deborah sang a song, Hannah sang her song and Mary expanded on it. David is said to have been good at singing to the Lord. There is no purpose to singing to God except for the praise and love of God. It reveals one’s heart, which is where your treasure is.

Then there is the whimsical idea of playing for God all my life. As far as I know, the Jerusalem Bible stands alone in substituting the word play for the word sing in v. 34. The word play can refer to playing musical instruments, children playing games or young and old playing in sports. Even professionals play the games. Bart Giamatti proposes that play takes on a new and special meaning in the modern world: play is that free and spontaneous activity, striving toward personal fulfillment, in contrast to all the required activities and work, which for so many have become repressive and void of meaning. (Cf. Giamatti, Take Time for Paradise, (New York: Summit; 1989) Some people work harder at their play because it is free and gives meaning to life. In such activity the individual or group gives expression to what is truly desired, authentic and fulfilling. Thus play becomes the quintessential expression of one’s self (heart, mind and soul). This modern use of the word play was certainly not on the mind of the Psalmist, but it may have been on that of the translator. To play for God is to give to God the free expression of one’s heart. It is done spontaneously without regard to what is required by forces outside oneself. It is to love God. And to do that all one’s life. To ask how one can do this all one’s life is already to miss the point. It is to gather together all things in the love of God, so that the varied and wonder filled life created by God is given in praise of the Creator. Such action points to both the Shema: “Hear of Israel: The Lord is your God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul and with all your might” (Deut. 6: 4-5) and Jesus’ summation of all the commandments by affirming love of God and love of neighbor. (Mark 12: 31).

Last but not least is the ground breaking affirmation that our reflections give God pleasure, “…as much as Yahweh gives me.” In one simple verse, without much fanfare, the Psalmist excludes the possibility that God is so perfect that God is unaffected by mere human beings. God, who created all things, takes pleasure in the wonders of the world, knows and grieves our sufferings, and rejoices when we rejoice. You matter to this God.

Psalm 104 is like a wakeup call, but one needs some time to comprehend it with heart and mind. This world is not all there is. We are not alone, forced to find whatever meaning we can in more material things or by abandoning them altogether? I suspect the writer of this Psalm knew people who lived and worked in a world where God did not matter, or just as scary, never dreamed of finding goodness or meaning in this world. Here is the writer’s response. There is no holding back or fear of unanswered questions. In our time, when secularism crowds out reference to God, or references to God seem pointless, these words are a great example of middle speech. Indeed, singing and playing for God might be most appropriate for mean times.

Love and Justice

By Peter Schmiechen

On October 25, 2024

In Family, Grace, Love, Politics, Theology

In 1961 my wife, Jan, and I joined CORE, the Congress of Racial Equality. We were 23 and I was in seminary in St. Louis. Core was committed to breaking down the walls of segregation. The organizing committee consisted of about ten people, holding meetings Sunday evenings. They were all professional people, older than we were. One young man by the name of Clay later became a U.S. Congressman. We didn’t know much about the racial problems in St. Louis or about how to change things. So we listened. I was especially interested in the interplay between theory and strategy.

Mainline Protestants had developed a consensus about the priority of love. Love can be defined in many ways, from satisfying our needs to love of another or God without regard for oneself. Given the priority of Jesus giving his life for service of God and neighbor, Protestants leaned toward thinking of the highest form of love as self-sacrifice for God and others.

But how does love as self-sacrifice relate to the struggles of justice which involve conflicting self-interests and struggles of power, or even restraining evil doers to protect the defenseless? And of course, many wanted to know how such self-sacrificing love related to the clash of national interests which demanded citizens to join military action against another state. One solution was to argue that the church was bound by the standard of love, while the state was obligated and permitted to use power to resist evil and achieve justice. But that left some questions. For example, were believers as Christians obligated to be pacifists? Or, could Christians utilize power in politics or in the pursuit of justice in society? My Father, a pastor, leaned strongly toward pacifism, although he supported WWII. Yet he did not know what to make of political action, which routinely involved power. His caution also extended to the direct action programs in the civil rights movement. As a result, the split between love and justice involved theoretical issues and personal decisions.

