The Face That Launched A Thousand Lives
Sermon
Sermons On The Second Readings
For Sundays In Advent, Christmas, And Epiphany
You will recall the ancient myth that lies behind our sermon theme for today. Helen, the wife of Sparta's king Menelaus, was acclaimed the most beautiful woman of Greece. The Greeks fought the Trojan War in order to get her back from Troy, where Paris, the son of King Priam, had taken her. In Christopher Marlowe's Dr. Faustus, the question is asked concerning Helen, "Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burned the topless towers of Ilium?" Today's text speaks of a far greater face, a face that launched a thousand, perhaps ten thousand times ten thousand, lives into an experience that beggars description. It is, of course, the face of Christ, our Lord. Verse 5 describes it for us, "For the same God who said, out of darkness let light shine, has caused his light to shine within us to give the light of revelation -- the revelation of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ." What would we not give for one look at the face of Jesus? No face in all history has evoked so much human interest. The physical contour of that face we cannot determine for certain, but its actual features mean little compared with the divine life that was expressed through it.
The Gospel writers have given us several pen portraits of Jesus' face which tell us more of him than any physical likeness can do. If it is true that the soul shines through the face, these portraits will be worth considering for these moments today.
The first portrait shows us Christ bearing a divine countenance. Our text explains that in the face of Jesus we also see the glory of Almighty God himself. In the Gospel lesson for today we find Jesus transfigured before his disciples. "And the appearance of his face changed" (Luke 9:29). Matthew describes it: "And his face shone like the sun" (17:2). For those few dazzling moments, God's presence was not only felt, it was seen. What a moment! How we wish we were there! No wonder Peter wanted to remain on the mount.
A little girl, who was afraid to go to sleep in the dark, wanted her mother to stay with her. Her mother told her God would be with her, so she did not need to be afraid. "Yes, I know, Mama," the girl said, "but I want someone with a face." The message of our text, the message of Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany is just that. The gift of Christ to us is Emmanuel -- "God with us." Jesus is "God with a face," a face turned toward us in love and good will.
Recall the remarkable answer Christ gave when Philip requested, "Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied." Jesus responded, "Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father" (John 14:8, 9). In essence he was saying, "If you want to see God, look at my face. All that you ever need to know about God, and all of life, you will find in me." Look again, Philip, look again!
In one of her poems, Elizabeth Browning describes how someone was pressed and baffled with hard questions until she could find no answer except this: "Look at my face and see." How does Christ answer our perplexed questions about ourselves, our companions along the way, and the meaning of this world and the mystery of the world to come? How does he make our doubts depart -- those gloomy thoughts that rise up and haunt us in lonely sorrowful hours, when we wonder if any duty is certain and whether any sacrifice is worthwhile? Our Lord does not respond by giving us definitions or explanations. He simply confronts us with himself. He says, in effect, "Look at my face and see."
The other Browning, Elizabeth's beloved Robert, in his poem "Dramatis Personae," sets before us three speakers. King David speaks first and describes the glory of the Temple service, with the people singing repeatedly, "Rejoice in God, whose mercy endures forever." Renan, the French skeptic, speaks next. From his pensive point of view he describes the vanished figure of the God-man, the friend of man, and says, "We are orphans." Then Browning speaks and declares:
That one Face, far from vanished, rather grows,
Or decomposes but to recompose,
Become my universe that feels and knows.1
Who could put it more eloquently? Christ has become our universe. It is he who makes us feel and know and understand. While being interviewed in Hamburg, Germany, Helmut Thielike spoke of the Christian response to the grandeur of Jesus. "Once it happened. Once in the world's history it happened, that someone came forward with the claim that he was the Son of God, and with the assertion, 'I and the Father are one.' He proved the legitimacy of that claim through the depths to which he descended. A Son of God who defends his title with the argument that he is the brother of even the poorest and the guilty and takes their burden upon himself. This is a fact one can only note and shake one's head in unbelief -- or one must worship and adore. I must worship." And so must we.
