Greatness finding itself
Commentary
Object:
Erik Erikson's book about the early years of Martin Luther is called Greatness Finding Itself. Erikson reflected on what it was that made Luther a man who could change world history; his assessment was that in Luther, greatness found itself. Luther, he said, was someone who had the seeds of greatness within him and through the circumstances of his life he eventually found what it took to make a difference.
It can happen to anyone, said Dr. Erikson. Usually, however, the transition from ordinary existence to greatness happens when a person is forced to endure three major crises of life (Identity Crisis, Influence Crisis, Integrity Crisis), and she manages to face herself honestly each time.
This is the stuff of saintliness. Earlier this year the former head of the Roman Catholic branch of Christianity, Pope John Paul II, was beatified. Though born a man of human origins, he was declared by his community to be a saint. Although the confirming documentation required evidence that miracles had been experienced emanating from him during his lifetime or in his name after he passed from our existence to the next, the bulk of testimony had more to do with his generally godly character.
On this "All Saints Day," today's lectionary readings are about greatness finding itself. In exile on the island of Patmos, the apostle John was permitted to gaze into heaven and observe the chorus of saints echoing praise throughout heaven. Later in life that same John would write to his friend Gaius' congregation about the amazing saintliness that happens to all the children of God. Moreover, Jesus himself provides the colors of sainthood in his amazing teaching we call "The Beatitudes." This is a day to celebrate saints from the past who have inspired us. However, it is also a day to become saintly ourselves through the unfolding of "greatness finding itself."
Revelation 7:9-17
There is an ancient legend first told by Christians living in the catacombs under the streets of Rome, which pictures the day when Jesus went back to glory after finishing all his work on earth. The angel Gabriel meets Jesus in heaven and welcomes him home. "Lord," he says, "Who have you left behind to carry on your work?"
Jesus tells him about the disciples, the little band of fishermen and farmers and housewives.
"But Lord," says Gabriel, "what if they fail you?! What if they lose heart or drop out?! What if things get too rough for them and they let you down?!"
Well, says Jesus, then all I've done will come to nothing!
"But don't you have a backup plan?!" Gabriel asks. "Isn't there something else to keep it going, to finish your work?"
No, says Jesus, there's no backup plan. The church is it. There's nothing else.
"Nothing else?" says Gabriel. "But what if they fail?!"
And the early Christians knew Jesus' answer. "They won't fail, Gabriel," he said. "They won't fail!"
Isn't that a marvelous thing? Here are the Christians of Rome, dug into the earth like gophers, tunneling out of sight because of the terrors of Nero up above. They're nothing in that world! They're poor and despised and insignificant! Yet they know the promise of Jesus: "You won't fail! You're my people and you won't fail!"
That's what John hears about those who gather around God's throne in heaven. "These are they who have come through the great tribulation…" John notes that the multitude he sees is without number and comes from every "nation, tribe, people, and language" on earth. These are the saints of God.
In life they were nothing much: not a gathering of the United Nations, not a conference of the superpowers, not a sitting of Congress or Parliament, or even an assembly at City Hall. They were common people, most of them with no high ambitions or positions.
A man was walking through the midway at a county fair when he met a tiny girl. She was carrying a great big fluff of cotton candy on a stick almost as large as herself! He said to her, "How can a little girl like you eat all that cotton candy?"
"Well," she said to him, "I'm really much bigger on the inside than I am on the outside!"
That's essentially the declaration of heaven in John's vision. On the outside, during their lives, they may have seemed to be nothing but on the inside they were as big as the kingdom and the power and the glory of our God. How did they live? Not very remarkably in the eyes of the powerbrokers of the world. But among their friends and family and neighbors, one clear testimony would emerge: it was like greatness finding itself. Once they got to heaven that's exactly what the celebration was about.
1 John 3:1-3
Tony Campolo once told of a student who came to him in his office at Eastern Christian College. The young man explained to Dr. Campolo that he was going to take a semester off from college in order to travel for a while and get away from all the pressures that were consuming him. He said he didn't know who he was anymore because of the expectations laid on him by his parents, his friends, his professors, and his girlfriend. He had to get away from it all and find himself again, he said. Find his truest self.
