I do not know what you plan to give….or hope to get….this Christmas. But I am willing to bet good money that a bag of bones is not high on any of your lists. Unless you are a dog, that is. In which case bones might be on the top of your list.
But if you dress up the word “bones” so that it reads “relics,” their desirability rises (at least in some corners of Christendom). For there are people in the church who have always valued what can be seen and touched over what can only be heard and spoken. I have heard people say: “If only we could find nails from the cross or splinters from the ark.” And what if the manger of Bethlehem (which probably resembled a feeding trough made of stone more than a baby box made of wood) were to suddenly appear on E-Bay?
I hold in one hand a pitcher from the time of Abraham and, in the other hand, a perfume bottle from the time of Jesus. Not that Abraham or Jesus ever poured from either. Although they could have….the time being right and the place being right. From antiquities dealers, Kris and I bought them. From Israel, Kris and I brought them. Proudly, we display them. Taking confidence in the fact that certificates of authenticity came with them. But who really knows?
What we bought was not a “relic,” but a story. To someone who never heard of Abraham, or never heard of the lady who spilled costly perfume on the feet of Jesus, these are nothing more than a jug and a bottle. Were you to steal or smash them, I would miss them. But I wouldn’t split the church over them. Neither would I start an incident or go to war over them. Though some would.
So you can understand my interest, a couple of weeks back, in the headline: “Pontiff Returns Orthodox Relics.” Which was underscored by the sub-headline: “Pope Releases the Bones of Two Archbishops to Istanbul to Reconcile with Other Christians.” Then, following the story further, I found pictures of the bones. Looking just like you’d think they’d look, resting on yellow velvet….sealed in crystal and alabaster reliquaries (picture rectangular glass boxes)…. being kissed by Orthodox Christians at the Patriarchal Cathedral of St. George in Istanbul, Turkey.
But let me step aside and allow the Turks to give you the Orthodox slant on this reconciliatory gesture by the pontiff. Reading from Turkishpress.com (yes, there is a Turkishpress.com):
Istanbul, November 27 (AFP). Hundreds of faithful of the Greek Orthodox Church in Turkey crowded into a small cathedral in Istanbul Saturday to celebrate the return by the Vatican of religious relics stolen during the Crusades some 800 years ago.
Bartholomew I, the Orthodox Patriarch of Constantinople, flew back to Istanbul with the holy remains after attending a solemn handover mass at the Vatican earlier Saturday, alongside Pope John Paul II.
The relics, carried in sealed containers, belong to two former church patriarchs, St. Gregory of Nazianze and St. John Chrysostom.
“For 800 years, these relics have been in exile, although in a Christian country, not of their own will, but as a result of the infamous fourth crusade which sacked this city in the year of our Lord 1204,” the patriarch told the gathering packed into the St. George cathedral.
Patriarch Bartholomew, his remarks translated into English by a priest, voiced his “gratitude to his Holiness, the Pope of Rome, and his curia, for their generous decision.”
“This gesture differentiates them from the deeds of their predecessors eight centuries ago, who accepted the spiritual and material treasures that had been taken from our church and our city,” he added. The crusaders sacked Constantinople, the city now called Istanbul, in 1204.
The bones, themselves….which resided in the Vatican for 800 years….are closer (in actual age) to 1700 years, given that it was in the 300s that Gregory of Nazianze and John Chrysostom actually taught, led, or otherwise influenced the emerging Christian church. Amazing! Utterly amazing!
But so what? Who cares? Certainly not you. And really, not me. We are not big on bones. Neither are we big on relics, icons, water jugs, statues or even shrouds, for that matter. If the bones were to come to Detroit, I suspect Rod Quainton would organize a tour to go see them. Larry Price would drive the Endowment Express. And if a good restaurant were advertised as being the “lunch stop,” we might sell out the bus. But we might not.
What really interests me this morning….this lovely, pre-Christmas Sunday morning (and you thought I forgot)….is the terminology that accompanied the turnover. In remarks read for John Paul II (who was too frail to read them himself), the Pontiff stated:
This is an occasion to purify our wounded memories.
