CHUCKING JESUS OUT WITH THE BATHWATER

I can’t for the life of me understand the fuss about: “Happy Holiday” greetings; the neutral Starbucks coffee mug designs; and halal turkeys.  Our Christmas celebrations were always based on popular secular traditions. The early church melded Jesus' nativity  celebration with pre-existing midwinter festivals and we should give those guys a gold star for pragmatism but, let's face it, along the line  we've thrown the baby out with the bathwater.

There’s good reason why our retail chains and big business have dared to remove Jesus from their displays. They claim not to want to discriminate against their “non-Christian” customers. But, it’s the majority who claim to be Christian in the national census that have chucked Jesus out of Christmas. We raise our children to believe it’s the season of wish lists and receiving – the opposite of what the Christ child was about.  

How many 'Christian' homes include a nativity scene in their annual decorations? More importantly, how many preachers speak about Jesus and the Father being one? (Mind you, most avoid the tricky challenge of preaching about the Trinity at any time of the year.) Do we shirk from linking that cute baby who didn’t even have Pampers nappies with God? Or is he only presented as a cute boy who grew up to do great party tricks? (Water into wine is my favourite.)

It’s such fun celebrating a manageable baby that we pack away by New Year’s Eve. And, because we largely ignore the next three decades of his life, we ignore God manifesting God to us in that part of Jesus’ life. Surely there must have been a good reason for Jesus to start from the womb? Or he could simply have skipped the potty training and other learning hurdles to arrive in time for the Wedding of Cana. Instead, we have a westernised instant Jesus pop up at around the age of 30. and we’ve even changed his skin tone.

As a former PR practitioner, I’ve always been impressed with God’s good marketing sense in that Jesus, the child of Middle Eastern Jews, was neither white nor black. Then along came our colonialist missionaries who did a superb job of “selling” a lily-white Jesus to the heathens. Check out the pale pink doll in the nativity scene. 

No wonder so many children grow up convinced that God is white.

It gets worse

 I’ve attended a couple of nativity plays this year and was twice hugely entertained when a fairy tale was incorporated. However, as I write this I am having to tell myself: “STOP IT” – once again we are allowing Jesus, who should be central to the story, to be usurped. When the grand finale is Cinderella marrying the prince, the little pink doll and the rest of the cast are a mere backdrop to a concert. Don’t blame the Sunday School kids if they grow up thinking the Jesus story is a fairy tale.

And worse still

Despite the emphasis on content marketing, Church fails dismally in nurturing human interest about the boy Jesus. Having packed the baby away with the Christmas decorations we suddenly haul out the grown man and hurtle towards Lent, the crucifixion, and Easter.

I know, I know, we are essentially resurrection folk but surely the people in the pews would find it easier to develop a spiritual relationship with Jesus if there was greater understanding that he was fully human. He was once a teenager and experienced all that entails physically and emotionally. An added complication was having to grow up in a village in which history indicates the village gossips had labelled him the bastard son of a Roman soldier.

Church even sells his parents short.

Who could possibly appreciate the bravery of a teenage girl and her fiancé if we don’t offer in-depth teaching on an honour driven culture. One in which a girl rape victim is killed for disgracing her family and in which Joseph would have lost honour (his most valuable asset) for marrying the pregnant Mary.

How did the boy Jesus cope? How did his siblings react? We do know they weren't all that impressed with his public ministry. As John's gospel reveals: "Even his brothers did not believe him." There's no mention of sisters but in that culture their opinions were worthless. (To understand that is to better understand the counter cultural significance of the adult Jesus' attitude to women.) 

I grew up believing Jesus was an only child because there was never any mention of siblings by the Catholic nuns at my boarding schools.  The implication being that Mother Mary never did anything as dirty as sex. (I used to feel sorry for Joseph on that score.)  

The Mary I grew up with

More likely?

Methinks that the only way to make Jesus and Christianity relevant in a modern world is for our theologians and theological educators to apply empathy and develop a whole picture. We use intellectual and historical deduction in so many other arenas, why not with Jesus. That would make it so much easier to get Christians riled enough to make Jesus more important than the fat bearded man in a red tracksuit.

Okay, I’ll stop now 
Let me share what Jim Wallis - New York Times bestselling author, public theologian, speaker and international commentator - says about his parish Christmas Carol concert which always ends with the Hallelujah Chorus:-

The kingdom of this world
Is become the Kingdom of our Lord
and of his Christ, and of his Christ;
and he shall reign for ever and ever ... 
King of Kings, and Lord or Lords,
Forever and ever. Hallelujah!