Tony Campolo commended him. "That's a good thing to do!" he said. "But what if you start peeling away the layers of yourself, like an onion, and when you get rid of them you don't find anything at the center? What if you get to the heart of who you are and you find there's nothing there? What do you do then?"
It's a tough question, one that most of us fear at some point in our lives. Albert Camus wrote about that in his novel The Fall. A respected lawyer is walking the streets of Amsterdam one night. Splash! He hears a cry for help. A woman has fallen into the canal! He begins to run toward the sound, toward the splashing! But then his legal mind whirls into action: Someone should help her… But should it be him? After all, he's got his reputation to think about... And his safety! Don't forget that! Think about it! What would they say if she was a prostitute or even another man's wife and their names appeared in the newspaper together? Or worse yet, a picture of him helping her? Would they think he'd been with her? And who knows what was going on? Maybe some tough guys mugged her! Maybe they're still lingering in the shadows! Maybe they'd attack him, too, if he helps her!
The courtroom in his mind debates the case when suddenly he realizes that the splashing has stopped! The cries for help have ceased! The woman has drowned! The lawyer wanders on still playing the arguments in his mind, debating whether or not he should have tried to save her. He stops at a tavern to drink himself into peace and uses the first person he can find as a father-confessor. Camus pronounces judgment on the lawyer in two short lines: "He did not answer the cry for help. That is the man he was."
That is the person we all sometimes are. But, as John notes, something happens to us when we realize that we are defined by other values. Think of William Carey. He was a pastor of a small congregation in Leicester, England. In 1792 he preached a powerful sermon called "Expect Great Things from God; Attempt Great Things for God!" People would remember it for years. His message not only moved hearts in his congregation, however; it also came home to challenge Pastor Carey's own soul. The next year he set sail for India and what he did in that country was simply astounding.
He began a manufacturing plant to employ jobless workers. He translated the scriptures and set up shops to print them. He established schools for all ages, helping people find a better place in society. He provided medical assistance for the diseased and the troubled and the ailing. He was nothing short of a miracle for the people of India.
Why did he do it? Because, as John wrote, he knew that he was already a child of God and that this shaped his life as a saint. When he lay dying, these were his last words: "When I have gone, speak not of Carey but of Carey's Savior." Greatness finding itself.
Matthew 5:1-12
"Blessed are those who mourn!" says Jesus. Why? Because those who are able to mourn have passed through a crisis of life. Because they have had to face the meaning of their lives and were forced to count the cost of things that matter.
It's like the parable of Kierkegaard. There was a break-in at a large store, he said, but the thieves didn't take anything. When the clerks opened up in the morning, all the merchandise was still there. What the thieves had done, however, was to change all the price tags -- mixed them up. Here was a diamond necklace priced at $2 and a pair of leather shoes for 50 cents! Over here was a pencil costing $75 and a baby's rattle with $5000 on the sticker!
Instead of stealing merchandise, the thieves had stolen value. By stealing intrinsic worth they had stolen identity. The prices changed and no one knew any longer what something really was beneath its packaging.
Shelley Rodriguez, of Independence, Kentucky, brought her grandson to a farm sale when he was eight years old. He loved the magic of the auctioneer's singsong voice but something bothered him. "Grandma!" he said, "How's that man ever going to sell anything?! He keeps changing the prices!"
Sometimes that seems to be the power of our society, changing the price tags on us so we don't really know the value of things anymore! Changing the price tags of our identity so we don't really know who we are! "Blessed are the meek!" says Jesus. But what's the value of meekness in our aggressive society?
Levina Thiessen, of Winnipeg, Manitoba, remembers bringing the family out to watch her husband's city baseball team one summer. After the game, their three-year-old daughter raced out onto the ball diamond to find her dad. The team was gathered in a post-game cluster and since all the men wore the same uniforms, the little girl was suddenly confounded. She looked back at her mom with tears in her eyes and yelled, "Mommy! Which daddy is mine?!"
