Wonder + Lent 2C + 2.24.13

Melissa Campbell-Langdell

All Santos

February 24, 2013

Lent 2 C (Gen. 15:1–12, 17–18; Ps. 27; Phil. 3:17–4:1; Luke 13:31–35)

In the film Labyrinth from 1986, as I recall from way before this Lent, there is a young woman, Sarah, who has to babysit her little brother.  And she is so incensed at the inconvenience that she says she would do anything if the little boy would disappear.  And a goblin king hears this and snatches up the baby, and Sarah searches and searches through a labyrinth, learning a lot about herself on the way, until she finally gets to the goblin king, who has her baby brother captive.  But as she gets closer, Sarah is drawn into a dreamlike scene where the goblin king would woo her to stay with him in a fairytale existence.  And Sarah manages to break it all with one simple thought: “you have no power over me.”[1]

Jesus may not have been talking to a goblin king in today’s gospel, but his message is clear.  You Herod, you fox (which we know might have meant he was sneaky, or smart or impotent),[2] you have no power over me!  You may have served up John the Baptist’s head on a platter, but you cannot stop what I’ve got.  Because I’m a Messiah on a mission.  I have people to heal and demons to cast out, and then, and only then, I am on my way.
Now in Labyrinth, Sarah has to learn selfless love in order to claim back her brother.  She must learn not to be entranced by the pretty things she wants or the fairytale story that she wants her life to be in order to make space in her life for her family, and especially for her little brother.  She must be willing to sacrifice for him.

And the amazing thing about the gospel is that it is clear that Jesus is so above all the power and petty politics that he really can write his own script (well of course) but he chooses to give his life.  He knows it is what he, as the Son of the Mother Hen God must do.[3]  This wondrous act of love. 
So another movie that I watched (before Lent) was Lincoln.[4]  Throughout the movie, what struck me most were the intimate moments that Lincoln shared with all variety of persons.  He might be having a deep conversation with the telegraph operator, or checking in with some soldiers.  He inspired by connecting. 

By being at others’ levels, even when that made him vulnerable, vulnerable to make the ultimate sacrifice.  Lincoln may have been no Jesus, but in his example, at least in this film, we see someone who had all sorts of power, but saw a bigger story, the story of the Kingdom.  In the film, he is in such urgency to pass the 13^th amendment because he knows he is part of a bigger story.

And we are too.  We are part of the story of the skies that God showed to Abram so many years ago.  You and I are stars in that sky.  This story in Genesis came clear to me one day when I visited a synagogue in Budapest.  We had to walk through metal detectors to get into the synagogue, which looked like nothing much, a plain building, on the outside.  The metal detectors were because some anti-Semitic types sometimes tried to blow up synagogues.  Well, once we were inside the synagogue, our eyes were drawn to the ceiling, covered with a myriad of stars.  The rabbi told us that this painting was designed to re-create a bit of what Abram, later Abraham saw, God’s promise of a family so big it filled the heavens.  What a wonder! 

“One thing I asked of the Lord, that I will seek after: to live in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the LORD and to inquire in his temple (Ps. 27:4).” 

This Psalm talks about seeking to see the beauty of the LORD, and Abram saw it that day with God.  Jesus saw it in Jerusalem even though he knew the dark places his path led.

Because the path of the beauty-seeker is not free of darkness.  See Abram thrown to the ground, in a terrified sleep.  See Jesus see the terror and the beauty of his path ahead.  We will all see darkness.

And perhaps because of this, we are allowed to ask questions.  Thanks be to God, huh?  That we can ask questions.  Abram says, God, what good is your promise?  A boy who isn’t even my blood will be my heir.  And God says, “Just wait.”  And we are proof, each one of us, of the truth of that promise.  Each one of us is a star in that sky that was promised.  A beloved child of God.  The wonder of it.

So, fellow children of the Mother Hen God, brothers and sisters of Christ, we strive to be faithful, even though shadows might cross our paths.  We ask questions of God, because we have seen from Abraham that doubt and questions don’t mean a lack of faith, they mean an engaged faith.  Engagement like Lincoln sitting with the people, connecting with each and every one. 

God wants to connect that way with us, even if it means we ask questions about things we couldn’t possibly know about.  It’s possible that even Jesus had questions, but he kept the faith in God’s promises and kept on the path.  And we can keep wondering and keep on the path.  Because we Christians are wonderers, citizens of heaven.   And yet the fruitfulness that Abram saw in the skies was of a very earthly sort.  So let us keep feet on the ground, and yet hearts pointed heavenward, where our true citizenship is, grateful that the foxes of this world have no power over us.  Let us wonder in the beauty of God, because, thanks to the costly love of Jesus, we can wonder too, and spread a love that leaves the world wondering… what are those Christians all about, anyway?

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[1] Labyrinth, 1986.  The reference to Lent is because I have sworn off movies apart from during Sundays during this Lent J.

[2] Leslie J. Hoppe, “Exegetical Perspective: Luke 13:31-35,” FOTW Year C, Vol. 2, 71.

[3] With thanks to Anne Howard, “Our Mother Hen God,” http://www.beatitudessociety.org/blog.

[4] Lincoln, 2012.