Who is in charge? Who will reign? Not the would-be rulers who now think they are in charge or believe they soon will be. Not in God’s world. Not in the hearts of those who begin with God’s word and are reminded this Christmas of what the coming of Christ means.

When it came to the carol service’s triumphant ending with the Hallelujah Chorus, we all rose to our feet, as, legendarily, did English King George II when he first heard it and people have traditionally ever since. And when we proclaimed who will reign forever and ever at the top of our lungs, I felt like pumping my fist into the air this holiday season (but didn’t for fear of embarrassing my college son). I desperately need the hope that Christmas brings me every year, and still does; that the new order that this child brings to the world literally overturns the world of our politics today. And that hope allows me to sing out:

Joy to the world, the Lord is come!

Let earth receive her King;
Let every heart prepare him room…..
He rules the world with truth and grace
And makes the nations prove
The glories of his righteousness,
And wonders of his love.

I especially need my Christmas carols this year when darkness seems to be settling in on all sides, and faith will mean finding a little light in that darkness.

For reasons that some of you can understand, I have also been drawn to German theologian and political resister Dietrich Bonhoeffer this Christmas season, and to the Christmas sermons he preached as darkness grew in his own country many years ago.

Bonhoeffer said, “God is in the manger.”

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Thank you, Jim. Many of us are worried about the shift in our world order.

In lighter vein

As usual, our Anglican services were packed with families who love the Christmas tradition but don’t attend throughout the year. 

I’m reminded of the preacher who drew once such person aside and said: “You need to join the army of the Lord!”

To which the man replied:  I am already in His army.”

“How come I don’t see you except at Christmas and Easter?”
The man whispered back: "I'm in the Secret Service."

PS:

 Any thoughts about what Jesus was like as a boy?

DON'T EXPECT STARBUCKS TO SERVE UP JESUS

When I launched this blog in April I had no idea what it would entail, emotionally or the effort it would take to feed it regularly. I don't have a retentive memory so digging into my past hasn't always been easy.

As an extrovert and ENTJ I am not naturally inclined to contemplate my navel, tending always to be planning forward. Besides, for the past year I've been writing a novel, editing and marketing a book on theology as well as earning a living as a journalist and as a PR professional.

Dolls there just hasn't been enough time in my days!

Bored with myself
Thirty-one posts later I decided to review what I have done and emerged thoroughly bored with myself. I am also aware of the temptation to linger in my Soweto period, because it was such a wonderful entry to priesthood.

As always in ministry, the season had to end.

I'd originally been designated to St James in Diepkloof for six months but managed to stretch that to two years. My ministry was focused on HIV/AIDS, my parish was vibrant, I was running a PR agency and serving as Archbishop Jongo's media liaison person. Eventually I would come to understand the gospel references to ‘the spirit being willing but the flesh being weak’.

Burnout was on the horizon.

A course for the horse

Brian Germond, My incredibly understanding bishop, sent me to St Michaels and All Angels in Weltevreden Park. Although the parish was quite a distance from my home its new rector, the Revd Dr Tim Long, had also recently emerged from a township.

He and his wife Kirstie had lived and served at St Bernard Mizeki in Atteridgeville in the Diocese of Pretoria. It wasn’t easy. For example when their geyser burst the wardens took a year to fix it – and this only after a threat to leave.

But, they like me, had fallen in love with their community.

So I had a boss who understood my need to dance in church. As importantly, he led me through my never ending journey of theological doubt and inquisitiveness.

Tim, a former teacher, had a doctorate in biblical studies and didn't bat an eyelid when I needed to question whether Jesus is God. He was erudite, non-judgmental and great at people development.

Back to school

Enrolling for an Honours degree in Systematic Theology was a natural progression and the Revd Dr Peter Wyngaard agreed to be my mentor. 

My Prof at UNISA was gregarious and eccentric and encouraged my journalistic approach while others bothered about me not toeing the academic line. (Being in my mid-50s I was more concerned about enjoying the process than passing cum laude although I hated missing that by a few percentages.)

Tim was assisted by a retired priest who lived on the property, three self- supporting women priests – known as ‘Tim’s harem’ – and a self- supporting man.