The crisis of identity... Do we really know who we are? We're all trying to pretend, projecting more on the outside than we feel on the inside. In fact, sometimes the thing we're hiding most is something that's not even there -- the emptiness of our own souls.
As one young woman put it: "Deep down, I'm shallow!" Maybe so. But shallowness is more than just a bent of character. It's a bent of no character; it's a mark of sin. That's why Jesus can say so forthrightly: "Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness." No one persecutes a shallow person. Someone who is persecuted because of righteousness is a person who has an identity that others can respond to!
"Blessed are the pure in heart!" says Jesus and we know what he means. He means that we're all of a piece. There's no separation in us between the impulse of the heart, the thought of the mind, the word of the mouth, and the action of the hands. Somehow, everything that we are is integrated. That's the meaning of the word "integrity," isn't it?! Pure in heart!
Application
Maurice Boyd remembers one incident that sealed the impact of his father on his life forever. His father worked in a shipyard in Belfast, Northern Ireland. During the Depression work dried up. Times were tough and for three years his father was out of a job.
Then one of his old bosses at the shipyard approached him. The important man would find work for Mr. Boyd. He would guarantee it no matter how much worse things got! All Mr. Boyd would have to do would be to buy a life-insurance policy from the man. It would work to their mutual benefit: the boss's income would increase and Mr. Boyd's work income would be guaranteed!
It was a great deal except for one thing: it was illegal! Maurice Boyd remembers his father sitting at the kitchen table with the whole family surrounding him. There at the table his father counted the cost. He reviewed their desperate financial situation. He ticked off the outstanding bills and the money he ought to be making -- could be making -- if only he'd say yes to his boss.
His father wrote it all down on a sheet of paper: the gains and the losses; what he could make and what he could lose. Then he wrote down a category that Maurice Boyd will never forget: integrity! What did it matter if he gained the cash to pay the rent but lost his ability to teach his children right from wrong?! What did it matter if he gained the dignity of a job but lost it each morning when he looked at himself in the mirror and knew that the only one reason he could go off to work instead of someone else was because he cheated?! Says Maurice Boyd: "He discovered that no one can make you feel inferior without your consent and that one way you can keep your soul is by refusing to sell it. He realized that whatever else he lost, and God knows he lost enough, he didn't have to lose himself."
Jesus put it this way: "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God!" So will their children!
In his book The Call of Service, Robert Coles wonders about people who try to make a difference in life. People who seek to reform themselves even with the tenacity of sin that clings down deep. People who attempt to better society in spite of the fact that it stubbornly refuses the challenge.
Why do they do it, Coles asks? The stories are all so different that it is hard to figure out a way to summarize them neatly in some framework. In fact, the people themselves often have a hard time defining what it is that makes them tick. One young teacher in an urban school gets challenged all the time. Street-smart students, weary of self-righteous "do-gooders," put the question to him: "What's in it for you?" they say. And he really can't say.
However this is what he and all the rest of them can say: sometime earlier in their lives, each of them ran into a crisis situation, a situation that tested their identity and their willingness to do something about it, and in that crisis situation, each of them encountered someone who put his life on the line. Someone who taught them the meaning of service -- someone who gave of herself in a way that bucks the trend of selfishness and of self-preservation and the influence of that someone else made it possible to be greater than each of them had previously considered!
Greatness finding itself in a troubled world, says Jesus, where the safest bet seems to be self-preservation, "Blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called children of God!" Do you see them around you? Do you know the names of some whose last name is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit? Do you know any "children of God"? Then you've been touched by greatness finding itself!
Alternative Application
Matthew 5:1-12. Most difficult of all Jesus' "beatitudes" is this one: "Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me."
The hardest thing to do in life is to maintain integrity. Sin has entered the human soul precisely at this point. We are not, most of us, evil people. We're rather nice, aren't we? There's much that we do that's good, fine, noble, kind, and wise and no one can deny that.
