Christ of the Carols: Hail, the Heaven Born Prince of Peace!

Text: Hark! The Herald Angels Sing

                To rise up and sing—this is one of the most ancient and most natural forms of worship. According to our scriptures, when the Hebrews crossed the Red Sea from slavery into freedom, once they had made it to the safer shore, Moses’ sister Miriam picked up her drum and began to sing and dance, and all the people joined her. Across cultures, around the world, people express their highest joy and their deepest sorrow in music.

                In the New Testament too, possibly the oldest verses are found in the Philippian hymn. Paul’s letters predate the gospels—you know that, right? And within Paul’s letter to the Philippians he quotes a hymn that might represent one of the first hymns of the first Christians, and the first attempt at Christology (which is one big word that stands in for many. Christology is about making sense of who Christ is in relation to God).

                In this letter, Paul was trying to correct some bad behavior that resulted from dissention among the church of the Philippians. He said, stop your quarreling. Stop acting all superior. That part is a paraphrase, here is the actual quote:

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,

who, though he was in the form of God,

   did not regard equality with God

   as something to be exploited,

but emptied himself,

   taking the form of a slave,

   being born in human likeness.

And being found in human form,

   he humbled himself

   and became obedient to the point of death—

   even death on a cross.

Therefore God also highly exalted him

   and gave him the name

   that is above every name,

so that at the name of Jesus

   every knee should bend,

   in heaven and on earth and under the earth,

and every tongue should confess

   that Jesus Christ is Lord,

   to the glory of God the Father.

And that is possibly the first hymn of the Christian church. Many thousands, or millions more were to follow. Charles Wesley, to whom Hark the Herald Angels Sing is attributed, wrote 6,000 hymns in his lifetime.

Actually, the hymn as it is presented in our hymnal bears only a slight resemblance to the original, by which I do not mean the Pilgrim Hymnal version, because that one too is several contributors and editors removed from Wesley’s original version, “Hark How the Welkin Sings,” published in 1739, almost 300 years ago.  But, that was a common problem pre-copyright law. Once published, an author’s work went viral (as we say now); people picked it up and reworked it and published their own versions. Wesley’s hymn was tweaked a bit more a century later to fit with Mendelssohn’s melody. So what we have today is more than just a Wesleyan hymn, it is a hymn of the church. With apologies to ASCAP, and a nod to Wikipedia, sometimes a collaborative effort produces a better product.

                So, let’s look not so much at Wesley’s original but at the “canonical version” of the hymn, the version we have before us. The first verse is easy to parse; it is of course a retelling of that bit in the second chapter of Luke’s gospel about the shepherds seeing angels who praise God and say “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and good will to all people!” And then the hymn invites us all to join in with the angel’s song.

                The second and third verses are stuffed with Christological references. These verses identify Jesus as the “offspring of the Virgin’s womb,” and “Emmanuel,” and “Prince of Peace,” all references to Isaiah’s prophecy.  “Son of Righteousness” like “Son of Man” is another title given by the Hebrew prophets to identify the one who would come to restore the balance of justice, bring down the mighty and lift up the lowly and vindicate all who are oppressed. When we sing these titles we are celebrating the God of the oppressed. This is an invocation calling on the one who comes to destroy the rule of greed and violence, to replace it with a reign of peace. These titles, Prince of Peace, King of Kings, are political titles, and as such, would be as appropriately sung in an Occupy Wall Street rally, as in church. Maybe more so. When we use these titles and sing these verses we are making a political statement. Not a partisan political statement, mind you. God is not a Republican or a Democrat; God transcends all that. But by identifying Christ as the Prince of Peace we are identifying an ideal to which all leaders should be held accountable. All leaders will fail to live up to that ideal, but it is better to aim high and fail then to be aimless.