We find a second portrait in Saint Luke's Gospel, chapter 9. "As the time approached for him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem" (Luke 9:51). Here we discover the determined face.
The time had come; he had a task to complete; it could only be done outside Jerusalem on a hill called Calvary. So the determined face of Jesus turned toward the City of Peace to accomplish on a Roman cross what no other had the right -- or the ability -- to achieve: forgiveness for the accumulated guilt of the human race. The old hymn put it well:
There was no other good enough, to pay the price of sin,
He only could unlock the door of heav'n and let us in.
Mark Twain wrote a short story bearing the interesting title, "The Terrible Catastrophe." Before he had finished, he had worked his characters into such a predicament that whatever any one of them did would destroy them all. Reflecting on his creation, he concluded by saying, "I have these characters in such a fix I cannot get them out. Anyone who thinks he can is welcome to try!" That may be an unusual literary device for ending a story, but it is not unfamiliar to anyone who takes a sober look at the human race, especially after watching the evening news. We have, by our stubborn willfulness, so marred the image of God in which we were created that only God himself can make things right. God's way is simple, but painful and costly: forgiveness, by way of a cross.
Eugene O'Neill expressed this truth in his play Days Without End. John Loving has been unfaithful to his wife Elsa, and the discovery of his infidelity has so shocked her that she lies close to death in a crisis of delirium. Seeing the result of his sin, John's cynical composure is shattered until he is distraught with remorse and shame. But he cannot forgive himself, and he cannot make it right with Elsa. Finally as the crisis approaches, a priest tells John to go to the church and pray there, asking God's forgiveness. This John wants to do, but he can't; if only God would show him that his love exists, then he would believe. But the priest tells him that he cannot bargain with God. Only by seeking God's grace at the foot of the cross will he find faith and love. At last John is able to find the presence of love coming through his prayer, as he says, "Ah, thou hast heard me at last. Thou hast not forsaken me! Thou hast always loved me! I am forgiven! I can forgive myself -- through thee. I can believe! At last I see! I have always loved. O Lord of love, forgive thy blind fool! Thou art the Way, the Truth -- the Resurrection and the Life, and he that believeth in thy love, his love shall never die."
For John and Elsa, only when love has had the final word could there be a new creation of their own love. But playwright O'Neill sees here a further aspect of the entire picture. This love must come from a source outside themselves. "The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ, our Lord." Elsa's forgiveness was from God; John received it through the grace of Jesus Christ. And how does it come to us today? It comes to us as it came to John Loving and as it has greeted men and women across the Christian ages: through the cross. There, God himself faced the blank wall of sin, evil, and rejection, but spoke a final word of love and opened the way for forgiveness and a new life for all.
And wasn't that what Christian, in that old classic Pilgrim's Progress, also discovered? As he journeyed toward the Celestial City, he came to a place fenced on either side by a wall. Christian ran, but not without difficulty, because of the burden on his back. He came to a rise and there stood a cross and below it a sepulcher. Just as he came to the cross, the burden fell from his back and tumbled into the mouth of the sepulcher. With a grateful heart, Christian said, "He has given me rest by his sorrow, and life by his death." Then he went on his way singing:
How far did I come laden with my sin:
Nothing could ease the grief I was in,
Until I came here: what a place is this!
Can this be the beginning of my bliss?
Is this where the burden falls from my back?
Can this be where the ropes of bondage crack?
Bless'd cross! Bless'd sepulcher! Blessed rather be
The Man who there was put to shame for me!2
What would we do, where would we be, if it were not for the Face of the One who resolutely walked toward Jerusalem that day so long ago?
A final portrait emerges as we read the first chapter of John's Gospel. Here we discover the discerning face.
