...thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the GLORY

I spent some time in theological dictionaries this week. After hearing a pretty rockin' sermon at a pastor's conference the other day, I just had to dig for some more material on understanding what the bible and Christian theology mean when they talk about God's "glory." By the way, this all relates to the appointed texts for this coming Transfiguration Sunday, 2 Kings 2:1-12, 2 Cor. 4:3-6, Mark 9:2-9.

At first glance, "glory" is an incredibly vague and difficult concept, especially when we are talking about God. We know "glory" in the sense that an athlete can have a glorious victory; or we can witness a glorious sunrise or sunset; or maybe we can see the glory in a hard-won battle for freedom and life. But what does it mean when we talk about God's "glory?" Is it anything like those things just mentioned? Is God's glory like a glorious athletic victory or a glorious sunrise? Well, here's where my dictionary digging came in handy.

In the Pocket Dictionary of Theological Terms, ed. Grenz, Guretzki, and Nordling, "glory" is defined, 

A biblical term used in reference to the unapproachable and mighty manifestation of the immediate presence of God. The biblical concept of glory carries with it connotations of inexpressible beauty and majesty. At the same time it implies an absolutely pure and terrifying 'holiness' confronting the sinfulness of humans. 

This is a good start for the student of theology and the bible, though I doubt it resonates much with the average joe in the pews. Perhaps what is to be gained most in this definition is the "unapproachable and mighty manifestation" of God's presence and the "terrifying 'holiness' confronting the sinfulness of humans." To simplify, God is big and mighty; sometimes terrifyingly so.

In Crazy Talk: A Not-So-Stuffy Dictionary of Theological Terms, ed. by Rolf Jacobson, "glory" is defined, 

An indefinably fine quality that is used to describe the indescribable.

I like this so called "definition" because it immediately sets out that God's glory is indefinable and indescribable. The contributors to this dictionary know their limits as human beings and they know the limits of language to describe in indescribable. Perhaps we should pay attention to this very closely.

In Wishful Thinking: A Seeker's ABC, by Frederick Buechner, "glory" is defined, 

Glory is to God what style is to an artist. A painting by Vermeer, a sonnet by Donne, a Mozart aria — each is so rich with the style of the one who made it that to the connoisseur it couldn’t have been made by anybody else, and the effect is staggering. The style of artists brings you as close to the sound of their voices and the light in their eyes as it is possible to get this side of actually shaking hands with them.

In the words of the nineteenth Psalm, “The heavens are telling the glory of God.” It is the same thing. To the connoisseur, not just sunsets and starry nights but dust storms, rain forests, garter snakes, the human face, are all unmistakably the work of a single hand. Glory is the outward manifestation of that hand in its handiwork just as holiness is the inward. To behold God’s glory, to sense his style, is the closest you can get to him this side of Paradise, just as King Lear is the closest you can get to Shakespeare.

Glory is what God looks like when for the time being all you have to look at him with is a pair of eyes.

This is so far my favorite "definition." Instead of trying desperately to define the indefinable or completely pass on describing the indescribable, Buechner ponders and wonders the glory of God, like a connoisseur of good beer (or wine if you prefer).

"Glory is the outward manifestation of the hand in its handiwork." That's good stuff right there. "Glory is what God looks like when for the time being all you have to look at him with is a pair of eyes." Also good, good stuff. And my favorite, "To the connoisseur, not just sunsets and starry nights but dust storms, rain, forests, garter snakes, the human face, are all unmistakably the work of a single hand."

What does it mean to be a connoisseur of God's glory? It means to find the remarkable in the seemingly unremarkable. To your average listener, a Mozart aria has little-to-no defining qualities to it; but to the connoisseur, the extraordinary is found in the seemingly ordinary. To the average viewer, a painting by Vermeer is just another painting. But to the connoisseur, the extraordinary is found in the ordinary. As the preacher I heard on Thursday said, "to be a connoisseur of God's glory is to find traces of God in the ordinary, everyday things of life."

I like that. And to take it a step further, perhaps: to be a connoisseur of God's glory is to find traces of God's glory in the places that we'd never, ever look; places like the cross. Hidden under it's opposite, glory shines brightly from the cruel instrument of the cross.

The world hates this kind of glory, by the way. Glory in suffering, glory in death. Glory doesn't exist here, the world tells us. Glory is in victory and victory never looks like a despicable death on a cross.

Of course, connoisseurs never seem to "discover" this glory. It is always revealed to them. Which is why it is impossible to describe God's glory, because it is always there and not here; always this way and not that. God's glory is only revealed in the proclamation of a Word outside of ourselves; Jesus Christ, hung on a cross and raised up for our sake. Paul says it best in 2 Corinthians 4, "For we do not proclaim ourselves; we proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord and our selves as your slaves for Jesus' sake. For it is the God who said, 'Let light shine out of darkness', who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ."

On the mountain that day, Peter desperately wanted to build three dwelling places to capture that glorious moment in space and time. But God's glory wouldn't be held captive there. Instead, God shouts with a voice from a cloud, "This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!" God's own proclamation there on the mountain top for all gathered to hear it, that Jesus is the one to listen to.

