Don Friesen
On behalf of the Mennonite congregation I wish to convey our deep felt appreciation for your hospitality this morning. We are in the midst of the intensive Ten Thousand Villages program, a service program that provides employment for artisans in developing countries. This means that our church is transformed into a crafts market on Mondays, then each Saturday night we take most of the crafts and shelving down and convert our church back into a house of worship. It's a lot of work! The invitation to worship with you this morning saves us a lot of work, and we're grateful! Thank you.
This morning is also an opportunity for our congregation to worship with other Christians, in their place of worship. You have a beautiful church, an edifice that itself inspires awe and worship. I visited here years ago on one of my sabbaticals, and I am most pleased for this opportunity to be with you again and to participate in your service of worship. May our worship be acceptable to God, "a fragrant offering, ...acceptable and pleasing to God." (Philippians 4:18)
Surprised by Shining Icons
John Bentley Mays, the former visual arts and architecture critic for "The Globe and Mail" was sent to Russia ten years ago to do a story on a church in the city of Kiev. His assignment was to do a story on the eleventh-century Cathedral of St Sophia, the mother church of the Orthodox faith in the east-Slavic lands of Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus. It was one of many assignments Mays had undertaken to look at art around the world and write about it, but, says Mays, "...rarely before had I seen beauty itself on assignment--unmediated, radiant, transfiguring (beauty)." ("In the Jaws of the Black Dogs," Saturday Night, November, 1993, page 54).
The beauty of holiness was not foreign to Mays; it has, he says, "been the attraction that dragged me, kicking and complaining, back to the Beloved whenever I have tried to escape His implacable affection." The experience in Kiev, however, came as a surprise to him. Here he was, on assignment, far from home, in the distraught capital of a new nation, a nation only days old when he arrived and facing a time of extreme uncertainty if not economic and civil collapse. Yet for a week, says Mays, "I felt I was walking in a flaming garden. Everything seemed to be burning: the gleaming mosaics and architecture of the Orthodox churches I visited, the milling mobs of worshippers packed into Kiev's Cathedral of St Vladimir for a celebration of the glorious Christmas liturgy, even the pale, bearded faces of the unkempt Orthodox monks who had begun coming back from heaven knows where, and gradually repopulating the ancient monasteries out of which the Communists had turfed them generations ago." Says Mays: "I cannot explain this experience, but it put a certain steel in my soul that had never been there."
Mays is not talking about great architecture, per se, or magnificent liturgy and Scripture, aesthetically breathtaking as all of these things can be. "I am speaking," says Mays, "of the beauty of divine love's furnace, ablaze in the heart of the church and transfiguring everything its radiance touches." (page 79)
No one can predict when or how one will catch a glimpse of the Divine light, but for Mays, born and raised in the Deep South--a hometown ‘bubba' from the Louisiana bayou--it was the shining icons of the Orthodox tradition that opened for him a window on the divine! He found the "beauty of the Beloved" in the liturgy and icons of Russia.
Mennonites passed through Russia on their way to North America, lingering there for a century or so, but I don't think they were all that intrigued with icons. Working hard to farm on the Steppes of the Ukraine didn't leave much time for aesthetic reflection. And the Mennonites who stayed after the Bolshevik Revolution and were either starving to death or sent to the Gulag had other things on their minds. Then again, the Mennonite tradition is not one easily given to ebullient artistic expression. For example, the architecture of your place of worship is stunning in comparison with our house of worship, which resembles an enlarged family room! Our tradition is a rather plain one. In fact, Mennonites are often referred to as the "plain people," though increasing wealth has put a noticeable dent into our simplicity, at least in our homes. Our house of worship, however, remains quite bare, stripped of any aids to worship that might lift our eyes and minds heavenward.
Several years ago I visited the Grossmünster in Zurich, a cathedral which, thanks to Zwingli and our own sixteenth century founders was stripped of many of its paintings, tapestries, altars and statuary. Cheering us on, no doubt, was a contemporary, John Calvin (1509-64), who was so concerned about people confusing icons with that which icons represent that he too had Reformed churches stripped bare. Ironically, to the North American Mennonite eye, the stripped Grossmünster still has the power to stir the soul.
Iconography does not come naturally to most Western Protestants; we are by nature and theology more iconoclastic, and given our fascination with technology most of us think of icons are those little graphic "thingys" on our computer desktop.
Windows to the Divine
Religious icons have a long and noble history. Almost from the beginning the Church has employed the arts as potent means of instruction and edification. In the first centuries the walls of the catacombs were decorated with paintings and mosaics, and ever since churches have lent their walls, ceilings, windows and altars as media to tell the gospel story.