Here's the problem: Whatever else sin might do in our lives, it first and foremost perforates the lines of our hearts and lets us tear off a piece here and a piece there till we find ourselves segmented, fragmented, torn apart in separate snippets of self. It isn't that we become blackened by sin in large strokes... It isn't that we turn into some hideous monsters of greed and cruelty... It isn't that we dissolve the Dr. Jekylls of our personalities into dastardly Mr. Hydes. Instead, we keep most of our goodness intact but we make small allowances in certain little areas. We cheat on our taxes a little, maybe... or we turn our eyes from the needs of someone we could help... or we compromise our communication till we speak from only our mouths instead of our souls.
The fragmentation of our lives makes us less than we should be, less than we could be. It makes us less than the people God made us to be.
There is a powerful scene in Robert Bolt's play A Man for All Seasons. The story is that of Sir Thomas More, loyal subject of the English crown. King Henry VIII wants to change things to suit his own devious plans so he requires all his nobles to swear an oath of allegiance, which violates the conscience of Sir Thomas More before his God. Since he will not swear the oath, More is put in jail. His daughter Margaret comes to visit him. "Meg," he calls her, with affection. She's his pride and joy, the one who thinks his thoughts after him.
Meg comes to plead with her father in prison. "Take the oath, Father!" she urges him. "Take it with your mouth, if you can't take it with your heart! Take it and return to us! You can't do us any good in here! And you can't be there for us if the king should execute you!"
She's right in so many ways. Yet her father answers her this way: "Meg, when a man swears an oath, he holds himself in his hands like water and if he opens his fingers, how can he hope to find himself again?!"
You know what he means, don't you? When our lives begin to fragment, it's like holding our lives like water in our hands and then letting our fingers come apart just a little bit. The water of our very selves dribbles away. We may look like the same people but who we are inside has begun to change.
Each of us is challenged in one of the three great crises of life:
The Identity Crisis: Who am I?
The Influence Crisis: What does my life mean to those around me?
The Integrity Crisis: How deep is my soul?
How we respond is a matter of character. If we live by the visions of today's texts, saintliness emerges. Of course, if that happens, it may change the color of society. After all, remember Martin Luther?! Remember what happens when greatness begins to find itself?! The world is never the same again!
It can happen to anyone, said Dr. Erikson. Usually, however, the transition from ordinary existence to greatness happens when a person is forced to endure three major crises of life (Identity Crisis, Influence Crisis, Integrity Crisis), and she manages to face herself honestly each time.
This is the stuff of saintliness. Earlier this year the former head of the Roman Catholic branch of Christianity, Pope John Paul II, was beatified. Though born a man of human origins, he was declared by his community to be a saint. Although the confirming documentation required evidence that miracles had been experienced emanating from him during his lifetime or in his name after he passed from our existence to the next, the bulk of testimony had more to do with his generally godly character.
On this "All Saints Day," today's lectionary readings are about greatness finding itself. In exile on the island of Patmos, the apostle John was permitted to gaze into heaven and observe the chorus of saints echoing praise throughout heaven. Later in life that same John would write to his friend Gaius' congregation about the amazing saintliness that happens to all the children of God. Moreover, Jesus himself provides the colors of sainthood in his amazing teaching we call "The Beatitudes." This is a day to celebrate saints from the past who have inspired us. However, it is also a day to become saintly ourselves through the unfolding of "greatness finding itself."
Revelation 7:9-17
There is an ancient legend first told by Christians living in the catacombs under the streets of Rome, which pictures the day when Jesus went back to glory after finishing all his work on earth. The angel Gabriel meets Jesus in heaven and welcomes him home. "Lord," he says, "Who have you left behind to carry on your work?"
Jesus tells him about the disciples, the little band of fishermen and farmers and housewives.
"But Lord," says Gabriel, "what if they fail you?! What if they lose heart or drop out?! What if things get too rough for them and they let you down?!"
Well, says Jesus, then all I've done will come to nothing!
"But don't you have a backup plan?!" Gabriel asks. "Isn't there something else to keep it going, to finish your work?"