Reading the chapter we meet Andrew who is captured by Christ's vitality and message; he finds his brother Simon and brings him to Jesus. When Simon is face to face with him, Jesus says, "Thou art Simon, the son of Jona; thou shalt be Cephas," or Peter (John 1:42). Note the words, "thou art; thou shalt be." The discerning Christ sees each one as he is, but he also knows what each one shall become, what role each must fulfil in the purpose of God. This truth just as certainly applies to all who are gathered in this church today!
It was three years later, after the tragedy of Good Friday and the triumph of Easter, that Peter and the others began to see their task through the eyes of their discerning Lord. They were to be witnesses! Witnesses of what? Witnesses to the love of God revealed in Christ's passion. Witnesses to the fact that in God's sight everybody is somebody. Every life is important; not one is expendable. We were made for God and for each other, and we find our true selves and each other in the community of those who love him.
How our world-weary companions need to hear this message. Some things, we say, are too good to be true. These tidings are too good not to be true! But how difficult it is for some to believe us. Some will say, "There cannot be a God of love, because if there were, and he looked at this world, his heart would break." The Christian points to the cross and says, "There his heart did break." Another will say, "It is God who made the world. It is God who is responsible; it is he who should bear the load." Again we point to the cross and say, "There, yes there, he did bear the load. Believe it, he loved you that much!" What news! It is too good to be kept only for ourselves. It must be shouted from the rooftops! Is it any wonder when Dr. Karl Barth, perhaps the greatest theologian of the twentieth century, was asked, "Dr. Barth, what is the most profound thought that has ever entered your mind?" He responded without hesitation, "Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so."
A pastor friend was greeting his congregation at the close of a morning service. One young woman, after shaking his hand, drew closer and said softly, "Please keep telling us how very much we mean to God; it has changed my life!" Yes, and it will keep changing the lives of any who will believe it, so we keep on sharing. Without question, it is the most important news our world has ever heard!
This is the message brought to us by the "face that launched a thousand lives." It is ours to hear, to believe, and to share with any who will lend a listening ear.
I can't think of any finer words with which to conclude our Epiphany season than those penned by Charles Wesley in 1772:
Love divine, all love excelling, joy of heav'n to earth come down!
Fix in us thy humble dwelling, all thy faithful mercies crown.
Jesus, thou art all compassion, pure unbounded love thou art;
Visit us with thy salvation, enter every trembling heart.
Amen.
____________
1. "Epilogue: Dramatis Personae," quoted in Masterpieces of Religious Verse, p. 135.
2. John Bunyan, The Pilgrim's Progress (New York: Rand, McNally and Company, 1923), p. 104.
The Gospel writers have given us several pen portraits of Jesus' face which tell us more of him than any physical likeness can do. If it is true that the soul shines through the face, these portraits will be worth considering for these moments today.
The first portrait shows us Christ bearing a divine countenance. Our text explains that in the face of Jesus we also see the glory of Almighty God himself. In the Gospel lesson for today we find Jesus transfigured before his disciples. "And the appearance of his face changed" (Luke 9:29). Matthew describes it: "And his face shone like the sun" (17:2). For those few dazzling moments, God's presence was not only felt, it was seen. What a moment! How we wish we were there! No wonder Peter wanted to remain on the mount.
A little girl, who was afraid to go to sleep in the dark, wanted her mother to stay with her. Her mother told her God would be with her, so she did not need to be afraid. "Yes, I know, Mama," the girl said, "but I want someone with a face." The message of our text, the message of Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany is just that. The gift of Christ to us is Emmanuel -- "God with us." Jesus is "God with a face," a face turned toward us in love and good will.
Recall the remarkable answer Christ gave when Philip requested, "Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied." Jesus responded, "Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father" (John 14:8, 9). In essence he was saying, "If you want to see God, look at my face. All that you ever need to know about God, and all of life, you will find in me." Look again, Philip, look again!
