Two weeks ago, I made my first foray
into the new Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels in downtown Los Angeles for a concert by
the Los Angeles Master Chorale. The new cathedral has of course, been controversial: it
has no green space, stained glass windows, soaring arches, or flying buttresses. Nor was
the Rog Mahal inexpensive. But as I sat in that sacred space and breathed in sacred music
that was at times mighty and forceful and at other times quiet and gentle as a butterfly
wing, the cathedral became for me what it was meant to be.
The sunlight and colors intermingled heaven and earth, the
tapestries surrounded us with saints named and unnamed of all ages and conditions, the
architectural mix of timeless tradition and current innovation, and the perfectly blended
voices in languages I didn't always understand but whose content I did, brought me to a
holy time and place as such cathedrals, and churches, and music are intended to do. The
inevitable controversies aside, I'm grateful for the cathedral and the afternoon I spent
there.
I also enjoyed visiting with a couple seated beside me. They
knew something of cathedrals; I knew something of this particular one. They had to leave
early, so we said goodbye between pieces. Then, at the last minute, the husband came back,
leaned towards me urgently, gestured to the front of the sanctuary, and whispered,
"Is he dead or alive?"
I didn't think he meant the conductor, who seemed very much
alive, so I scanned the room to see whom he meant. Looking at me intently, he queried
again, "Jesus: is he dead or alive?" Oh dear, a heavy theological question in
search of quick answer. Try the Easter answer, I thought: "Jesus died. Christ is
alive."
"No. Up there. Is he dead or alive?" I looked at the
crucifix on the wall beyond the altar and finally realized what the question was. He
wasn't asking a theological question, or a faith question. He was asking about something
concrete and tangible. I mentally made the sign of the cross before answering on a point
of such sacred Catholic doctrine. "Dead."
With a heartfelt, "Thank you," he shook my hand. We
wished each other well and he left. For the rest of the concert, I held the question in my
heart, looking at the crucifix on which hangs a suffering and dead Christ, and imagining
the empty cross of the Presbyterian church that celebrates a resurrected Christ. What is
the answer: Is he dead or alive?
A few years ago, a poll asked hundreds of people walking down
the street, "What does the word Christian mean to you?" No matter what their
background, most of their answers were the same. The most common answers were
"Right-wing," "Fundamentalist," and invariably "conservative
Republican." That's not the bad part. When pressed about the political views of
Christians, a whole series of "antis" nearly always followed: anti-abortion,
anti-liberal, anti-feminist, anti-gay, anti-secular humanist, anti-welfare,
anti-affirmative action, anti-immigration, anti-environmentalist, anti-homeless,
anti-urban, and anti-poor.
When asked about how Christians behave, the most common
responses were "harsh, divisive, self-righteous, intolerant, and mean-spirited."
No wonder so many people want nothing to do with the church and just as little to do with
Christians.
Yet, when the same people were asked what they think Jesus was
like, they almost universally responded, whether they themselves were religious or not,
with words like compassionate, loving, caring, humble, friend of the poor and outcasts,
forgiving of sinners, critic of the establishment, nonviolent peacemaker, reconciler, a
different kind of king whose kingdom is meant to break down the walls people have put up
between themselves. They have the right picture of Jesus, but a horrifying one of us.
In the world's perception, it's as if Jesus and his followers
bear no relation to each other. My concert friend's question is deeper than he knew: Is
Jesus dead or alive? Dead or alive in the world? Dead or alive in the church? Dead or
alive in us as we live our daily life, make our daily decisions, interact with individuals
and the world around us? "Lord, when did we see you...?" we are apt to ask.
Tragically for the Gospel of Jesus Christ, according to polls
today, when most Americans think of Christians, they think of people who work against
equal rights for people of other faiths, against civil rights for gays, public policies to
aid the poor and redress racial injustice, environmental protection, school lunches and
virtually every federal program for children. They think of people who fight for more
missiles and handguns, expanding the death penalty and the numbers of people in prison,
increasing tax breaks for the rich while decreasing welfare for the poor, and creating a
nation that most benefits people who are white, middle class, suburban, and Christian. Is
Christ dead or alive? "Lord, when did we see you...?"