No, says Jesus, there's no backup plan. The church is it. There's nothing else.
"Nothing else?" says Gabriel. "But what if they fail?!"
And the early Christians knew Jesus' answer. "They won't fail, Gabriel," he said. "They won't fail!"
Isn't that a marvelous thing? Here are the Christians of Rome, dug into the earth like gophers, tunneling out of sight because of the terrors of Nero up above. They're nothing in that world! They're poor and despised and insignificant! Yet they know the promise of Jesus: "You won't fail! You're my people and you won't fail!"
That's what John hears about those who gather around God's throne in heaven. "These are they who have come through the great tribulation…" John notes that the multitude he sees is without number and comes from every "nation, tribe, people, and language" on earth. These are the saints of God.
In life they were nothing much: not a gathering of the United Nations, not a conference of the superpowers, not a sitting of Congress or Parliament, or even an assembly at City Hall. They were common people, most of them with no high ambitions or positions.
A man was walking through the midway at a county fair when he met a tiny girl. She was carrying a great big fluff of cotton candy on a stick almost as large as herself! He said to her, "How can a little girl like you eat all that cotton candy?"
"Well," she said to him, "I'm really much bigger on the inside than I am on the outside!"
That's essentially the declaration of heaven in John's vision. On the outside, during their lives, they may have seemed to be nothing but on the inside they were as big as the kingdom and the power and the glory of our God. How did they live? Not very remarkably in the eyes of the powerbrokers of the world. But among their friends and family and neighbors, one clear testimony would emerge: it was like greatness finding itself. Once they got to heaven that's exactly what the celebration was about.
1 John 3:1-3
Tony Campolo once told of a student who came to him in his office at Eastern Christian College. The young man explained to Dr. Campolo that he was going to take a semester off from college in order to travel for a while and get away from all the pressures that were consuming him. He said he didn't know who he was anymore because of the expectations laid on him by his parents, his friends, his professors, and his girlfriend. He had to get away from it all and find himself again, he said. Find his truest self.
Tony Campolo commended him. "That's a good thing to do!" he said. "But what if you start peeling away the layers of yourself, like an onion, and when you get rid of them you don't find anything at the center? What if you get to the heart of who you are and you find there's nothing there? What do you do then?"
It's a tough question, one that most of us fear at some point in our lives. Albert Camus wrote about that in his novel The Fall. A respected lawyer is walking the streets of Amsterdam one night. Splash! He hears a cry for help. A woman has fallen into the canal! He begins to run toward the sound, toward the splashing! But then his legal mind whirls into action: Someone should help her… But should it be him? After all, he's got his reputation to think about... And his safety! Don't forget that! Think about it! What would they say if she was a prostitute or even another man's wife and their names appeared in the newspaper together? Or worse yet, a picture of him helping her? Would they think he'd been with her? And who knows what was going on? Maybe some tough guys mugged her! Maybe they're still lingering in the shadows! Maybe they'd attack him, too, if he helps her!
The courtroom in his mind debates the case when suddenly he realizes that the splashing has stopped! The cries for help have ceased! The woman has drowned! The lawyer wanders on still playing the arguments in his mind, debating whether or not he should have tried to save her. He stops at a tavern to drink himself into peace and uses the first person he can find as a father-confessor. Camus pronounces judgment on the lawyer in two short lines: "He did not answer the cry for help. That is the man he was."
That is the person we all sometimes are. But, as John notes, something happens to us when we realize that we are defined by other values. Think of William Carey. He was a pastor of a small congregation in Leicester, England. In 1792 he preached a powerful sermon called "Expect Great Things from God; Attempt Great Things for God!" People would remember it for years. His message not only moved hearts in his congregation, however; it also came home to challenge Pastor Carey's own soul. The next year he set sail for India and what he did in that country was simply astounding.
He began a manufacturing plant to employ jobless workers. He translated the scriptures and set up shops to print them. He established schools for all ages, helping people find a better place in society. He provided medical assistance for the diseased and the troubled and the ailing. He was nothing short of a miracle for the people of India.
