The Comma

I love this quote from Albert Schweitzer:  “There is no historical task which so reveals someone’s true self as the writing of a Life of Jesus.”  Schweitzer said it in his book, A Quest of the Historical Jesus, written over one hundred years ago, and I did read it back in seminary (and that was not one hundred years ago, despite what the guy on the ferry this morning who called me “granny on a motorcycle” might have thought).  But I actually came across this particular quote in the book Jesus Through the Centuries, by Jaroslav Pelikan.  The central thesis of Pelikan’s book is that Jesus and “the meaning of Jesus” changes through time as different issues from different eras arise.  Thus, Jesus is cast as rabbi, bridegroom, Lamb of God, King of Kings, Prince of Peace, great moral philosopher, liberator, and on and on, according to the needs of any particular generation.  I once heard a preacher point out that there are over one hundred names for Jesus in scripture.  He went on to say that no one name captures all that Jesus is, and the whole list of names does not say all there is to say about Jesus.  Wow.  No wonder “which Jesus?” asks as much about, “who am I?” as it does, “who is Jesus?”

What this invites me to, in my discipleship (that is, in my following of Jesus), is careful self-examination and deep self-awareness. What I said to the children (and thereby to everyone) in worship last week is that our picture of Jesus is like a puzzle.  No one of us has the whole picture, but we are all holding pieces of the puzzle.  When we connect as a community and figure out how those pieces fit together, we get closer to a true picture.  Of course, the converse could also be true.  The more we isolate ourselves, either as individuals or as communities, and hold tightly to our own image of Jesus as the only true one, the more we will find we are only holding on to an incomplete puzzle at best, or a distorted and misleading caricature at worst.  And if you want to see how bad it can get, read Stealing Jesus, by Bruce Bawer.  He emphasizes the danger of such isolation with the verb in his subtitle: “How Fundamentalism Betrays Christianity.”  Strong language.  But it does remind us that our picture of Jesus, mixed up too much with our lack of understanding of ourselves (and our unexamined assumptions about life), can betray our faith.

I don’t think that means I cannot say anything about Jesus.  It simply means I need to understand that when I encounter Jesus (and I do believe that I encounter him) I am also encountering myself.  And that means I need to understand my assumptions, sort through my own presuppositions, let myself be known in community, and always proceed with care. 

So, what can I say?  When I look at Jesus, I see a teacher, a revolutionary, a compassionate “spirit person” (Marcus Borg’s term, and at this point I would also cite his book, Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time), a healer, a social prophet, a brilliant strategist, a feminist(!), a fearless world-changer.  And as a Christian, I also say that I see in Jesus all that I know of God.

I do realize that in these words I am also telling you about myself (and so I could have added “good shepherd,” although I’m not so sure how good a shepherd I am, and at least I didn’t say that Jesus was a democrat!)   But I am telling you about myself as I have been shaped by an encounter with Jesus, which could seem like circular reasoning.  Except that I do believe that where Jesus lives and where God works is in the encounter between my vulnerable self and the “out there” realies-  of Jesus as described in Scripture, of faith explored in a community where I have opened myself to others, (and listened carefully to their stories as well), and of whole wide world.

Which Jesus?  The elusive one who is beyond any label, and keeps calling me to transformation.  The one I am getting to know on my own journey, and the one I am getting to know in this community of faith on the journey with me. The one who names me, and tells me I am a “beloved child of God.”  And then reminds me that it is not just about me- we all are beloved, and not just all us humans, but all of creation.  The one who convinces me that love is stronger than hate, or even indifference, and then calls me to live in that reality. 

Now you tell me.  Which Jesus?

When, for our “I Wonder as I Wander” summer preaching series, the question was asked “Aren’t we just picking what we want to believe from the Bible?” I was intrigued.  As soon as I begin to answer, I find that I am  touching my deepest assumptions about truth.  What, if anything, lies beyond my own consciousness?  How do I connect with it?  (Of course you who are reading this who, I believe, do indeed exist beyond my consciousness may already be wondering what on earth I’m talking about.  I hope you keep reading.)

When I went off to seminary, over thirty five years ago now, I held a very objective view of “truth.”  Not only did I believe that Truth existed pretty much completely outside myself, I also believed that Truth was “revealed” in the Bible.  I believed my life task was to discover what that Truth was and to follow it to the letter.  I believed that if I did not do that, I was putting my very soul at risk.   Of course I felt sorry for folks who did not have access to the Bible, or for people who misunderstood it and so were in trouble with God, but I figured I would let God sort all that out.  I would just study hard enough to stay on God’s good side.

For example, I believed that the Bible taught that to be a Christian one must be baptized.  As a believer.  By immersion.  That was True.  And that belief worked fine at the Baptist seminary I was attending in Louisville, Kentucky.  Though they did not teach that baptism was essential for salvation, they at least taught that believer’s baptism by immersion was an important expression of one’s Christianity, which I figured was close enough. 

Then I took a class at the Presbyterian seminary across the road.  Not only were there good, non-immersed Presbyterians there who sure seemed like Christians to me, there were also four young men studying to be Catholic priests who had come over from St. Meinrad’s in Indiana to take the same class.  I experienced a crisis of faith.  At the time, it was seriously frightening.  I did not know then, at age 22, that a “crisis” of faith can be a very positive thing.  It can be the sign, in fact, of a growing faith. 

As I came to see  that very good, sincere, and in fact brilliant people could arrive at very different conclusions about what the Bible teaches, I realized that my life’s quest to “get it right” was doomed to failure.  And as I came to see, much later,  that very good, sincere, and in fact brilliant people could actually find Truth in scripture other than the Bible (like, say, the Koran), or even outside the rubric of faith, I had to re-examine my whole understanding of who God is, and how I connect with God.  I did not know it at the time, but in that seminary class long ago, I was taking my first steps toward the United Church of Christ and their deep belief in a still-speaking God, who is beyond my knowing, and who I connect with not through the strength of my own understanding, but by grace. 

Along that line, let me say that I have watched with interest as congress has wrestled with this question in a slightly different way in their confirmation conversations with Judge Sonia Sotomayor.  She has been asked over and over if she will apply the Law without regard for her own feelings or experience.  As if anyone can do that.  In fact, I think there is great danger in the assumption that anyone can achieve complete objectivity in the search for truth.  That stance, at its most extreme, allows us to ignore our own unexamined presuppositions (prejudices) and limitations, and gives us permission to ignore the voices that disagree with us.  And the problem I see in the uproar over Judge Sotomayor, I also see in those who think they know exactly what the Bible is saying, and are eager to make others comply with their version of it.

I still look to the Bible for the stories that shape my faith.  And I still “pick and choose,” just like I always have.  The difference is that long ago, I assumed I was not picking and choosing, but simply “studying.”  Now, I try to pay attention to what is behind my picking and choosing.  When I listen to the words of Scripture, I know that I am listening for the Word of God, and in doing that I have found that the words open up to me (and I open up to them) in ways that let them reach to my very soul.