The icons of the Orthodox tradition are painted in a style that encourages silence, meditation, and contemplation. Occasionally in the history of the church icons were the subject of bitter controversy--the veneration of icons deemed overdone--but icons are simply an attempt to represent things in heaven with things of earth, using the things of earth to bring to light the realities of the spirit. The Apostle Paul described Jesus as the "image of the invisible God". (Colossians 1:15) Jesus is, if you like, an icon of God, a window that allows us to see deeper into the realities of God's presence and will. In Jesus Christ the invisible God became visible and touchable. God continues to beckon us, calling us to perceive the presence of God's Holy Spirit in all the things of earth.
One of my favourite devotional books through the years has been a book written by Pierre Charles, a Belgian priest who suggests that we can learn to think devotionally about the most ordinary of things. God created the world, pronounced it "very good," and though marred by human sin and recklessness the things God created still reflect God's glory. We can discern God's handiwork not just in the majestic Rockies or the stupendous Niagara Falls or in the breathtaking landscape of the Prairies but also in the humblest of things - a chair, a door, a plant, a garden. Pierre Charles' devotional book, The Prayer of All Things, does just that--it helps us think devotionally about the most ordinary of things, letting them serve as icons, windows on the things of the spirit.
Surprised by Human Icons
In today's Scripture lesson from the Gospel of Matthew we have a vision of the future. Like Charles Dickens' classic "Christmas Carol," it's a potentially frightening vision of the future for it is vision of the Last Judgment. It's accountability time, and the Son of Man, enthroned as Judge, is ready to declare judgment. Depending on your behaviour you are destined to go to either the sheep camp or the goat camp. The sheep camp is the good one; people who end up there are called blessed; they've done all right. The goats are another story; they're in deep, deep trouble! And what's the distinguishing feature? Well, says the Son of Man, "You that are blessed by my Father (will) inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world," and this is why: "I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me." (Matthew 25:34-36)
The goats, on the other hand, did none of these things. They shared no food, provided nothing to drink, gave strangers the cold shoulder, gave away no clothing, visited no one in need, and took care of no one except perhaps members of their immediate family. (Matthew 25:42-44)
The one thing the sheep and goats have in common is that they're both surprised by the significance of their action, or inaction, as the case may be. Both ask the same question: "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? ...when was it that we saw you a stranger...? ...when was it that we saw you sick or in prison...?" (Matthew 25:37-39, echoed in verse 44)
And in this vision of the future the Lord says to the sheep, "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me." (25:40) And to the goats he says, "Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me." (25:45)
Our gospel reading is one of several biblical injunctions encouraging us to "...show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares," says the New Testament (Hebrews 13:2 RSV) It brings to mind the time Abraham and Sarah extended exceptional hospitality to three travelling strangers, quite unaware that these strangers were emissaries of God! (Genesis 18) Our Gospel tells the same story; it's a beautiful and vivid passage of Scripture in which those who give a cup of cold water to a stranger discover to their astonishment that it was Christ who was the recipient of their hospitality and love.
I would suggest that the Gospel is saying that every person I encounter, and especially those conventionally considered the least among us, is an icon of Jesus Christ. Just as we treat the house of worship and the things of worship with respect and reverence because of their association with Christ--because in some way they represent Christ--so every human being, however humble, however wretched, is owed our respect because in the face of that person is reflected the face of Christ!
Now, I confess to a measure of squeamishness about considering human beings icons of Christ. Christ is revealed to us in those who don't have the wherewithal to put bread on the table? Christ is revealed to us in those who are in desperate need? Christ is revealed to us in those who are diseased, or in prison?!? I'm willing, perhaps, to say that within each person resides an inner light, and however hidden, however obscured, however disguised, distorted, or deeply buried I can, with enough prayer and reflection get past my squeamishness and see a slight flicker of that inner light in everyone. However, I don't think Matthew intended us to have to put that much effort into discerning the spirit of Christ in others. I don't think Matthew is asking us to pretend that Jesus resides in everyone and that by such mental trickery we will somehow learn to love them, like we might learn a very difficult musical lesson! In the Gospel those in the sheep camp simply loved others. The loving was real, not a means to earn brownie points with Jesus. The notion that in loving others they were also loving Jesus came to them as a complete surprise!
Whatever the depth of our love, the Gospel tells us that how we treat the hungry, the needy, the imprisoned, the dirty, the smelly, the confused and tormented is perceived by God as a measure of our devotion to Jesus.