There would be two key aspects to the next two years. I was involved in one of the fastest growing parishes in the diocese and I was having to cope with my lost “only white woman” status. That dreadful self centered only child syndrome that I carry inside me.

Not easy 
Fortunately our ‘self-supporting’ team had all gone through the ordination process together so we were good friends. But it couldn’t have been easy for Tim. 

Self supporters tend to decided when they can take leave and just how much time to allocate to the parish. The rector isn’t treated like God’s second cousin and we also usually have a fair amount of control over where we work. 

(I sometimes envied the married women who could blame their husbands if they didn’t want to do something or move somewhere.)

In short, we are a mixed blessing and the result of an era in which the Church was battling with budgets and we were cheap labour. Most were women and many suffered under chauvinist rectors. Notably, we were not as subservient as young curates.

Go forth
Brian Germond often commented that Christianity is not a spectator sport. The study of Liberation Theology had convinced me that theology without praxis is just hot air. Tim Long who’d emerged from an Assembly of God background lived mission. With all this I was convinced that parishes that just tread water are little more than weekly side shows.

It is a gospel imperative that we draw community in and consistently expand our offerings.

Second class priests?
Looking back I think self-supporting ministry is incredibly difficult, largely because Church doesn’t know how to capitalise on this important human resource. Too often a self-supporting priest with invaluable business experience is under-used. 

Equally sad is how many self-supporters feel like second class clergy or, at best, volunteers. Part of the problem is that deep down inside few feel like ‘real priests’ unless they are given a parish to run. They are not programmed to view their paying job as an important element of their ministry.

Seldom are they reminded that ordination doesn’t hang its hat up at the office door. We are priests 24/7 even if it isn’t all sacramental. I, for example, often found myself acting as unofficial chaplain to a newspaper group I worked for. 

Through someone in that office I served a motor cycle club where the parties were wild and hearts were enormous.

One of the most difficult things about being a self-supporting are the weeks on end in which there is no break from the parish/work cycle. This has a terrible impact on families and relationships.

Integration
An interesting aspect of my move to the leafy suburbs was watching the slow integration of black families into traditionally white parishes.

St Mikes was a middle class traditionally white parish with a handful of mostly professional black parishioners. It helped that our rector had worked in a township and Tim was good at drawing black parishioners into leadership roles.

The dog thing
But they, like me, missed the traditional choruses. I also had one couple share how irritating it was at tea time when we whiteys discussed our dogs as if they were children. Another noted that we seemed to think Africa started north of the Limpopo, and excluded South Africa. I may not be guilty on the second point but mea culpa on the canine issue. I am always touched when black friends not only asked after my pets’ health but remember their names!

An easy mistake
Speaking of names. I really felt for that ANC Woman’s League representative who mixed up Oscar Pistorius’ surname with Reeva Steenkamp’s when expressing the league’s delight that he had been found guilty of murder.

Oh the high indignation and the social media tsunami among those whose grandparents used to call all male gardeners ‘John’ because black names were too difficult to learn! Besides it must have been pretty hectic outside the court as the media competed for comment.

Saved by the President
If only we South Africans could honour our Madiba legacy by giving each other a little leeway. Speaking of which, as we mark the second year since his death, I am reminded of an incident that epitomised his attitude to others.

I’d had a hectic shopping spree in Sandton City and was in danger of being late for a meeting. My car was parked in the hotel garage (Those good old Merc days when the concierge would park it for me). 

The passage to the Convention Centre, which was en-route, had been taped off for security reasons. 

Naturally I did what any woman in hurry would. I ducked under the tape and kept going. Around the next corner I bumped into President Nelson Mandela and his entourage heading for an event. 

As bodyguards  bristled the old man with twinkly eyes knew exactly what I’d done and came to my rescue by shaking my hand and asking “And how are you today?” The guards backed off and we all carried on. 

 Thank you Tata.

What would he think?

It is two years since our national hero died and Archbishop Thabo Makgoba said at a memorial service in St George’s Cathedral this week: "As someone who prayed with Madiba, I cannot help but ask myself: If he were alive today, what would he think of South Africa?”

I’m thinking that it’s up to ordinary South Africans to sustain that legacy.

Just as it’s up to Christians, not Starbucks or the local supermarket, to put Christ into Christmas.

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You may enjoy this video of the Nelson Mandela Commemoration service in St George's Cathedral https://youtu.be/Pg5DHxqTpFE