Monday, June 16, 2008

A Sermon for Proper 11, Year A

A Homily for the Fifth Sunday after Pentecost
Preached at Saint Matthias', Bellwoods
Sunday, 15 June 2008
Proper 11, Year A

We recently celebrated Trinity Sunday, when we thought about how Christians came to believe in God as a three-fold unity. We saw that the followers of Jesus came to believe in the Trinity because in him they experienced God in a new way, a way which compelled them to acknowledge him as divine, as Lord and God. To put this simply, the belief in the Trinity springs from the belief in the Incarnation. We also saw that this faith had to be maintained against those who taught that Christ was just a man, or a man adopted into Godhead, or a divine being but different from God the Father. But as the years went by, this defence of Christ’s divinity brought problems of its own, especially after those who had known Jesus in Galilee and Judaea, who had journeyed with him, eaten and drank with him, died. Then it was easier for the memory of him as a man to be overwhelmed by the faith in him as divine. Teachers arose who found the idea of the perfect God mucking about not only in this imperfect world, but even in human life, distasteful. Some said that he had only seemed to be human; these were known as docetists, from the Greek word to seem. The first letter of John teaches against them:

Beloved, do not believe every spirit but test the spirits to see whether they are of God; for many false spirits have gone out into the world. By this you know the Spirit of God: every spirit which confesses that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is of God, and every spirit which does not confess Jesus is not of God. I John 4.1-3a.

But John confesses Jesus Christ as the eternal God, that “which was from the beginning” and in the flesh, “which we have heard, seen with our eyes, looked upon and touched with our hands” (I John 1.1). There were many such teachings, and the formularies of faith were carefully drafted to steer the way between their errors, and preserve the faith. And the Church declared its faith in Jesus Christ as one Person uniting two natures: completely divine, of one substance with the Father, and completely human, like us in all respects apart from sin. This is not easy to grasp, since Jesus Christ is unique, and there is none to whom he can be compared. But such a definition is meant not so much to state the whole truth as to mark its limits, to guide us between the extremes, so that we may remain faithful to the whole teaching of the New Testament. But we cannot treat the whole doctrine of the Incarnation this morning; this is better dealt with in study: which might begin with the Athanasian Creed, or the definition of the Incarnation of the Council of Chalcedon [See below]. Instead, I wish to think about a verse in today’s Gospel reading which expresses the humanity of Jesus very eloquently.
It is said that at certain points in history Christians have tended to neglect our Lord’s humanity but today we tend to over-emphasize it, to regard our Lord first and foremost as a human being, albeit the best and noblest, and to thrust his Godhead into the background, if it is accepted at all. This is true of some, but in many Churches (like ours) the divinity of Christ is rightly taught. Sometimes ordinary believers who would never explicitly deny Jesus’ humanity, are often a little embarrassed by it. This especially comes when the Gospels speak of Jesus not know something. Some people ask, But surely if he is God he must have known? Answering such questions can be tricky, for too much humanity sometimes threatens belief in the divinity. But if we listen to what the Gospels tell us, there can be no doubt of that Jesus is human. Now today we heard that when Jesus saw the crowds,

he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd,
This is a moving statement. We can picture Jesus, perhaps standing at a roadside looking on the crowds – who were after all his own people – and being moved with compassion: they were oppressed by foreign occupation, they were not guided or cared for by their shepherds – but even their shepherds were harassed and helpless before the power of Rome. There was little relief from illness or poverty. To be a widow or an orphan was often to be oppressed. But does saying that Jesus “had compassion” show him to be human? Or is this the divine pity of the transcendent God, far beyond anything we know or feel? We need to look a little deeper into the text. Permit me to be technical for a moment.
The Greek verb here is σπλαγχνίζομαι (splangchnizomai); look it up and you find it means “to be moved with pity or compassion”. If you look further, though, you find that it comes from σπλαγχνον (splangchnon), which means the entrails, more or less; it used to be translated “bowels” (the root meaning might in fact be “spleen”). It was used in much the same way we use the word heart: the ancients tended to think of the abdomen as the seat of the emotions. This isn’t strange: we know what it is to feel something “in the pit of my stomach”; we all know of a gut-wrenching experience. The fact is that we really do experience many emotions as a feeling in the guts: this is not just what grammarians call a dead metaphor where the concrete has been forgotten. So when we read this passage and picture Jesus looking on the harassed crowd, we should imagine the scene quite literally hitting him in the guts. And this is a completely human feeling. We might be happier to say “he was gripped in his heart concerning them.” Article I of the Thirty-nine tells us, the living and true God is ‘without body, parts, or passions.” Here we see body, parts, and passion: we cannot doubt that Jesus is a real man, looking in his fellows, and being sickened by their misery.
There are many things to say about the mystery of the Incarnate Word, but my time is almost up. I shall simply ask, why is it so important to hold to the belief that Jesus is both God and Man? Of the many reasons it is important, the one we see in Jesus’ compassion for weak and faltering humanity is very important. The fact that God the Son really became human, so human that that he felt as we do shows our human nature — body, mind, soul, feelings, emotions, and all its experiences — as truly valued and loved by God. If all God wants to do is to wipe away sin, that is easy; if he wants he can wipe us out and make a more obedient race; but by sending Jesus Christ in the flesh God says that he wants to save us, and bring us into his life, to heal, cleanse and restore our human nature, not reject, abolish and destroy it. We, like the first disciples, are sent to proclaim Christ’s message that the Kingdom in at hand. As we go out to bring Christ’s message to our neighbours in word and action, let us never forget that the King is one who has shared this life, and knows its joys and sorrows intimately, that the King looks on the world not with hatred or harsh judgment, but with tender pity, and who is gripped in the heart by the misery of his people.
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The Chalcedonian Definition
In AD 451 the Council of Chalcedon met to settle the teaching of how Jesus Christ is truly God and truly human. This definition is, like the Creeds, part of our heritage as Christians. The American Church rightly prints it among the historical documents in its Prayer Book Since it is so important a formlary, I believe it should be readily available to the people of the Church. This translation of the Definition, taken from Bettenson’s Documents of the Christian Church, is the same as that found in the American book.

Following the holy Fathers we all with one accord teach men to acknowledge one and the same Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, at once complete in Godhead and complete in manhood, truly God and truly man, consisting also of a reasonable soul and body; of one substance with the Father as regards his Godhead, and at the same time of one of one substance with us as regards his manhood; like us in all respects, apart from sin; as regards his Godhead, begotten of his Father before the ages, but yet as regards his manhood begotten, for us men and for our salvation, of Mary the Virgin, the God-bearer (Theotokos); one and the same Christ, Son, Lord, Only-begotten, recognized in two natures, without confusion, without change, without division, without separation; the distinction of natures being in no way annulled by the union, but rather the characteristics of each nature being preserved and coming together to form one person and subsistence [hypostasis], not as parted or separated into two persons, but one and the same Son and Only-begotten God the Word, Lord Jesus Christ, even as the prophets from earliest times spoke of him, and as the Lord Jesus Christ himself taught us, and the creed of the Fathers has handed to us.

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