First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan
Dec. 16, 2001
Scripture: Luke 1:26-38
Let me begin by asking you a question….a two-part question, really. When your children cry out in the middle of the night and (in comforting them) you say, “There, there now; don’t be afraid, everything is going to be all right”….are you, in that moment, an angel….and are you absolutely certain that you are going to be able to make everything all right?
The world is full of fearful things. Children know this and openly acknowledge it. Adults know this, too, but have mastered the art of repressing or bluffing their way through it. Franklin D. Roosevelt was wrong. There are some things to fear besides fear itself.
When you read the nativity narratives in Matthew and Luke, doesn’t it seem as if the angels are working overtime, rushing from this one to that one, telling them, “Don’t be afraid.” In Matthew, the angel’s word comes only to Joseph. But, in variant forms, it comes three times. In Luke, Zechariah (Mary’s cousin’s husband) is the first who is told to “fear not.” Then Mary is told to “fear not.” Finally, a gaggle of shepherds on a hillside are told to “fear not.” Thank God for the angel. I mean, seriously, thank God for the angel. Or by the time the Lord appears in the form of a baby, labor and deliver will have everybody in a frenzy.
Childbirth is frightening, no matter how many classes one takes. And this child’s birth is additionally frightening in that nobody is ready, even though an entire nation is expecting. The parents aren’t married. The room’s not prepared. But “fear not” says the angel. “Calm down…. mellow out….chill. Things are happening in you (and among you), which do not necessarily make sense to you, and may never make complete sense to you (given that God’s ways are not necessarily your ways). But let it be. Open your minds. Open your hearts. Have a little faith.” Which they did, don’t you know. Everybody chilled. Everybody followed instructions. Everybody went with the flow. And what flowed was love.
I’d have been frightened if I were Mary. Tradition tells us that she was very young. She, herself, tells the angel that she has never been with a man. As I said last week, to live in her time and walk the streets in her condition meant one of three things could happen….none of them good. She could be shamed. She could be shunned. Or she could be stoned. I am told that there are teenage girls who, today, wear an unwed pregnancy as a badge of honor (although I don’t personally know any). All I know is that Mary would have worn it as a badge of disgrace….had she not been told otherwise. Which is why she thanked the angel. Who, you will notice, did not make her fearful condition go away, but did suggest that there was more to Mary’s pregnancy than meets the eye.
Ah, but some of you are beginning to wonder where Harry Potter fits in all of this. Doesn’t his name in my title constitute something of a promise? Well, yes it does. And I am going to honor it. Beginning now. But what could the linkage possibly be? Fear….that’s what the linkage could be. But let me back up a bit, the better to come at things head on.
Did I go to see Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone? Sure, I went to see it. Did I enjoy it? Sure, I enjoyed it….although not as much as I might have 50 years ago. Would I recommend you take your children and grandchildren to see it? Sure, although if you have a kid who still can’t go to sleep without a nightlight, I’d read the book and wait for the video. Don’t I know that some clergy say that stories with witchcraft in them constitute an attack on religion, while (from the other side) lawsuits have been filed in eight states, requiring schoolteachers to stop reading Harry Potter in class because the emphasis on magic constitutes an unconstitutional endorsement of religion? Sure, I know that. Do I identify with either side of that argument? No, I think that both border on the ridiculous.
The Harry Potter books are fiction. They are about a boy who doesn’t exist, going to a school that doesn’t exist, the better to learn about witches and wizards who do not exist, in order to subdue a slew of enemies who do not exist. Children have read and enjoyed such stories forever. Why? Because, at the level of mystery and fantasy, they help children deal with a world that does exist….and which, in its very real existence, does contain challenges to be met, problems to be solved, slings and arrows to be deflected, and (yes) evil to be overcome.
When all of this begins, Harry Potter has reached the ripe old age of 11. A little more bookish than brawny, he is not the kind of boy who is going to beat the odds against him by beating up everybody who bothers him….meaning that he is more smart than tough. Which pretty much describes me at age 11….more smart than tough, I mean. I was a boy who had to pedal my bicycle to school every day with a violin case on my handlebars. Which pretty much says it all.
I don’t need to tell you Harry’s story. You can read (or see) it yourself. It’s not long into the movie that we learn that Harry’s parents are dead….killed by a giant wizard named Voldemort….who, sometime previous, crossed over from the good side to the dark side (this sounds religious already). Voldemort almost got Harry when he got his folks, which explains why Harry has a lightning-bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. And we know that Voldemort will not rest until Harry, too, is dead. It will take us seven books….and, presumably, seven movies….to see how all this comes out. Although if you have any loose change laying around, I wouldn’t call up your bookie and bet on Voldemort.
Given Harry’s birth to parents who were wizards, coupled with his narrow escape from murder as a child, the wizard world has been waiting for him for a long time. In fact, this first movie could be called “Harry’s Coming Out Party.” In one of the most enchanting scenes (which comes early, so don’t dawdle in the popcorn line), thousands of invitations, delivered by owls, flood the home where Harry lives, suggesting it is now time to become who Harry is….by leaving where he lives and taking up residence at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
And why wouldn’t Harry want to leave home, given that he is being raised by a grotesque and demonic aunt and uncle who make him sleep in the closet and who do not give him a fraction of the food that is consumed by his cousin, Dudley (a boy who is every bit as fat as Harry is skinny, and every bit as stupid as Harry is smart). As schools go, Hogwarts is a fairly nice place. If Albion ever releases me, I wouldn’t mind being on their Board of Trustees. Teachers are strict. Lessons are tough. But occasionally, everybody gets together in the Great Hall for a great feast. In fact, “Harry had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.” Obviously, this is not a school for people who are addicted to tofu.