A Long Tradition of Human Icons
This Gospel lesson is a hard lesson--a hard lesson but also an inspiring one--one that moved countless saints before us to live and teach likewise. In the fourth century Caesarea was a powerful and wealthy city, prominent in world affairs. When the leaders of this fair city asked St. Basil (330-379), the bishop of Caesarea how they should respond to the needs of the poor the bishop's counsel was simple and to the point. He said, "The bread in your cupboard belongs to the hungry; the coat hanging unused in the closet belongs to the one who needs it; the shoes rotting in your home belong to the one who has no shoes; the money you put in your bank to accrue interest belongs to the poor."
Martin of Tours (316-397), a fourth-century Roman soldier, was entering a city on a cold winter day when a beggar stopped him and asked for alms. Martin had no money, but the beggar was shivering with cold, so Martin took off his soldier's coat, cut it in two, and gave half of it to the beggar. That night he had a dream in which he saw all the heavenly places and angels, and Jesus in the midst of them, wearing half of a Roman soldier's coat!
The twelfth-century Francis of Assisi (1182-1226) was wealthy, high-born and high-spirited, but one day, when he was out riding he met a leper--the very least among his contemporaries--and while the loathsome man would have repulsed Francis on other occasions something moved him to dismount and fling his arms around the leper. In his arms the face of the leper changed to the face of Christ.
Menno Simons, the sixteenth-century priest after which our own church is named, did much to nurture warm, evangelical faith in those to whom he ministered, and he wrote:
The nineteenth-century Søren Kierkegaard (1813-55) left us with a parable of two artists who looked at people with very different eyes. One of the artists said, "I have travelled much and seen much in the world, but I have sought in vain to find a man worth painting. I have found no face with such perfection of beauty that I could make up my mind to paint it. In every face I have seen one or another little fault." The other artist, however, confessed: "I do not pretend to be a real artist; neither have I travelled in foreign lands. But remaining in the little circle of (those) who are closest to me, I have not found a face so insignificant or so full of faults that I still could not discern in it a more beautiful side and discover something glorious." (Parables of Kierkegaard, page 39)
Some of you have seen the wonderful claymation film called Martin, the Cobbler, based on Leo Tolstoy's (1828-1910) classic short story, "Where Love Is". It's the story of a cobbler who is angry at God but to whom God is revealed as he shows hospitality and generous kindness to those in need.
Later in the same century C. T. Studd (1860-1931), born and raised in England, inherited a fortune from his father, one of the wealthiest Englishmen of the latter nineteenth century. He himself was a world-class athlete and captained what some say was the greatest cricket team in the history of Britain. Studd, however, gave it all up to become a missionary to China, India and Africa. He gave away his own fortune, saying, "Christ's call is to feed the hungry, not the full; to save the lost, not the stiff-necked; not to call the scoffers, but sinners to repentance; not to build and furnish comfortable chapels, churches and cathedrals at home in which to rock Christian professors to sleep by means of clever essays, stereotyped prayers and artistic musical performances, but to raise living churches...." (Norman P. Grubb, C. T. Studd: Cricketer & Pioneer, 1937, page 163)
The late Mother Teresa (1910-97) was fond of saying that it is important for us to see in every human face we encounter the face of Christ himself. When Michael Christensen set about writing a book ( City Streets, City People) about Mother Teresa, he spent some time with her in Calcutta. After a harrowing day with her in the slums witnessing unspeakable suffering Mother Teresa asked Christensen if he had seen Jesus. Still focussed on the horror around them, Christensen admitted that he hadn't seen Jesus anywhere! Whereupon Mother Teresa explained today's Gospel lesson to him!
Conclusion
The least among us are icons of Christ, says the Gospel. The least among us are icons of Christ, say the Christian saints of history. We too are icons of Christ, say the Scriptures. (2 Corinthians 5:20) We are invited to be one of those people in whose presence others know that the Kingdom of God has come near, that heaven and earth have kissed one another. Like a true icon, each of us can become a window through which people catch a glimpse of the sacred and mysterious realities of a universe infused with the Spirit of God and being drawn to fulfilment in Jesus Christ. As we are forgiven and nourished and healed and made whole again we become icons of grace--living icons to one another and to the world. To this end we live, and to this end we pray, through Jesus Christ. AMEN
"True evangelical faith cannot lie dormant.
It clothes the naked.
It feeds the hungry.
It comforts the sorrowful.
It shelters the destitute.
It serves those that harm it.
It binds up that which is wounded...." (1539)
All quotations of Scripture, unless otherwise noted, are from the New Revised Standard Version.