In one of her poems, Elizabeth Browning describes how someone was pressed and baffled with hard questions until she could find no answer except this: "Look at my face and see." How does Christ answer our perplexed questions about ourselves, our companions along the way, and the meaning of this world and the mystery of the world to come? How does he make our doubts depart -- those gloomy thoughts that rise up and haunt us in lonely sorrowful hours, when we wonder if any duty is certain and whether any sacrifice is worthwhile? Our Lord does not respond by giving us definitions or explanations. He simply confronts us with himself. He says, in effect, "Look at my face and see."
The other Browning, Elizabeth's beloved Robert, in his poem "Dramatis Personae," sets before us three speakers. King David speaks first and describes the glory of the Temple service, with the people singing repeatedly, "Rejoice in God, whose mercy endures forever." Renan, the French skeptic, speaks next. From his pensive point of view he describes the vanished figure of the God-man, the friend of man, and says, "We are orphans." Then Browning speaks and declares:
That one Face, far from vanished, rather grows,
Or decomposes but to recompose,
Become my universe that feels and knows.1
Who could put it more eloquently? Christ has become our universe. It is he who makes us feel and know and understand. While being interviewed in Hamburg, Germany, Helmut Thielike spoke of the Christian response to the grandeur of Jesus. "Once it happened. Once in the world's history it happened, that someone came forward with the claim that he was the Son of God, and with the assertion, 'I and the Father are one.' He proved the legitimacy of that claim through the depths to which he descended. A Son of God who defends his title with the argument that he is the brother of even the poorest and the guilty and takes their burden upon himself. This is a fact one can only note and shake one's head in unbelief -- or one must worship and adore. I must worship." And so must we.
We find a second portrait in Saint Luke's Gospel, chapter 9. "As the time approached for him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem" (Luke 9:51). Here we discover the determined face.
The time had come; he had a task to complete; it could only be done outside Jerusalem on a hill called Calvary. So the determined face of Jesus turned toward the City of Peace to accomplish on a Roman cross what no other had the right -- or the ability -- to achieve: forgiveness for the accumulated guilt of the human race. The old hymn put it well:
There was no other good enough, to pay the price of sin,
He only could unlock the door of heav'n and let us in.
Mark Twain wrote a short story bearing the interesting title, "The Terrible Catastrophe." Before he had finished, he had worked his characters into such a predicament that whatever any one of them did would destroy them all. Reflecting on his creation, he concluded by saying, "I have these characters in such a fix I cannot get them out. Anyone who thinks he can is welcome to try!" That may be an unusual literary device for ending a story, but it is not unfamiliar to anyone who takes a sober look at the human race, especially after watching the evening news. We have, by our stubborn willfulness, so marred the image of God in which we were created that only God himself can make things right. God's way is simple, but painful and costly: forgiveness, by way of a cross.
Eugene O'Neill expressed this truth in his play Days Without End. John Loving has been unfaithful to his wife Elsa, and the discovery of his infidelity has so shocked her that she lies close to death in a crisis of delirium. Seeing the result of his sin, John's cynical composure is shattered until he is distraught with remorse and shame. But he cannot forgive himself, and he cannot make it right with Elsa. Finally as the crisis approaches, a priest tells John to go to the church and pray there, asking God's forgiveness. This John wants to do, but he can't; if only God would show him that his love exists, then he would believe. But the priest tells him that he cannot bargain with God. Only by seeking God's grace at the foot of the cross will he find faith and love. At last John is able to find the presence of love coming through his prayer, as he says, "Ah, thou hast heard me at last. Thou hast not forsaken me! Thou hast always loved me! I am forgiven! I can forgive myself -- through thee. I can believe! At last I see! I have always loved. O Lord of love, forgive thy blind fool! Thou art the Way, the Truth -- the Resurrection and the Life, and he that believeth in thy love, his love shall never die."
