Hello! I missed last month’s Middle, for the first time since starting this project. It felt weird, but life is lifeing (as it does) and words have been struggling to word. I’ve been reflecting on what my online life looks like, and sharing words here remains important to me. However, I might make some changes. I’m not really sure what those changes are so basically just, stay tuned I guess?
On a different note, I am honoured to help facilitate a holiday grief service this Saturday at 5PM (PST). It is one of my favourite nights of the year, and I am greatly looking forward to it. If a service like this would be meaningful to you in this season, you are welcome to join us in-person if you’re local, or online here.
It is 5:30AM, and I am thinking about the incarnation. I’ve been thinking about it for a few days ('tis the season, after all). We sang “O Come Let Us Adore Him” on Sunday, and as the church belted the old, well-worn chorus I couldn’t help but imagine us travelling to a newborn Jesus.
How strange it would be, to yield in adoration to a being that cannot actually do much for us. A being that is wholly holy and wholly dependent on his caregivers for life. I imagine Mary grunting and groaning, and Jesus bursting forth, covered in blood and vernix. I imagine the saviour of the world, triumphant, still attached to Mary through the umbilical cord until it was severed.
There’s something in that image for me. God, still physically attached to Mary even after birth, if only for a few moments.
I imagine the shepherds we read about in Luke 2, bowing before this baby who does not know up from down, left from right. A baby who cannot see more than 8-12 inches away from his face. An infant who would not even know he is a separate being from his mother for approximately nine months. The shepherds were amazed at a child who didn’t know he had hands, who wouldn’t grasp they belong to him until 6-8 weeks of age.1
Teeny, tiny, all powerful God at rest at Mary’s breast. Shepherds in amazed worship.
What a far cry from the idolization of power pervasive in Christianity today.
Humans have always idolized the safety net of power. It is an illusion, a protective facade rooted in our need for control. Power wielded worldly begets more power, more control, for itself. It naturally sets itself up to protect itself, not the least of these. We see this in churches with NDAs and churches that cover-up abuse. We see this in political PR moves, where a bible is used as a prop. We see it when scripture is used to maintain control.
Over the past few years I have watched the ways our figures and leaders have stoked a spirit of fear, of using every tactic possible to maintain control. There is fear about ingredients in food, there is fear about war, there is fear about immigrants, there is fear about gender, there is fear about the right, there is fear about the left, there is fear, there is fear, there is fear.
It is fear masked by power, of course. It is fear masquerading as knowledge, as insight, as protection.
And it is a textbook example of the fear Fr. Diarmuid O’Murchú talks about in his book Reclaiming Spirituality. In it he writes about the “religious shadow”2, the features present in a system that idolizes religiosity (rules and power) over spirituality (connectedness to God and others). He discusses the fear that is present in these systems, a fear that divides. He writes about the ways religion is used to escape reality. He discusses the moralism evident in these systems, the black and white rules of right and wrong that separate people into camps of who belongs and who does not. He discusses how these systems seek to dominate and control others, of the religious imperialism that does not see others as people but as people to convert at all costs. It is a system of idolatry, guised under Christ.
Many times throughout my life, I have heard how Christianity seems to grow in places where there is deep persecution3. Underground churches seem to thrive in countries where bibles must be smuggled in, where a profession of faith could be the signature on someone’s death sentence. It is sometimes suggested that, maybe, we need persecution in the West in order for Christianity to thrive. Maybe pushback means we are doing the right thing.
And this could be true. But sometimes I wonder if Christianity grows in these areas not because of persecution, but because it is a faith born of upside-down kingdom hope. It has nothing to do with political power, but everything to do with finding freedom in the presence of God with one another. It is the gospel of Jesus lived out. It is a gospel more akin to the conditions of his birth, humble and human.
Jesus came to this earth not to build Christian countries of power, but to bring the power of God into people’s hearts. As Diane Langberg says, “[o]ur systems, our countries, our faith groups, our tribes, and our organizations are not the kingdom of God. He resides in the hearts of his people, who are called to love and obey him even when our structures, institutions, and systems fall down around us.”4
It was never about maintaining control. God showed us that when, 2000 years ago, God subverted control by becoming a child attached to a woman. Creator, umbilical cord. God, breast. Jesus, blood. And shepherds who teach us to bow and adore in this upside-down kingdom life.
Can you tell I am spending lots of time reading about child development these days?
If you were wondering, O’Murchú also describes what a healthy spirituality would look like. It is characterized by the following traits: interdependence, communion, paradox, ongoing revelation, belonging, and aliveness.
For the record, it is hard to find any actual stats on this statement. One article explores the results of significant Christian persecutions throughout history and stresses that there are plenty of instances in which persecution damages the church. See: Boyd-MacMillan, R. R. (2019). Does Persecution Always Bring Growth? International Journal for Religious Freedom, (12)1, 181-192.
Langberg, D. (2020). Redeeming Power. Brazos Press.