Toward “a spirit of wisdom and revelation”
Gandolfi, Gaetano, 1734-1802, presents this visision of one of dreams when Joseph was visited by an angel.
Today’s scriptures center on a theme of revelation and wisdom that leads to coming home to God.
In our reading from Jewish scripture, we hear the prophet Jeremiah speak of a time when God redeems the people of Israel, turning their “mourning into joy” and “their mourning into joy.”
Our Psalm continues the homecoming theme. “My soul has a desire and longing for the courts of the Lord,” the psalmist writes. “For one day in your courts is better than a thousand in my own room, and to stand at the threshold of the house of my God than to dwell in the tents of the wicked.”
In Ephesians, the author – probably not St. Paul – prays we will receive “a spirit of wisdom and revelation” as we come to know God, as we grow closer to God, as we come home to God. But how can we develop “a spirit of wisdom and revelation?”
Today’s Gospel doesn’t seem to be much help in answering that question.
Matthew reports the Lord appeared to Joseph and warned Joseph to flee with his family to Egypt. “This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, “Out of Egypt I have called my son,’” Matthew explains. Next God tells Joseph to move his family back to Israel. “There he made his home in a town called Nazareth, so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled, ‘He will be called a Nazorean,’” Matthew explains.
In each of these cases, Matthew uses quotations from Jewish scripture to answer a question he finds in the story. Sometimes the question asks “Is this really in accordance with God’s promises?” other times it asks “Why did this happen?” Some scholars call this kind of proof texting “formula quotations.” They set the stage for Matthean Midrash, or Matthew’s way of interpreting and explaining Christian tradition in his time and place.
He, Qi. Flight into Egypt, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=46097 [retrieved January 5, 2011
We do not know much about the author of the Gospel. In fact we do not know his name or even if this text is the work of one author. We call him – or them- Matthew simply for our own convenience.
Scholars say he/they worked from Mark’s Gospel, adding material from at least one other source. They think his community was persecuted by both Gentiles and Jews, people who were not convinced that Jesus was anyone special.
Now it is easier to understand Matthew’s central point: Jesus is the Jewish Messiah. His text today forms a kind of midrash, a particularly Jewish way of interpreting scripture. Midrash is a way of interpreting biblical stories that goes beyond a simple reading of the text to fill in gaps and answer questions that are important in the author’s time and place.
Sometimes a Midrash involves telling a story and then concluding that the moral of the story proves (or is reflected in) a point drawn from scripture. Matthew tells two stories, stories missing form Mark but perhaps found in his other sources, and utilizes “formula quotations” to drive home his point: Jesus is the Messiah.
Reading today’s scriptures, I was struck by the prayer in Ephesians that each of us will develop “a spirit of wisdom and revelation” as we come to know God. Perhaps like Matthew I can make a Midrash on this search for “a spirit of wisdom and revelation.”
That reminds me of a story. After graduating from seminary, I spent a year as a chaplain-in-training in the Clinical Pastoral Education program of Stanford Hospital. I had just finished a particularly long and difficult day. Although I should have been out at 5 P.M., it was closer to 8 when I finally went through the double doors near the Emergency Department, walked past the ambulances lined up in the driveway and headed toward the garage for the drive back to Alameda. It was one of those warm summer nights when you’re glad to have air conditioning in the car. I could just see the parking garage in the distance when a voice called out from the darkness.
“Excuse me, do you work here?”
I stopped, peered into the gloom and said: “Yes, I do. How can I help you?” Slowly a well dressed man emerged from the night.
“I’ve just arrived and I am looking for my son and his wife who are in the hospital,” the man said. He was carrying a garment bag in one hand.
I thought: this won’t take long. I thought: I’ll just help him find the right room number and walk him to the right elevator. I thought: I’ll be on the road in five minutes tops. I was wrong.
“I’ll be glad to help you find you son and his wife. Do you know what unit they are in?”
The man signed. “It’s not my son or his wife. My grandchild died here today and I am coming to say goodbye.” His words hung for a moment in the still night air.
“Perhaps if you called you son on his cell he could tell you where we can find your grandchild,” I said. “Then I’ll be glad to walk you to her room.” He made the call and told me the number of a room in the children’s hospital.
“Oh, you don’t have to walk me to the room,” he said.
“Yes I do: I’m a chaplain here,” I said.
“I worked as a hospital intern before I got my own church. Seems providential we met like this,” he replied.
We walked past the silent ambulances; through the double doors and past the hall leading to the Emergency Department. We talked a bit as we went through the now empty cafeteria where chairs were stacked atop tables waiting for the cleaning crew to scrub and polish the floor. He said: “Her little heart just wasn’t strong enough to hold out until a transplant came along.”
We talked as we emerged from the caf and started down the hospital’s long main corridor: past units C-1; D-1; E-1; F-1 and into the children’s hospital. As we waited for the elevator he said: “What do I tell my son? He’ll have so many questions.” The elevator’s prompt arrival made his a rhetorical question.
We walked into the unit and I introduced him to the nurse who had last cared for his grandchild. The nurse ushered the grandfather into the room where the child lay. A moment later, two women, friends of the family who had been sitting with the little girl, hurried out of the room.
I did not want to intrude on the grandfather but I also did not want to leave him without saying goodbye. I did not know what to do so I just stood there. A moment later the grandfather opened the door and motioned for me to enter.
I walked in and found a beautiful young girl, covered by her favorite blanket. She is beautiful, she looks as though she has fallen asleep, resting with a single red rose beside her. I am overwhelmed with a feeling of loss and tranquility.
“She is beautiful,” I said.
“She fought hard … poor child … she just wasn’t strong enough…” His voice breaks and he asks “Chaplain: will you pray for her?”
I pray, he said Amen, we turn to each other and embrace.
Each year, my ex-wife hosts a special Polish Christmas Eve dinner at which she sets hay on the table to remind us of Christ’s humble birth and she sets an extra place for the “unexpected guest.”
I’ve always been touched by this reminder as we celebrate the birth of a child who arrived as an “uninvited guest,” was born in a stable, and is our savior, Christ the Lord.
That night the grieving grandfather was my “uninvited guest,” the one who arrives unexpectedly but brings blessings beyond all expectations. And in that room I was his “uninvited guest,” bringing a measure of care to ease his blinding pain.
That night, as I was walking home, I realized as Jacob said in Genesis: God was in this place and I, I did not know it. Like Jacob, I felt: “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”
This is as close as I have come to finding a way toward having “a spirit of wisdom and revelation.” It is as close as I have come to the gate of the psalmist’s “courts of the Lord.” This is as close as I have to a homecoming with God along my pilgrimage through lonely hospital hallways and crowded city streets; though quiet contemplation and boisterous community life. Each of us has our own pilgrimage, our own path toward having “a spirit of wisdom and revelation.” Along the way, our challenge is to remain open to the possibility of meeting God at any time.
Let us pray:
Light of life, you came in flesh, born into human pain and joy, and gave us power to be your children. Grant us faith, O Christ, to see your presence among us, so that all of creation may sing new songs of gladness and walk in the way of peace. Help us to live in “a spirit of wisdom and revelation” so that we may do the work you have given us to do.
Let the people say: Amen.
Preached by the Rev. Thomas C. Jackson
Art:
Baptism of Christ, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=47779 [retrieved January 5, 2011].
| He, Qi. Flight into Egypt, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=46097 [retrieved January 5, 2011]. |
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