Which led Patriarch Bartholomew to respond:
This is a fraternal gesture by the church in Rome, reminding us that there are no insurmountable problems in the Church of Christ.
Both of those phrases (“to purify our wounded memories” and “no insurmountable problems in the Church of Christ”) jumped from the page and kissed me on the cheek as I read them, given that in the church I serve (denominationally) and the world I inhabit (globally)….not to overlook a slew of friends and families (locally)….there are a lot of “wounded memories” that need purifying, and a lot of “problems” that need surmounting.
But it was the word “reconciliation” that interested me even more. For I have long wondered:
How does anything ever get fixed?
How does anyone ever get healed?
How do bridges ever get rebuilt over rivers of enmity and estrangement?
How do olive branches ever grow from the blunt ends of big sticks?
All of which brings me to what Paul offers as his summation of the Gospel: “God was in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself, entrusting unto us the message and ministry of reconciliation.”
All through college and seminary….and for the first ten years of my ministry….the Christmas question that interested me most was the “how” of Jesus’ birth. John Buchanan, who pastors one of Protestantism’s most influential congregations (Fourth Presbyterian on the Miracle Mile in Chicago), recently received a letter from his church’s sixth grade Sunday school class. In it, he was asked to answer three questions concerning Christmas. One of which read: “How could Joseph and Mary be considered the parents of Jesus if they never had sexual relations?” Leading Buchanan (who is my age) to recall that when he was in the sixth grade, he had never even heard of “sexual relations.” And if he had, the last place he would admit it was in his Sunday school class. Which led me to smile knowingly, because when I was a sixth grader, I hadn’t or wouldn’t, either.
Such questions were to interest me later….even consume me later. Not that I ever solved them. Rather, I replaced them (maybe 25 years ago) with an internal serenity with holy mystery. Meaning that there were things about the “how” of the nativity I no longer felt obliged to comprehend or defend.
Which was when I turned my gaze from the question of “how” to “why.” Why did God come to earth? Or, in the lofty language of John’s prologue, why did the Word become flesh, dwelling among us (“pitching its tent among us,” being an even better translation)?
Because God loved the world….loved the people in the world….and (as I tried to say carefully and cleverly two Sundays ago) wouldn’t let his lover’s quarrel with the world drive a deeper wedge between himself and the world. So God made a bold move toward the world….as if to say:
Forget halfway. I’ll go all the way. I will meet you on your turf, on your terms, in your time. We can start over. We can start fresh. We can start clean. We can begin again. And if what is going to happen feels like new birth (which is how both Bible and church ultimately described it), we’ll launch it with birth as you know birth….as in pregnancy, gynecology, delivery, that sort of thing.
The miracle is that God cared enough to do that….that the separation between God and ourselves is bridgeable….and that what God did once, we are called upon to do again and again. What did we read? “God was in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself, and entrusting unto us the ministry of reconciliation.”
I am not suggesting that our efforts at reconciliation will be easy. Nor am I suggesting that the results of our efforts will be perfect. But we have no choice but to make them. And never quit making them. Where the “ministry of reconciliation” is concerned, the words “I tried” are never enough. Nor are they acceptable. Because they were neither enough nor acceptable to God.
It took 800 years for the Pope to toss a very small rope across a very large chasm in Catholicism. But it was needed….appreciated….and can be replicated. For, as Patriarch Bartholomew responded: “There are no insurmountable problems in the Church of Christ.” And since Jesus did not come to reconcile God with the church….but with the world….can any world problem (or family problem….or marital problem) be deemed “insurmountable,” either?
Why is this so important to me? I’ll tell you why this is so important to me. Because it’s not just my faith, don’t you see? It’s my life. It’s what I’ve been about for lo, these many years. Exactly one month ago, I was the recipient of a lovely tribute by Rabbi Daniel Syme of Temple Beth El. It was offered at an interfaith service at Kirk in the Hills. Which was co-sponsored by St. Hugo of the Hills. In response to which, I was given an opportunity to say a few words. This is, in part, is what I said.
