Who Is the King? 


Further reflections on the nature of Advent and of Christianity. 

I missed church yesterday, it was the Third Sunday in Advent. My cold took a turn for the worse, and I didn't want to even get out of bed. Still, my illness hasn't really derailed me from my quest for the meaning of Advent.

For one thing, I spent Saturday morning at a church "Quiet Day" with our rector and nine other Trinity parishioners on the third floor of the Motherhouse of the Sisters of St. Joseph, which overlooks the Mississippi River. The entry in the Catholic Encyclopedia on the Sisters of St. Joseph tells us that it was Founded at Le Puy, in Velay, France, by the Rev. Jean-Paul Médaille of the Society of Jesus as an order of women dedicated to the Christian education of children. Upon the call in 1834 of the Right Rev. Joseph Rosati of St. Louis, Missouri, Mother St. John Fontbonne sent six sisters on a perilous voyage across the Atlantic Ocean. They arrived at St. Louis on 25 March, 1836. The house, a small log cabin, which was to be the central or mother-house of the future congregation of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet, was located at Carondelet, a small town six miles south of St. Louis.

The morning consisted of two periods of devotions and meditation interspersed with reading and personal quiet time. This was followed by a holy eucharist and lunch. Each of us brought reading materials, a Bible, and a journal. Our rector had brought with her a three foot bronze replica of a Medieval madonna and child, with Mary wearing a crown. The statue had belonged to a parishioner. Four votive candles stood at the base of the figure. She talked of the need of the Church for feminine imagery, and suggested that each of us, man and woman alike, could identify with carrying something inside us that eventually emerged into the world as a new and separate creation.

These thoughts especially resonated with me, and I shared with the rector privately that this metaphor helped me to clarify the nature of my Advent search. I said that I had been struggling for a long time with an apparent conflict between being a committed Christian, on the one hand, and being committed to a non-exclusive world religious community, on the other. What I have been struggling to give birth to is a way for me, and possibly others, to realize these two goals simultaneously and harmoniously. I have written about this in other blog entries, especially in Being about our Creator's Business.

This morning I came across a website maintained by Dennis Bratcher called the CRI/Voice. Bratcher tells us "While representing a particular theological tradition (Wesleyan), the goal of CRI/Voice is ecumenical and global." I read with particular interest this website's entry on the Season of Advent. Anyone wanting an overview and explanation of the season would do well to read this article. My eyes fell on this paragraph:
 
"The word Advent means "coming" or "arrival." The focus of the entire season is the celebration of the birth of Jesus the Christ in his First Advent, and the anticipation of the return of Christ the King in his Second Advent. Thus, Advent is far more than simply marking a 2,000 year old event in history. It is celebrating a truth about God, the revelation of God in Christ whereby all of creation might be reconciled to God. That is a process in which we now participate, and the consummation of which we anticipate. Scripture reading for Advent will reflect this emphasis on the Second Advent, including themes of accountability for faithfulness at His coming, judgment on sin, and the hope of eternal life." 
 
And that's when I asked the question "Who is this King?" Some would have us believe that this king is King of the Christians, that you have to be a Christian to enter his realm. I don't buy that premise. 
 
I remember back in 1975, when I had just started going to the Metropolitan Community Church. One of my feminist friends had challenged me to think of God as a woman. The challenge frankly scared me. The more I thought about it, the more I became aware that I was in the grips of a social taboo. My mind had transcended a gender-limited conception of God, but some primitive part of me feared truly embracing that concept. But I was courageous in those days. I walked into that church, trembling with fear, and I closed my eyes and reached out to a feminine God, and even a god beyond gender. And of course nothing happened, except that I shook off the old taboo and was the better for it.  
 
I think something similar is going on with many Christians. They've been told that God punishes non-Christians so long, and with such authority and force, that they are under the grips of a taboo. They do not have permission to think of God as a non-Christian God. It is really insidious, this kind of fear, because one fears the loss of salvation, of Christianity. I am on this Christian path, but the religion, Christianity, is merely a form through which we humans can approach the divine. I am comforted in my Christianity, but I am also comforted that someone across the world is comforted in her Buddhism. I really think that here, in this identification of myself with another so far away and so different from me, here is the manger in which God can be born again, Ruler of the Humble Human Heart.  

Posted: Mon - December 12, 2005 at 10:13 AM          

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