For John and Elsa, only when love has had the final word could there be a new creation of their own love. But playwright O'Neill sees here a further aspect of the entire picture. This love must come from a source outside themselves. "The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ, our Lord." Elsa's forgiveness was from God; John received it through the grace of Jesus Christ. And how does it come to us today? It comes to us as it came to John Loving and as it has greeted men and women across the Christian ages: through the cross. There, God himself faced the blank wall of sin, evil, and rejection, but spoke a final word of love and opened the way for forgiveness and a new life for all.
And wasn't that what Christian, in that old classic Pilgrim's Progress, also discovered? As he journeyed toward the Celestial City, he came to a place fenced on either side by a wall. Christian ran, but not without difficulty, because of the burden on his back. He came to a rise and there stood a cross and below it a sepulcher. Just as he came to the cross, the burden fell from his back and tumbled into the mouth of the sepulcher. With a grateful heart, Christian said, "He has given me rest by his sorrow, and life by his death." Then he went on his way singing:
How far did I come laden with my sin:
Nothing could ease the grief I was in,
Until I came here: what a place is this!
Can this be the beginning of my bliss?
Is this where the burden falls from my back?
Can this be where the ropes of bondage crack?
Bless'd cross! Bless'd sepulcher! Blessed rather be
The Man who there was put to shame for me!2
What would we do, where would we be, if it were not for the Face of the One who resolutely walked toward Jerusalem that day so long ago?
A final portrait emerges as we read the first chapter of John's Gospel. Here we discover the discerning face.
Reading the chapter we meet Andrew who is captured by Christ's vitality and message; he finds his brother Simon and brings him to Jesus. When Simon is face to face with him, Jesus says, "Thou art Simon, the son of Jona; thou shalt be Cephas," or Peter (John 1:42). Note the words, "thou art; thou shalt be." The discerning Christ sees each one as he is, but he also knows what each one shall become, what role each must fulfil in the purpose of God. This truth just as certainly applies to all who are gathered in this church today!
It was three years later, after the tragedy of Good Friday and the triumph of Easter, that Peter and the others began to see their task through the eyes of their discerning Lord. They were to be witnesses! Witnesses of what? Witnesses to the love of God revealed in Christ's passion. Witnesses to the fact that in God's sight everybody is somebody. Every life is important; not one is expendable. We were made for God and for each other, and we find our true selves and each other in the community of those who love him.
How our world-weary companions need to hear this message. Some things, we say, are too good to be true. These tidings are too good not to be true! But how difficult it is for some to believe us. Some will say, "There cannot be a God of love, because if there were, and he looked at this world, his heart would break." The Christian points to the cross and says, "There his heart did break." Another will say, "It is God who made the world. It is God who is responsible; it is he who should bear the load." Again we point to the cross and say, "There, yes there, he did bear the load. Believe it, he loved you that much!" What news! It is too good to be kept only for ourselves. It must be shouted from the rooftops! Is it any wonder when Dr. Karl Barth, perhaps the greatest theologian of the twentieth century, was asked, "Dr. Barth, what is the most profound thought that has ever entered your mind?" He responded without hesitation, "Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so."
A pastor friend was greeting his congregation at the close of a morning service. One young woman, after shaking his hand, drew closer and said softly, "Please keep telling us how very much we mean to God; it has changed my life!" Yes, and it will keep changing the lives of any who will believe it, so we keep on sharing. Without question, it is the most important news our world has ever heard!
This is the message brought to us by the "face that launched a thousand lives." It is ours to hear, to believe, and to share with any who will lend a listening ear.
I can't think of any finer words with which to conclude our Epiphany season than those penned by Charles Wesley in 1772:
Love divine, all love excelling, joy of heav'n to earth come down!
Fix in us thy humble dwelling, all thy faithful mercies crown.
Jesus, thou art all compassion, pure unbounded love thou art;
Visit us with thy salvation, enter every trembling heart.
Amen.
____________
1. "Epilogue: Dramatis Personae," quoted in Masterpieces of Religious Verse, p. 135.
2. John Bunyan, The Pilgrim's Progress (New York: Rand, McNally and Company, 1923), p. 104.