So, enough theology. What does this mean? What I think it means is that while God's glory cannot ever be captured, it can be proclaimed. And God's glory is always found in all the wrong places. First, it was on the cross, in God's own beloved Son, Jesus Christ. We can see traces of God's glory on the cross in our own world, today. Traces of God's glory are found in the last, lost and least of those in our midst. Precisely where we'd never think to look, but are only revealed to us by God.

As our preacher from Thursday quoted C.S. Lewis and his sermon, The Weight of Glory,

Meanwhile the cross comes before the crown and tomorrow is a Monday morning. A cleft has opened in the pitiless walls of the world, and we are invited to follow our great Captain inside. The following Him is, of course, the essential point. That being so, it may be asked what practical use there is in the speculations which I have been indulging. I can think of at least one such use. It may be possible for each to think too much of his own potential glory hereafter; it is hardly possible for him to think too often or too deeply about that of his neighbour. The load, or weight, or burden of my neighbour's glory should be laid daily on my back, a load so heavy that only humility can carry it, and the backs of the proud will be broken.

Good stuff, y'all. 

a dad, a death, and dealing with the devil

A friend died last Sunday. He died of a brain aneurism at 31 years old, in bed, at home, without warning and without the possibility of saving his life. Now, there are lots of ways to try to make sense out of this and many people will try in the coming days, weeks, months and years. There's also a lot that will be said about his death and about him and about the memories of him.

But almost none of that matters as much as the fact that in the wake of his death stand his two year old daughter and his wife and his family and his friends. Real tragedy, in my experience, is almost always compound. The collective elements that lead us to the experience of real tragedy are compound in nature.

So, rather than simply a death, we deal with the loss and the grief and the anger and the pain of family and friends who mourn the one who has died. And to compound the tragedy even more my friend was a young man, barely at the beginning of his adult life, with so much life left to live. There are, presumably, other elements that have compounded in his death; they are elements of which I may never get the privilege to know. These could be elements of anger, relief, frustration, sadness, etc. that his parents, his wife, his siblings, his friends, his coworkers or any number of people might conjure up as the memory of my friend swirls through their minds and hearts.

But the one element that swirls through my mind like the chaotic wind brooding over the waters of creation is my friend's daughter and her life now and in the future. I imagine her wondering where daddy is, wanting daddy to play with, wanting daddy to hold her when she has a bad dream, wanting daddy to be there when she is bullied on the playground at school, wanting daddy to be there at her graduation from high-school, wanting daddy to walk her down the aisle when she gets married, wanting daddy to hold his first grandchild. The list goes on and on and on in my mind.

And then the list gets translated to my own life and to my own children. What if I died? How would my daughter and son respond? No doubt, they would have the same wants as I imagine the daughter of my friend having. And then my heart breaks at the thought of it all.

Of course, this is one of the devil's favorite playgrounds. Just when my heart breaks, the devil makes me wonder if God has a hand in any of it. The devil makes me wonder if God can do anything about it. The devil makes me wonder if God would ever look out for my family if I died.

As I stood next to the casket of my friend last night, looking at his wax like body and praying to God for his family, especially his wife and daughter, the devil stood next to me, whispering in my ear his tempting thoughts of God's work in the middle of it all.

But, thank God, there was a Word more powerful stirring in those turbulent winds of my mind. It was this Sunday's gospel lesson. It was the image of Jesus lifting up and healing Simon's mother-in-law as she was sick in bed with a fever. And it was the image of Jesus standing at the doorstep of her house healing, casting out demons and proclaiming his message of salvation and freedom through his death and resurrection. Jesus was there, casting out the demon that was standing next to me, whispering in my ear that God had everything and nothing to do with the death of my friend and the loss and grief of his family.

And, I suppose, this is what baptism is for. After all, in the death and resurrection of Jesus, he destroyed the power of sin, death and the devil for each one of us. In baptism, each one of us dies with Christ and is raised to this new life, free from the power of sin, death and the devil. We have this Word of God, healing and casting out the demons in our lives. We have this Word of God so at the times of our lives that we are standing next to the casket of a friend and the compound tragedy of death is swirling in our minds, we can know that we have already died in the waters of baptism and we have already been raised to new life. So now we live in two kingdoms: the kingdom of the world where the devil tries to whisper devastating thoughts about life in this old world, and the kingdom of God where Jesus Christ reigns and tells the devil to get out, to go back to where he belongs, because he has no authority here.

This is probably why Martin Luther called baptism an exorcism and even included in his baptismal booklet the rite of exorcism from the Roman Catholic Church. In baptism, Jesus Christ has cast out the devil, together with all his empty promises, and comes with his full and life-giving promises of life and life eternal through the power of the Holy Spirit. God has given us the ministry of healing and casting out the demons of sin, death and the devil in baptism. And this is for each one of us.

So, dealing with the devil is not much of problem now, as God's Word has vanquished the power of sin, death and the devil. As those chaotic thoughts swirl, a stable Word enters into my mind and tells the devil to go back where he belongs.

While I am still sad about the death of my friend, and about all those elements that compound in his death to make it a real tragedy, I cannot and will not be bothered by the devil's tricks. He was a good dad, a good husband, a good friend. May God continue to watch over his wife and daughter and all of us who mourn his death.