I am the grandson of a German Lutheran and Slovenian Catholic. I am married to a woman with Jewish ancestors and an uncle in the priesthood. And just six weeks ago, my daughter married, of all things, a Presbyterian. I was bred to be a bridge. I was wed to be a bridge. And I have been led through forty years of ministry, trying to rebuild bridges that some of my colleagues are presently burning.
For it occurs to me (as I look upon my tradition) that an inordinate amount of time and passion is spent parsing the house rather than enlarging the house. Far too many of my colleagues are worrying about (even obsessing over) who’s right and who’s wrong…who’s right and who’s left….who’s in and who’s out…. who’s welcome and who’s not.
All things considered, this is not terribly neighborly. Every four years, it seems that some politician or another asks me if I am better off than I was four years ago. Which is a rather selfish way to look at things. For, as a man of faith, I should be asking if my neighbor is better off than he was four years ago….especially when the neighbor is (in the words of the Lord of my Life) “numbered among the least of these.”
I can’t let go of that wonderful image from the prophetic tradition of Israel that describes all those people streaming up the mountain….too many to count….too intermingled to divide….and altogether too wondrous to credit to anyone other than God.
I know there are as many different ideas of the journey’s end as there are people in this room. And as to whether your particular concept of “going home” includes some kind of post-arrival accounting, I do not know. But in the event that I am met by my Maker, Master, Mediator or High Priest and asked to account for my ministry, I expect my interrogator will begin by noting the toiling I have done in my little corner of the vineyard….row 1589 to be specific….row 1589 (the Methodist row at the corner of Maple and Pleasant). But if there is a question of accountability to follow, I do not expect to be asked how it went with row 1589. Rather, I expect to be asked: “So Bill, how did the vineyard do?”
Oh, I can hear it now. Some will say….perhaps even some of you will say:
But there are those who don’t see it as we see it….don’t say it as we say it…. don’t sing it as we sing it….don’t even believe it as we believe it. Bill, the world is ripe with idolatry. And the church…the church of Jesus Christ….maybe even this church….is ripe with heresy.
To which John Chrysostom….St. John Chrysostom….his bones now resting comfortably on yellow velvet among the Orthodox in Istanbul….said (nearly 1700 years ago):
To tear the church apart does greater damage than heresy.
* * * * *
Ah, but we need a story about a baby to go out on. Fortunately, my friend Fred has one.
When I was growing up on the farm in western Tennessee, our closest neighbor was a black family named Graves, John and Jeanetta Graves, just wonderful, wonderful people. She was the happiest, most loving person I knew. When she laughed, it was as though her laughter came from her whole body. And she had long arms so as to be able to embrace everybody.
She became pregnant, had a son, and was pleased to say to the world: “This is going to be a child of reconciliation.” Because in rural west Tennessee, in those days there was still some racial prejudice. Along with Civil War talk. So she said: “My boy is going to be a child of reconciliation.” And she named him Lee Grant. Can you imagine that?
My mother said: “That was a mistake, Jeanetta. Nobody’s going to like him now.”
Jeanetta said: “Oh no, no, he’s going to be the end of all this hostility and hatred. He’s going to be a child of reconciliation.”
When he went to town once, he let me go along. And I have never witnessed one person suffering the verbal abuse that he suffered from people who didn’t even know him. He was a very gracious, good man. But his name was Lee Grant. And Jeanetta, his mother, said to me: “Fred, I don’t think you ought to go to town with Lee Grant anymore. You might be hurt.”
Which was sound advice. But wrong. Oh, so very wrong.
Note: The news story about the return of the bones by John Paul II first appeared in the Detroit papers in early December. The actual date of the press release was November 27, 2004. Since that time, numerous wire stories and magazines have covered the transfer. I could have quoted from any of them, but I thought a Turkish news source might be more interesting.
The story about Lee Grant is a part of Fred Craddock’s wonderful collection.
Early in the sermon, I held aloft a pair of antiquities from my collection, obtained on numerous trips to the Middle East. Unfortunately, it is now getting harder and harder to remove antiquities (at any price) from Israel.
