Rest a while

There is and has been for many generations, an intriguing custom among families when a parent or parents bring their new- born child home. Grandparents, aunts and uncles, great aunts and granduncles, nephews and nieces all gather to cast an eye over the new-born. Then, the helpless, innocent new- born is taken apart:

“Look she has eyes just like grandma Molly”;

“His ears stick out like Uncle Joe’s”;

“With those hands, he is bound to end up a blacksmith like great granddad Mick”,

“Look that little smile is just like Carrie when she was new-born” (Carrie, now turning sixteen, does not want to be reminded of how she looked as a baby, thank you!);

And the photo albums and shoeboxes from under the bed are brought out with family photos going back generations and photos selected that show similarities, some quite uncanny! The new-born is suddenly an amalgam of family members spread over several generations. While there is fun and laughter and much storytelling in this custom, I believe at its heart is what I would call “a ritual of belonging” – you are one of us and a member of our family, whom we take pride in and responsibility for. And, in fact, parenting is shared; advice on how to get the young one to sleep, when to introduce the bottle (and you know the heat is just right when you can pour a drop or two of the milk onto the back of your hand without it burning!), how best to deal with teething troubles or a slight skin rash; babysitting duties are shared to enable the parents some time for themselves. “You belong to us.

The Rite of Baptism in the Christian Church is at heart a “ritual of belonging” – the community gathers and through a variety of symbols, the signing with the Cross, the pouring of water, the anointing with oil, the dressing in a baptismal robe, the lighting of a candle – each of these signs is saying to the one who has been brought for Baptism, “you belong”, “you are a member of our family,” “ we will take responsibility for you as you grow in faith.

Unfortunately, many Christians and Christian communities severely limit this ritual by linking it almost exclusively to the “removal of original sin.” This idea was put forth by St. Augustine in the fifth century but never mentioned in the Bible. We are usually taught that human beings were born into “sin” because Adam and Eve “offended God” by eating from the “tree of the knowledge of good and evil.” As punishment, God cast them out of the Garden of Eden (Genesis 3:22–23). We typically think of sin as a matter of personal responsibility and culpability, yet original sin wasn’t something we did at all. It was something that was done to us (“passed down from Adam and Eve”). Yet historically, the teaching of original sin started us off on the wrong foot—with a no instead of a yes, with mistrust instead of trust. With the idea that we are “born stained!” Personally, I consider a much truer description of Adam and Eve’s experience would be “original shame.” They hide when God comes looking for them, and when God asks why they say they feel naked. Then God asks Adam and Eve, “Who told you that you were naked?” The implication is, “I sure didn’t.” A few verses later, we see a very nurturing image of God as a seamstress, sewing garments and covering the two humans to protect them from their shame, “the Lord God made garments of skins for the man and for his wife, and clothed them.” (Genesis 3:21). [Come on now how many of you reading this were aware that it was Yahweh God at the sewing machine? In their shame and nakedness Yahweh God is close at hand!] How different than the much later and opposite notion of God shaming people for all eternity in hell. The older tradition reveals the deep mystery of transformation: God even uses our shame and pain to lead us closer to God’s loving heart.

The illustration is by the Italian sculptor Alessandro Algardi (1598 – 1654). Titled“The Baptism of Christ” it was sculpted between 1645 – 1646. There is a piece in the Cleveland Museum of Art – whether it is the original or not I am unable to determine.

St Luke’s gospel has shepherds and no wise men; St Matthew’s gospel has wise men and no shepherds. However, both the shepherds and the wise men are important to our story of the in-breaking of God into our world in the person of Jesus, the Word made flesh.

The shepherds were Jews, the wise men (or Magi) were non-Jews, or Gentiles. The word epiphany means a manifestation or revelation. Literally, ‘a drawing back of the veil.’ On this day the veil is drawn back on a great mystery, namely, that Christ is the Saviour of all people. Today is the feast of inclusivity. It is God’s will that all people be saved and come to the knowledge of the truth. God invites all to share on equal footing the benefits of the saving actions of Christ. This feast shows that election by God is not a privilege for some, rather a hope for all. It puts an end to every kind of exclusiveness.

In Jesus own mission he reached out to those excluded by the society in which he lived; the poor, the diseased, women and children. He reached out to Samaritans, Canaanites, foreigners, and every manner of social outcast. He angered the Jewish leaders by telling them that the Kingdom of God was open to everyone. The news that the Gentiles would be accepted on equal terms as themselves caused shock and bewilderment to the Jewish leaders. This great and wonderful truth was revealed in embryo when the Magi came to honour the Christ child.

Are all welcome, as equals, in our Church, irrespective of race, gender, age, sexual preference, ability or disability? If not, why not? Is the barrier not in them; rather, might it be in me?

There is in Matthew’s account of the visit of the wise men/Magi a much-neglected sentence. Matthew ends his account with the words,” they left for their own country by another road.” (v12). The encounter with Emmanuel, God-with-us ought to send us ‘home’ by a road other than the one that brought us to Him.

The illustration hints at that: titled “The Adoration of the Magi” it is by the Italian Renaissance artist Leonardo da Vinci. Leonardo was given the commission by the Augustinian monks of San Donato, Florence in 1481. Da Vinci departed for Milan the following year, leaving the painting unfinished! It has been in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence since 1670. Maybe the picture is “finished” when you and I kneel, adore, and then return ‘home’ by another road.!

Note: The painting underwent a five-year restoration process which involved the cleaning away of the layers of non-original materials that had built up on the surface over time. Equally important for the painting’s future conservation was the restoration of the wooden support and its stretcher bar system, improving the wood movement control function while respecting the original structure.

Nga mihi, welcome to a new year, the Feast of Mary Mother of God.

Fleur Adcock, a New Zealand poet is well-represented in New Zealand anthologies of poetry. One of her poems is titled Weathering.

Weathering

Literally thin-skinned, I suppose, my face
catches the wind off the snow-line and flushes
with a flush that will never wholly settle. Well:
that was a metropolitan vanity,
wanting to look young forever, to pass.

I was never a pre-Raphaelite beauty,
nor anything but pretty enough to satisfy
men who need to be seen with passable women.
But now that I am in love with a place
which doesn’t care how I look, or if I’m happy,

happy is how I look, and that’s all.
My hair will turn grey in any case,
my nails chip and flake, my waist thicken,
and the years work all their usual changes.
If my face is to be weather-beaten as well

that’s little enough lost, a fair bargain
for a year among lakes and fells, when simply
to look out of my window at the high pass
makes me indifferent to mirrors and to what
my soul may wear over its new complexion.

May I suggest that on this feast day of Mary, Mother of God you gaze on the illustration and read the poem.

Let Mary, the Mother of God, have hair turning grey, nails chipped and flaking, a waist thickening, and the years working all their usual changes.

The illustration is a detail from a painting by Peter Paul Rubens titled “Old Woman with a Basket of Coal, 1616 – 1618, Old Masters Picture Gallery, Dresden, Germany