Sermons

Sun, Dec 30, 2018

Divinity and Dysfunctionality

Series:Sermons

Well, that’s Christmas over for another year!

As the supermarkets pack away the leftover rolls of wrapping paper…

to get ready for the “Back-to-school” displays…

how many of us pause to ponder…

“was it all worth it?”

That’s a bit too confronting for most, I know.

And the even more confronting question is seldom asked––

“why?”

Why do we do this?

What’s the point?

What does Christmas really mean?

For retailers, of course, it’s all about spending…

and spending big.

The bottom line, for them, is that it’s the most important retail period of the year.

It’s what keeps them afloat…

ensures a handy profit for their shareholders…

and keeps shop stewards employed.

But there’s something slightly tacky––

if not downright obscene––

about all of that.

It’s like we’re being conned that we have to spend ridiculous amounts…

other else, it’s as though we don’t really care about our nearest and dearest;

but it also promotes the idea that personal meaning and worth comes through acquisition.

Our lives are meaningless unless we have the latest iPad or iPhone or a hi-tech drone.

Perhaps, as the English theologian, Giles Fraser puts it:

“The real opposition to Christianity is Westfield shopping centre. That’s the real atheism, the idea that shopping satisfies the deepest reaches of the human soul”.

Of course, we would want to say much more than that—

that our gift giving at Christmas is symbolic… 

demonstrating our thankfulness to those who love us;

and, whether we acknowledge it or not, that it’s a reflection of God’s giving to us––

especially the gift of Jesus.

And here, perhaps, we edge closer to the crux of it––

to quote from Giles Fraser again:

“If Christmas means anything it is that the answer to the human condition is not to be found in the stars but in the crib. Here the hope of humanity is continually renewed. God is not an old man with a beard. God is not some great cosmic power that believers can borrow for their own limited, and often bigoted, schemes…What I call God is to be discovered in the vulnerability of a child, in the excessive openness and dependence upon something outside one’s own power or ability to explain”.

 

But the last thing that most of want to do at Christmas––

between another glass of bubbly and another mince-pie––

is to contemplate the nature of God.

And yet, that’s precisely what Christmas invites us to do––

perhaps, more than at any other time of the year.

The whole point of Christmas and the Christmas season is–– 

ultimately–– 

to reflect upon God’s revelation of God’s self in Jesus.

And it’s to that end… 

that those who compile the lectionary chose this morning’s reading from Luke’s Gospel…

even though it’s a bit odd that–– 

only five days after Christmas–– 

we’re hearing about a twelve-year-old Jesus…

before next Sunday and Epiphany…

we go back to remembering him as a baby or a toddler.

Our reading is meant to make us reflect upon the nature of God…

as revealed to us in Jesus.

And, here, the author of Luke’s Gospel draws upon the traditions of ancient Greek biography…

that is, constructing a scenario to illustrate in a great man’s childhood…

something of his character as an adult.

What the author seeks to emphasise is Jesus’ wisdom—

his intelligence and his understanding.

That, more than anything, is being highlighted here as a mark of his divinity––

at least on first glance.

And yet, scratch a little below the surface and the superficial…

and the story actually deconstructs itself.

Jesus, who on one level, is presented as wise beyond his years…

otherwise comes across as extremely dense and foolish.

He stays behind in Jerusalem without telling anyone…

forcing his parents to embark upon a frantic search…

separating them from family and friends…

such that they will later embark upon a dangerous journey back home… 

without the protection of numbers.

And when they do find him in the Temple…

and rightly call him to task…

he responds disdainfully almost rudely––

especially by first-century Mediterranean standards.

Children, back then, were taught to––

and were expected to––

honour and obey their parents in a way that we, today, could not imagine… 

nor would we desire.

Children were raised to consider the name…

the reputation…

the honour of their family…

above all else––

even their own well-being.

Jesus, clearly, did not.

Indeed, his response to his mother’s concern is one of reproach, not contrition.

This is not the sort of adolescent or pre-adolescent angst that, today, we accept as ‘normal’.

Within its time and culture, such a response is utterly shocking.

It shows no regard for the honour or reputation of his father…

or his extended family.

On the other hand… 

for Jesus’ father to acknowledge publicly that he was unable to control his son…

was just as shocking.

It was shameful in the extreme.

Even more than that, it’s not actually Joseph who castigates his son.

At no point in the story does he even speak.

That, in itself, is surprising.

Instead, only Mary’s voice is heard.

She dares to speak, publicly, on behalf of her husband…

in the presence of strange men––

and men of standing to boot.

No good, pious, respectable woman would do that!

 

As the author constructs this story, we’re confronted with a completely dysfunctional family––

by first-century Mediterranean standards.

And yet, at the same time, this is where we’re told that God is to be found;

this is where we’re told that God is incarnate.

On one level, the author panders to our preconceptions––

that God is to be seen…

that God is to be encountered…

in the wisdom, intelligence, dedication, and devotion of the young man called Jesus.

But, at the same time, the author blows our preconceptions away.

Because, if we encounter God in the wisdom and intelligence of Jesus––

and in his dedication and devotion––

then, surely, we also encounter God in the dysfunctionality of his family.

We encounter God in the strained relations…

in the shattering of cultural expectations…

in the struggles over identity and purpose…

in the learning and the growing…

in the mistakes…

and in the gradual becoming of who he was meant to be.

If the Christmas story suggests that God is to be encountered in a helpless, vulnerable baby––

and if our story this morning suggests that God is to be encountered in a precocious youth…

and in a completely dysfunctional family––

then, in effect, God can be encountered anywhere…

at any time…

within anyone.

God cannot be constrained by culture or tradition.

God is not bound by our perception of what is right and proper.

God will not be confined by our expectations…

or our lack of imagination.

 

And, perhaps, if we learned to accept that…

then, maybe, we would stop looking for God in the flashy and the obvious;

and we would discover the God who comes to us in vulnerability and weakness…

in the strains and struggles of life and of human relationship…

in our being and our becoming…

in total ‘otherness’ and in disarming familiarity.

And, maybe, that’s the only place in which God––

the incarnate God––

is to be found.

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