Before the March for Life, United Methodist Theologian Reminds That Life is Luminous

on January 23, 2015

The following is the transcript of a sermon delivered by Dr. Edgardo A. Colón-Emeric Assistant Professor of Christian Theology at Duke University Divinity School. It was preached during the Annual Lifewatch Worship Service on the morning of the March for Life in Washington, D.C.

Grace and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.  I begin with a word of gratitude to my colleague in ministry Paul Stallsworth for inviting me to preach this morning.  I have always admired Paul’s faithfulness in calling Methodists to stand firm on our witness to life. Of course, this is bigger than Paul and bigger than Lifewatch.  Christians have been witnessing to life for a long time.

The first witness to life in this hemisphere did not occur in Washington, DC.  It happened in Advent 1511, when Antonio de Montesinos took to the pulpit of the first church in the Americas in Santo Domingo.  Padre Antonio was known as a powerful preacher and his fellow Dominicans had spread word around town that he was preaching so as to have as large a crowd as possible in church that day.  They were especially targeting the elite of the city.  The text for the day was from the gospel according to John.  The Jewish authorities sent some priests and Levites to inquire into the identity of John the Baptist.  His reply to their question was: “Ego vox clamantis in deserto (I am the voice crying in the wilderness).”  Padre Antonio began by making some general remarks about the significance of Advent before turning to the theme for his sermon: the humanity of the indigenous.

I have come here to tell you that I am the voice of Christ in the wilderness, and that therefore, it would behoove you to pay attention, not casually, but with your whole heart and being.  You are about to hear the strangest news that you ever thought to hear.  This voice declares that you are all in mortal sin.  You are living and dying in sin on account of the cruelty with which you use these innocent peoples…Are these not human? Do they not have rational souls?  Are you not required to love them as you love yourself?  Do you not understand?  Do you not feel?  How is it that you are so soundly asleep?[1]

The sermon did not go over well.  Some were angry, some puzzled, some troubled.  None were won over.  The message was too strange.  According to one of the hearers, the novelty of the message consisted in affirming that killing Indians was a greater sin than squashing bugs.  I am not the voice crying in the wilderness. I am not John the Baptist.  I like Thomas Aquinas, but I am not Antonio the Dominican.  I am Edgardo the Methodist which means that I am uncomfortable with fire and brimstone sermons.  I am programmed to preach the gospel sweetly and gently.  Nevertheless, Methodist niceness cannot prevent me from noting that the recognition of the full dignity of all human beings remains elusive.  As in Santo Domingo, the failure to perceive the gift of life leads in quick succession to the destruction of its bearer and the rejection of its source.

In the ancient world, people who hated images and destroyed the stone or wood that bore them were known as iconoclasts. In the United States, iconoclasts still practice their trade today, only they have switched to defacing images not made with human hands, namely the image of God in the human being.  The splendor of the image of God in the unborn, the unchurched, and the undocumented is too easily dismissed as a mirage.  Today’s Scriptures present an alternative view.  Life, all life, is luminous.

The Bible begins with a flash of light.  In the poem that opens the first chapter of the Bible we hear that God creates the heavens and the earth.  The act of creation which in the myths of the region was the result of an epic struggle occurs here by divine decree: let there be.  And at the end of each day, God surveys what has come to be and declares that “it was good.”  The act of creation is an act of affirmation.  It is good that there is light.  It is good that there is water and fish.  It is good that there is air and birds.  It is good that there are men and women made in the image of God and it is good that they bear children and people the earth.  And the sum of all these declarations is a supreme act of affirmation “it is very good.”  It was good in Genesis.  It is still good in John.

John picks up the Bible’s opening poem and adapts it.  Like the overture to a Broadway musical, the Prologue of John introduces the major themes of this gospel: the divinity of the Word, the ministry of John the Baptist, the incarnation, the diversity of responses to the ministry of Jesus.  The evangelist introduces us to the key terms of this gospel, words like truth, glory, grace, witness.  Why does John begin in this way?  Other evangelists begin the gospel differently.  Matthew begins with begats; Mark with the Baptist; Luke with a historical abstract.  John begins with a hymn because he wants to form in his readers a particular kind of sensitivity.  The hymn is not placed at the beginning to tell an old story but to prepare the way for an encounter with the story’s author.  Paradoxically, music can helps us see.

In the beginning of beginnings was the Word.  The Word was God.  It was also life.  It was also light.  In this Word there is no darkness at all writes John the Elder.  The light that was created on the first day of the universe is a reflection of the eternal light of the Word.  All creatures are bathed in the light of this Word.  Hildegard of Bingen sings of this perfecting Word as “the light of primordial daybreak over the spheres…whose circling never began and never slides to an end.”  The world is full of light and life because the Word is the light of the cosmos.  This luminous Word is for all.  Dostoevsky’s Father Zosima says it well.  “All creation and all creatures, every leaf is striving to the Word, singing glory to God, weeping to Christ, unconsciously accomplishing this by the mystery of their sinless life.”