The concluding lines of the third verse are a reference to the same theme we found in Paul’s Philippian hymn—a confirmation that Jesus, though he was in the form of God, chose to be born in human form and was obedient unto death, and furthermore that somehow that obedience gives us eternal life. Mild, he lays his glory by, born that we no more must die. Born to raise “the sons of earth,” born to give us second birth. The Christ of the carol is one who does not grasp at crowns, but lives to serve, and serves to give life to others.

So let us be of the same mind, as we sing Glory to the newborn king, or as our newest version reads, “Glory to the Christ-child bring.”

The Table as Parable

Matt. 25:31-46

As we come to the end of the gospel of Matthew, we read parables which contrast the faithful and the wicked, the wise and the foolish, trustworthy and lazy, sheep and goats. These are parables of the Day of Judgment, when the human one will come and bring justice. What justice looks like in the 24^th and 25^th chapters of the gospel of Matthew is informed by what happens to Jesus in the 26^th and 27^th chapters. What justice looks like in the gospel of Matthew is also shaped by what was happening to the first century Christians for whom the gospel was written, and by the memory of Israel in exile, as recorded by the prophets.

A thread of violence is woven into these parables, and it is troubling to our liberal sensibilities. Usually, we gloss over it, ignore it, as one would politely ignore a flaw in someone else’s dress—a run in the stocking or a stain on the tie. It’s unsightly, you can hardly keep your eyes off it, but it would be rude to point it out. You have to be really good friends with someone to tell her that her bra strap is showing or his fly is open. It’s far too embarrassing to share that observation with a mere acquaintance.

Sometimes it’s like that with the bible too. Some parts of scripture are so embarrassing or so offensive, that we would just rather pretend we didn’t notice. But we are good friends with the scriptures so let’s be honest. Matthew says there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth, fire, devils, and an eternal lockout. Hey, Matthew, what’s up with that?

We can only imagine the gospel’s answer, but as I said, the context gives us a clue, and the context is a violent world. If you have ever been in exile, if you have ever been in prison, if you have ever been falsely accused, betrayed by friends, beaten and mocked, then you know where the gospel writer is coming from. If you are a veteran of war, if you have been a prisoner of war, or if you have ever been a sole survivor of a battle, maybe you understand. For victims of violence, maybe rescue and relief are just not enough. For victims of violence, maybe justice is incomplete without retribution. It takes a great deal of psychological maturity and spiritual strength not to wish for retribution.

Scripture is a human creation. It is inspired and informed by thousands of years of life experience and a passion for God. Scripture does not speak with a single voice; it is a chorus of voices, sometimes in harmony and sometimes a cacophony. We believe that God is still speaking through the scripture and experience; and we have been given the discretion to sift through the scriptures to find the kernel of wheat among the chaff.

The parables of judgment tell of retributive justice. But other stories tell of another vision of justice. The story of the manna in the wilderness describes a distributive justice. Those who are lazy and those who are industrious, those who are obedient and those who are naughty all have enough to eat. Those who gathered much did not have too much, those who gathered little did not have too little.

The stories of Jesus on the hillside, breaking bread and sharing fish, are stories of distributive justice. Whether they came to hear Jesus or came just to eat, everyone had enough and more was leftover.

Holy Communion is also a parable. The parable of the table that we repeat on the first Sunday of every month is a reenactment of God’s distributive justice. When we come to this table we step into a numinous place: we step into God’s realm, where everyone is welcome, and everyone is fed, and we look forward to the day “when sharing by all will mean scarcity for none.” We rehearse our roles in God’s realm. Here we practice sharing, so that sharing will come naturally. Here we practice joy, so that joy will come naturally. Here we receive the presence of Christ so that we will recognize the presence of Christ when we step away from the table and out into the world.

At this table we embrace a vision of justice that means everyone eats. Everyone gets in, everyone has a place at the table. No one is cast out, no one suffers violence. Everyone has a table prepared in the presence of former enemies who are now friends, everyone’s head is anointed with oil and every cup overflows, and there is one flock, one shepherd and God of all.

Next step: Go and do likewise.