Biblical religion has too often been put at the service of the
rich instead of the poor, of the powerful instead of the oppressed, of war instead of
peace. To do this turns Christian teachings upside down. For Christian scripture and
teachings to be used to fuel the engines of racial and class division, to block the
progress of immigrant peoples, to undermine care for the creation, to fight the banning of
assault weapons, to end public legal services and health care to those who can't afford
them, and actually encourage a public policy that abandons our poorest children runs
counter to Christian scripture, tradition and history. Is Christ dead or alive? Lord, when
did we see you...?
The scripture texts we've read today present us an amazing,
interwoven image of God and Christ that speak to us as individual Christians, as persons
in community and as a nation standing before God ready to give thanks for our blessings
this week.
Ancient Israel knew about shepherds and sheep. In ancient
Israel, rulers were expected to tend their subjects justly, as a good shepherd would tend
a flock of sheep, looking out especially for those who were most vulnerable to abuse:
widows, orphans, the poor, the weak, and the displaced. Ezekiel tells us that God is our
shepherd king, our sovereign shepherd who tends the entire flock of humanity. At the end
of time, God will drive away those who push and trample the weaker ones, those who fill
their bellies at the expense of others. God will separate those who look out only for
themselves, and put them aside as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.
Christ, the just sovereign and good shepherd, will gather
those who are scattered and isolated, those who have been pushed aside and trodden down,
and bring them to good pasture. God will carry those too weak to walk on their own, tend
the wounded, and give water to those parched from living too long in a dry and barren
land.
God cares for the weak, the poor, the vulnerable. We are God's
people, and the sheep of God's pasture.
But then, like the changing interplay of sunlight coming
through the windows of the cathedral that kept putting the crucifix in a new light, the
pastoral image changes as well. According to Matthew, Jesus is not only with God - the
Ruler of the Universe, the Judge at the Last Day - and the shepherd who dispenses
unexpected judgment on some and unexpected grace on others. Jesus is also the most
vulnerable of the sheep, the little ones whom we either respond to with compassion and
hospitality and care, or we do not. Jesus, the mighty ruler of the universe, the savior
who died on a cross, is not dead, but alive. He is alive and looks back at us from each
person in need: those whose names we know, those whose names we will never know, and those
who look back at us from the mirror.
"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, I was
neglected and you cared for me, abused and you heard my cry, excluded and you drew me in,
frightened and you took my hand, small in the world and you spoke on my behalf, living in
the shadow of hatred and you worked for peace."
If the world does not see Christ in us, but sees in us,
instead, the antithesis of all that Christ was about, then it is precisely because we have
not seen Christ in the world, and we have not treated one another in our families and
churches as if we saw Christ in each other.
If the world does not see Christ in us, it is because we have
not seen Christ in the poor, the sick, the children, the elderly, those who struggle for
daily bread or long to work but have no job. We have not seen Christ in the young children
turning to gangs for belonging, in the tired single parents trying to do their best, in
the victims of violence who cry out for justice. We have not seen Christ in the immigrants
crossing our borders to find peace and food and hope.
Each and every moment that we look and live with God's eyes
and heart, Christ is seen in us. Then, the world knows we are followers of Jesus Christ.
Then the world "will know we are Christians by our love, by our love."
"Is he dead or alive?" the world asks. "Lord,
when did we see you...?" These need not be great theological questions. These are
concrete, tangible questions. Concrete, tangible questions that demand a concrete,
tangible answer of faith.
"Lord, when did we see you?" "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. So, come, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.
Come, graze in green pastures by still waters, in peace and unafraid." Amen.
(The polls referenced were informally conducted by Jim Wallis
and are discussed in his book, Who Speaks for God? An Alternative to the Religious Right A
New Politics of Compassion, Community, and Civility).