What’s more, there are girls there. One of them likes Harry. And, if you can believe it, some of them play on Harry’s quiddich team….quiddich being a slightly savage game that resembles professional hockey, except that it is played by people who can fly. And there are challenges. Boy, are there challenges. But Harry always tries to do right. And right usually wins….in time…. sometimes, barely in the nick of time. But the bad guys merely retreat, rather than disappear. And every reader knows they will be back. For as evil goes, there will be more.
This is so familiar. Children’s literature is filled with stories of wicked stepmothers, bad parents, hostile siblings, dark forests, gigantic enemies….complete with lessons to learn, trials to overcome and courage to summon. By the time any child is 11 (and usually long before), he or she knows that the world is not always a safe place….and (sadly) that home is not always a safe base. How else do you explain the popularity, a few years back, of those ridiculous Home Alone movies? The first one was the best one. But that isn’t saying much. You remember the premise. Everybody in the family flies off, accidentally leaving a pre-adolescent boy behind. In the midst of gorging himself on everything in the refrigerator, he is left to fight both bad feelings and bad guys. He is beset by demons within (“They left me”)….and demons without (“They’re out to get me”). And kids flocked to see it.
That’s because the world is a frightening place, even when there’s food for you, clothes for you, a warm house for you, and a pair of loving parents for you. So, when you’re a kid, how do you deal with all that frightening stuff? Well, you read about it from a safe distance, trusting that the fantasy on the page will help you face the reality of your life. For if Harry and his friends make it….notice Harry is not alone….you might just make it, too.
Don’t get me wrong. These are not Christian stories. But I remember G. K. Chesterton’s observation that his own journey to Christian faith began with his childhood absorption in fairy tales. For from fairy tales he learned that “while the world is a wild and startling place, it is also precious and coherent, full of unseen connections and decisive truths.” And what does Chesterton mean by “unseen connections”? He means that in the midst of all that scares and startles us (in the dark….in the night….under the bed….in the closet….in the forest), we are never home alone. Rather, we are linked to forces that will sustain us and love that will see us through. “Fear not,” says the angel. Not because darkness is fading. Not because bad guys are falling. Not because danger is disappearing. Not because hard times are receding. And certainly not because evil empires are unraveling. But because someone is coming.
Unfortunately, life did not become noticeably easier after Jesus came. Every time I read the gospel of Matthew, it strikes me that the angel’s next word to Joseph, once the kings left the stable, was: “Get out of town. Take the baby and run. Hot foot it to Egypt. Go now. Go fast.” No, life did not become easier in the wake of Jesus’ coming, but it did become less solitary. Christmas comes, leaving behind its “decisive truth,” that even if “home” for you be unsettled.…that even if “home” be insecure….the “alone” part need never worry you again. God has come in Jesus Christ to companion your journey, perilous and dangerous though it may be.
Any more, it seems like everywhere I turn, religious types are inviting me to enhance my spiritual journey by walking the labyrinth. Sometimes laid out on the floor of a gymnasium…. other times, painted on the surface of an asphalt parking lot….or (ideally) sculpted in a grassy glade, complete with hedgerows for trail markers….the labyrinth has, for centuries, invited seekers to walk in circles (quietly, meditatively), drawing ever inward and closer to the heart of whatever….God, the soul, the truth, the matter, etc. And for some who walk it, wonderful things happen. To the mind. To the spirit. Occasionally, some would say, to the body (in the form of deepened breathing, slower pulse, looser muscles, metabolic peace). The fact that it does not work for me….or on me….is not an indictment of its effectiveness as a resource God can use.
It does, however, call to mind a game I once loved as a child. Believe it or not, I found it Friday at the Doll Hospital and Toy Soldier Shop in Berkley. It cost me all of $14.95 (which was its price 25 years ago). But don’t go looking, given that I bought the only one they had. Also called “Labyrinth,” it invites you move a steel ball across a movable surface from start to finish. One does this by tilting the surface rather than pushing the ball. Alas, there are holes through which the ball can fall….45 of them. And nobody, initially, has the dexterity to avoid or steer around them. That, my friend, is the labyrinth I know best. For that is the labyrinth I have lived….and continue to live. In the great journey of my life, holes abound. Some of them big enough to swallow my ball. Others of them, big enough to swallow me.
To be sure, over time I become quicker of hand, sharper of eye, keener of mind, and stronger of heart. I steer better. I move faster. But I still wonder why God isn’t more like a celestial road commissioner, filling the holes in my path before I cross them. Instead, what I hear God saying, over and over again, is: “Fear not, I am with you.”
* * * * *
Oh, but we’ve got a question dangling out there in mid-air, don’t we?
When your children cry out in the middle of the night and, in rushing to comfort them, you say: “There, there now, don’t be afraid, everything is going to be all right”….are you (in that moment) an angel, and are you absolutely certain that you will be able to make everything all right?
My answers:
Yes, you are an angel.
No, you bring no guarantees.
But at that moment….to that child….your presence is enough. You might just as well be God. And I rather suppose you are.