In the face of this impasse, Reinhold Niebuhr had presented a bold alternative. He declared Christians must chose both: love as self-sacrifice was indeed the highest ethical standard but Christians were also obligated to pursue justice and protect the defenseless. But here’s the catch: In most cases, justice in this world can only be achieved with various levels of coercion. This was obvious for Niebuhr in WWII, but long before that he discovered that achieving justice in social struggles involved some form of coercion, as in the case of removing the practices of segregation. Then, having shocked all his liberal religious friends by arguing some degree of coercion is permitted, he turned and argued that non-violent coercion was morally and practically superior to violent coercion.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. took this idea and developed a strategy for change, based on non-violent coercion. Other groups, such as CORE, followed in developing effective strategies. In our small group meetings we were asked to think about applying non-violent force to change segregation. This meant we would interrupt business at “Whites Only” lunch counters at Woolworth’s, but not do physical harm to people or property and not respond in word or act with violence if something happened to us. We were also told that we could be arrested. That caused us some pause. We had never been arrested and we had no idea what effect such would have on Jan teaching in a public school or my being in seminary. We knew that our parents would not be pleased about our getting arrested, or even just participating. After weeks of discussion and soul searching we decided to go ahead.

As I recall, the sit in succeeded in disrupting business as usual at the lunch counter. Some white people were not very happy and said so. A reporter took our names and we were listed the next day in the newspaper. But no one got arrested. This of course was small stuff compared to the sit-ins and demonstrations that would come across the south where demonstrators were beaten and some were killed. Soon the City Council introduced a proposal to require public places to be open to all people. This brought an interesting twist. At the CORE meeting prior to the vote, someone asked by anyone knew a respected member of the Council. To everyone’s surprise, the student in the back row (me) raised his hand and I was asked to call him. He was a member of the church my Father had serviced in St. Louis. But I had last seen him when I was 8 years old. Somewhat nervous I called him and we had a good talk and he said he would think about it. He voted for the change. Somehow, his own moral compass and his friendship to his pastor prompted him to reverse course. Even in the rough and tough politics of City Hall, love and friendship still displayed great power. We continued to be a part of the group until we went off to the east for further study.

During that time, I heard Dr. King in St. Louis. One statement stuck with me: he said he was not asking us to love black people but to refrain from lynching them. That always reminded me that the issue was not an attempt to suddenly reach the highest level of moral achievement (loving one another, or the white fear of intermarriage) but justice as freedom from violent and repressive practices. Segregation was and is a form of terrorism because it devalues some people. It is state sponsored violence. Those that deny that sin can be embedded in the social practices and laws of society need a history lesson. People were suffering and dying. Right then. So what were we going to do about it? Appeals to love seldom did much to change systemic racism and violence. Dr. King offered an alternative: An incremental plea based on a non-violent strategy to reduce violence against blacks and facilitate the possibility of living together. Now this may not sound like much, but back then it was a huge step forward.

There was no doubt that non-violent coercion was a use of force. At that lunch counter we prevented people from eating there. The sit in took money away from waitresses and Woolworth’s. We could claim it was not violent but it still was coercion. Was it justifiable? For Dr. King (and Niebuhr) it was justifiable in light of the suffering and threat to life. Read Dr. King’s Letter from Birmingham Jail to get a sense of his deep disappointment when religious leaders told him he should be patient. Patience and appeals to ethics had not changed much. The same can be said when “thoughts and prayers” are extended to the victims of gun violence today, or when only condolences are offered to women denied medical relief by force in the face of rape and incest. The disregard for suffering knows no bounds. That is why Dr. King sought a third alternative of non-violent coercion in the cause of justice. It is less than self-sacrifice, though many have been sacrificed in the process. Acts of non-violent coercion are a form of justice that spares us the terrible consequences of violence and perhaps embodies the hope of reconciling love. In spite of all the resistance and suffering, even Dr. King could dream.