Why did he do it? Because, as John wrote, he knew that he was already a child of God and that this shaped his life as a saint. When he lay dying, these were his last words: "When I have gone, speak not of Carey but of Carey's Savior." Greatness finding itself.
Matthew 5:1-12
"Blessed are those who mourn!" says Jesus. Why? Because those who are able to mourn have passed through a crisis of life. Because they have had to face the meaning of their lives and were forced to count the cost of things that matter.
It's like the parable of Kierkegaard. There was a break-in at a large store, he said, but the thieves didn't take anything. When the clerks opened up in the morning, all the merchandise was still there. What the thieves had done, however, was to change all the price tags -- mixed them up. Here was a diamond necklace priced at $2 and a pair of leather shoes for 50 cents! Over here was a pencil costing $75 and a baby's rattle with $5000 on the sticker!
Instead of stealing merchandise, the thieves had stolen value. By stealing intrinsic worth they had stolen identity. The prices changed and no one knew any longer what something really was beneath its packaging.
Shelley Rodriguez, of Independence, Kentucky, brought her grandson to a farm sale when he was eight years old. He loved the magic of the auctioneer's singsong voice but something bothered him. "Grandma!" he said, "How's that man ever going to sell anything?! He keeps changing the prices!"
Sometimes that seems to be the power of our society, changing the price tags on us so we don't really know the value of things anymore! Changing the price tags of our identity so we don't really know who we are! "Blessed are the meek!" says Jesus. But what's the value of meekness in our aggressive society?
Levina Thiessen, of Winnipeg, Manitoba, remembers bringing the family out to watch her husband's city baseball team one summer. After the game, their three-year-old daughter raced out onto the ball diamond to find her dad. The team was gathered in a post-game cluster and since all the men wore the same uniforms, the little girl was suddenly confounded. She looked back at her mom with tears in her eyes and yelled, "Mommy! Which daddy is mine?!"
The crisis of identity... Do we really know who we are? We're all trying to pretend, projecting more on the outside than we feel on the inside. In fact, sometimes the thing we're hiding most is something that's not even there -- the emptiness of our own souls.
As one young woman put it: "Deep down, I'm shallow!" Maybe so. But shallowness is more than just a bent of character. It's a bent of no character; it's a mark of sin. That's why Jesus can say so forthrightly: "Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness." No one persecutes a shallow person. Someone who is persecuted because of righteousness is a person who has an identity that others can respond to!
"Blessed are the pure in heart!" says Jesus and we know what he means. He means that we're all of a piece. There's no separation in us between the impulse of the heart, the thought of the mind, the word of the mouth, and the action of the hands. Somehow, everything that we are is integrated. That's the meaning of the word "integrity," isn't it?! Pure in heart!
Application
Maurice Boyd remembers one incident that sealed the impact of his father on his life forever. His father worked in a shipyard in Belfast, Northern Ireland. During the Depression work dried up. Times were tough and for three years his father was out of a job.
Then one of his old bosses at the shipyard approached him. The important man would find work for Mr. Boyd. He would guarantee it no matter how much worse things got! All Mr. Boyd would have to do would be to buy a life-insurance policy from the man. It would work to their mutual benefit: the boss's income would increase and Mr. Boyd's work income would be guaranteed!
It was a great deal except for one thing: it was illegal! Maurice Boyd remembers his father sitting at the kitchen table with the whole family surrounding him. There at the table his father counted the cost. He reviewed their desperate financial situation. He ticked off the outstanding bills and the money he ought to be making -- could be making -- if only he'd say yes to his boss.
His father wrote it all down on a sheet of paper: the gains and the losses; what he could make and what he could lose. Then he wrote down a category that Maurice Boyd will never forget: integrity! What did it matter if he gained the cash to pay the rent but lost his ability to teach his children right from wrong?! What did it matter if he gained the dignity of a job but lost it each morning when he looked at himself in the mirror and knew that the only one reason he could go off to work instead of someone else was because he cheated?! Says Maurice Boyd: "He discovered that no one can make you feel inferior without your consent and that one way you can keep your soul is by refusing to sell it. He realized that whatever else he lost, and God knows he lost enough, he didn't have to lose himself."
