CHRISTMAS AND VULNERABILITY:
PUTTING YOURSELF IN THE PAINTING
by St. Advocatus di Aboli
(EDITOR'S NOTE: The tragic events of
December 14 in Newtown, Connecticut inspired
St. Advocatus di Aboli to post this homily. For
those unfamiliar with him, the author is one of
the principal characters in the e-book,
Last Supper Red, available without cost here.
He was Snark's mentor shortly after the latter
graduated from seminary. He and Snark were
thorns in one another's flesh for decades, and
much of the e-book describes their struggle to
work out their relationship. Advocatus is
ancient but of indeterminate age. He knew some
of the Roman Emperors, was present at the
Council of Nicea, and knows a thing or two about
Christian orthodoxy.. Snark is approaching older
adulthood, yet his theological tastes tend more Giovanni Battista Salvi da Sassoferrato
toward those of Progressive Christianity. He has August 25, 1609 - August 8, 1685
come to appreciate that, while Advocatus sometimes expresses his truths in arcane and off-putting metaphors, the man frequently has much wisdom to impart. For his part, Advocatus has been learning how to better communicate with people in the 21st century. We believe that he succeeds in doing so in this response to the immense sadness and horror the killings in Newtown have occasioned.)
I take as my text James 1:27. "Anyone who sets himself up as 'religious' by talking a good game is self-deceived. This kind of religion is hot air and only hot air. Real religion, the kind that passes muster before God the Father, is this: Reach out to the homeless and loveless in their plight, and guard against corruption from the godless world." (From The Message, a contemporary rendering of the Bible's "rough and earthy language" by Eugene Patterson.)
Last Christmas . . . in a time not drenched in the inexplicable violence and horror that threatens to overtake this season's more comforting mood, and for which we have no adequate words . . . last Christmas, when the Occupy Movement was in full flower, Gregory Talipson a.k.a Snark, delivered himself of the opinion that the Churches' "bathrobe Christmas dramas" depicting the manger scene have the unintended consequence of sentimentalizing Christmas . . . forever keeping Jesus a sweet, harmless infant in the public's mind . . . conveniently avoiding the fact that he grew up, rattled not a few cages in his time, and for which he was executed. Snark even made the point of including in this space a link to a sound clip from that scurrilously satirical movie, Talladega Nights in which Will Ferrel's character insists upon addressing his mealtime grace to the "Sweet Little Baby Jesus." Regrettably, Snark's posting is still here.
Snark has a fine mind and he more than made his point. Good grief, the man is always needlessly going over the top to do so! But he's overlooked something important. There is a sense in which this is also true:
IT IS IMPORTANT THAT WE ALWAYS SEE JESUS PRECISELY AS A LITLE BABY!
That is because God's favorite way of entering the world is through vulnerability . . . God's and ours. What could be more vulnerable than an infant? Our babies and young children are so very vulnerable, so very dependent . . . they need protection and nurturance for a long time, until they can reliably function on their own. I dare say that no one ever expected the One who created the Big Bang to enter our history in such a clandestine, vulnerable way. That's not the only way God enters our lives, of course. Acts of compassionate, and sometimes courageous, caring is another way. Thus, Sassoferrato's painting shows us both those ways: the vulnerable child and the nurturing, protective, caring mother.
There are, of course, other examples of the sorts of human vulnerabilities God uses as entry points into our world. Homeless persons . . . often a family with children . . . who are frightened, depressed, and hungry in the midst of our affluence. They are vulnerable. The widow or widower and their children are vulnerable. So are those persons who battle every day just to make it through without being taken over by traumatizing memories of war . . . of abuse . . . of helplessness in the face of evil. Those whose heretofore healthy lives have been massively compromised by disease and injury know all-too-well what it is like to be vulnerable.
These are but some of the many significant examples of human vulnerability you and I could name. God makes an entry into our world through them. They are all the Baby Jesus in Giovanni Battista Salvi's painting. And since, sooner or later, all of us will again experience that vulnerability . . . one way or the other, at one time or another, we are all the Baby Jesus.
God also comes into the world through those who respond to such vulnerable people and situations. Those who shelter the homeless, feed the hungry, care for the widow and orphan in their distress, understand and support those who battle unseen adversaries in their minds, and those who care for the seriously ill . . . be it through the administration of medications, surgeries, or visits to the hospital and home where they lie recuperating . . . all of those who so respond are compassionately connected to those who are vulnerable. God comes into the world through them as well. They are all the Mother Mary in the painting.
All of us have, of course, heard by now of the inexplicably horrendous murder of twenty little children and six of their teachers at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. And we may also have heard the President's moving call for the nation to do a better job of protecting our vulnerable children. Regardless of your political persuasion, you'd have to say he seems quite sincere. (The link above will take you there. Use your browser's back arrow to return to this page.)
But you know how it goes: our passion of the moment gradually fades . . . some new item seizes the imagination of the press and, consequently, our own as well. And when that happens, the politics of the status quo usually predominates and nothing new gets accomplished. So the vulnerable keep on being vulnerable without an adequately caring, structural, and political response being made.
It may, in time, be all-too-easy to forget even those vulnerable children and their devastated families. Eventually, we may forget the first responders, who may be experiencing traumatic, intrusive nightmares for a long time to come. And yes, it is already terribly easy not even to give one caring thought for the one who pulled the trigger so many times. An unspeakably evil act to be sure, but also one of a mind gone terribly, terribly wrong. It is so hard for us even to remember those in our communities with serious mental illnesses that my plea is not so much that we not forget them so much as it is to remember them in the first place. For they . . . and almost none of them go on to commit such heinous acts . . . are quite vulnerable too.
So I urge you this Christmas . . . remember the vulnerable ones, for they are the Christ Child in the painting. Respond to them in their vulnerability by remembering and by making sure that our elected politicians remember them as well by writing letters, making phone calls, and even visiting their offices near you or on Capitol Hill. Be prepared to do so for many months . . . for as long as it takes. (This Christmas observance may last all year long!) As you do that, you become the Mother Mary: the one who protects the vulnerable. (You can find contact information for your Senators and Representative by clicking here. Use your browser's back arrow to return to this page.)
Once more: you will have no choice in someday becoming, again, quite vulnerable yourself. At that time you will once again enter the painting as the Baby Jesus. You do have a choice to enter it now as the Mother caring for the One who is so vulnerable. Will you choose to do that along with me? And will you keep doing that as long as it takes?
James had it right in his letter: real religion is all about remembering and caring for the vulnerable. That is how God enters the world as Emmanuel: God with us. We can join God in the world as long as we never lose sight of the Baby in the painting.
Amen