Jesus put it this way: "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God!" So will their children!
In his book The Call of Service, Robert Coles wonders about people who try to make a difference in life. People who seek to reform themselves even with the tenacity of sin that clings down deep. People who attempt to better society in spite of the fact that it stubbornly refuses the challenge.
Why do they do it, Coles asks? The stories are all so different that it is hard to figure out a way to summarize them neatly in some framework. In fact, the people themselves often have a hard time defining what it is that makes them tick. One young teacher in an urban school gets challenged all the time. Street-smart students, weary of self-righteous "do-gooders," put the question to him: "What's in it for you?" they say. And he really can't say.
However this is what he and all the rest of them can say: sometime earlier in their lives, each of them ran into a crisis situation, a situation that tested their identity and their willingness to do something about it, and in that crisis situation, each of them encountered someone who put his life on the line. Someone who taught them the meaning of service -- someone who gave of herself in a way that bucks the trend of selfishness and of self-preservation and the influence of that someone else made it possible to be greater than each of them had previously considered!
Greatness finding itself in a troubled world, says Jesus, where the safest bet seems to be self-preservation, "Blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called children of God!" Do you see them around you? Do you know the names of some whose last name is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit? Do you know any "children of God"? Then you've been touched by greatness finding itself!
Alternative Application
Matthew 5:1-12. Most difficult of all Jesus' "beatitudes" is this one: "Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me."
The hardest thing to do in life is to maintain integrity. Sin has entered the human soul precisely at this point. We are not, most of us, evil people. We're rather nice, aren't we? There's much that we do that's good, fine, noble, kind, and wise and no one can deny that.
Here's the problem: Whatever else sin might do in our lives, it first and foremost perforates the lines of our hearts and lets us tear off a piece here and a piece there till we find ourselves segmented, fragmented, torn apart in separate snippets of self. It isn't that we become blackened by sin in large strokes... It isn't that we turn into some hideous monsters of greed and cruelty... It isn't that we dissolve the Dr. Jekylls of our personalities into dastardly Mr. Hydes. Instead, we keep most of our goodness intact but we make small allowances in certain little areas. We cheat on our taxes a little, maybe... or we turn our eyes from the needs of someone we could help... or we compromise our communication till we speak from only our mouths instead of our souls.
The fragmentation of our lives makes us less than we should be, less than we could be. It makes us less than the people God made us to be.
There is a powerful scene in Robert Bolt's play A Man for All Seasons. The story is that of Sir Thomas More, loyal subject of the English crown. King Henry VIII wants to change things to suit his own devious plans so he requires all his nobles to swear an oath of allegiance, which violates the conscience of Sir Thomas More before his God. Since he will not swear the oath, More is put in jail. His daughter Margaret comes to visit him. "Meg," he calls her, with affection. She's his pride and joy, the one who thinks his thoughts after him.
Meg comes to plead with her father in prison. "Take the oath, Father!" she urges him. "Take it with your mouth, if you can't take it with your heart! Take it and return to us! You can't do us any good in here! And you can't be there for us if the king should execute you!"
She's right in so many ways. Yet her father answers her this way: "Meg, when a man swears an oath, he holds himself in his hands like water and if he opens his fingers, how can he hope to find himself again?!"
You know what he means, don't you? When our lives begin to fragment, it's like holding our lives like water in our hands and then letting our fingers come apart just a little bit. The water of our very selves dribbles away. We may look like the same people but who we are inside has begun to change.
Each of us is challenged in one of the three great crises of life:
The Identity Crisis: Who am I?
The Influence Crisis: What does my life mean to those around me?
The Integrity Crisis: How deep is my soul?
How we respond is a matter of character. If we live by the visions of today's texts, saintliness emerges. Of course, if that happens, it may change the color of society. After all, remember Martin Luther?! Remember what happens when greatness begins to find itself?! The world is never the same again!