Of course, there is sin in the world.  The hour of darkness fell on the Garden of Eden and its effects are still evident among us and in us.  Sour notes have sown dissonant chords into the symphony of creation.  The cosmos and all creatures suffer from humanity’s aversion to the light.  Even so, at its core, John believes that it is still good.  Darkness does not overcome the light.  Life is still luminous.

The gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke tell of the transfiguration of Jesus.  The light that radiated from Jesus manifested his divine nature to his inner circle of disciples.  Curiously, the gospel of John makes no mention of this epiphany.  John calls Jesus “the light of all people,” “the true light which enlightens everyone,” “the light of life,” “the light of the world.”  And yet John has no account of the transfiguration.  There is possibly a veiled allusion to it (pun intended) in verse 14 of the Prologue where John tells us that “we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son.”  But that is all.  Why the omission?  Perhaps John did not know the story.  Or perhaps John does not want us to get stuck on the Mount of Transfiguration.  The synoptic gospels record Peter telling Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here.”  For John, this can be said of every stage of the life of Jesus.  It is good for us to be here.  He sanctifies both time and space.  Every age becomes salvation history.  It is good for us to be here.  Ephrem the Syrian sang of how on the nativity the Christ child made humanity young again.  His presence illumines and transfigures all things.  His light shines in mountains and valleys, high places and low.  Every place touched by his radiance becomes holy land.  In becoming flesh, the Word dwelled among us, literally pitched his tent among us, and we can behold his glory everywhere this portable tent of meeting goes.

The churches to which John is writing were vulnerable to the heresy of Docetism.  This heresy rejected the full incarnation of the Word.  Jesus only seems human.  It is for this reason that the author of First John underscores the tangibility of the Word of Life.  The Word of Life is one that they have seen, heard, and touched.  The problem with docetic christologies is that they are false and for this reason corrosive of the moral life.  If the light of life does not reach all the way down into the materiality of creation, then there are parts of the cosmos not illumined by the Word.  There are gray zones of life and society untouched by the Light.  The freedom that such neglect opens is not real freedom but darkness.  It is good for us to be here, only because in him was life and his life is the light of humanity.

The moral vision of the Gospel of John is often decried as too pietistic.  There are no parables turning our understanding of ethics on its head.  No Prodigal Son, no lost sheep, no Good Samaritan.  No Sermon on the Mount raising the bar on the obedience that God expects of his children.  Not even a sermon on the plain.  The gospel of John gives us symbolic actions followed by sermonic explanations.  One might be excused for thinking that John’s vision of engagement with the world is sectarian withdrawal.  But this is not so.   The hymnic overture to this gospel invites us to become a people whose social principles are more firmly grounded on our doctrinal standards, our Social Creed, on the Nicene Creed.   Let me offer three ways in which the moral vision of John helps us witness to the luminosity of life.

First, John the evangelist invites us to read creation more deeply.  The gospel of John is a two-level drama with a surface meaning that is open to all eyewitness and a deeper interpretation that is only disclosed to believers.  John’s view of creation and history is sacramental.  The world is a universe where water and wine serve as witnesses to the light.  The cosmos in this gospel is not an obstacle to the glory of God but its sign.  The Word becomes flesh and the flesh becomes bread.  We are called to witness to the light, but one can only witness to what he or she has perceived.  The first step in witnessing to the light requires learning to see with new eyes.  The church calls this special way of seeing, contemplation.  Contemplation is the loving gaze that sees things in their true light because it sees them in the light of God.

There are many obstacles to contemplation.  One of them is the current state of our political discourse.  The word that is bandied about is that we are a polarized society.  By that phrase people usually mean that there is a metaphorical magnetic field that aligns us with some and pushes us away from others.  But the polarization has other effects.  It also filters the light.  Some colors of the spectrum are blocked.  The binaries of conservative and liberal, Republican and Democrat have become something like a second nature, what theologians call a habitus, a set of glasses through which we perceive the world around us.  “Everything is received according to the mode of the receiver,” says Thomas Aquinas.  Instead of seeing things in their true light we see our biases red and blue.

Though he does not use the word contemplation John Wesley associates true vision with purity of heart.  The pure in heart see all things full of God.  Purity of heart is what allowed Gregory Lopez, that exemplar of Christian perfection so beloved of Wesley, to contemplate the Word in the world.  His testimony was simple, “I find God alike in little things and in great.” Contemplation is an act that flows from the kind of life that renounces earthly attachments in order to be free to love.  There is a long tradition of casting John the Baptist as a contemplative.  He sees the light of Christ from the beginning.  Luke dates the first witness to the meeting of their pregnant mothers.  In the words of Barth, “the light of Jesus shines in the womb of Mary.”  John the Baptist, by a special gift of the Holy Spirit, sees that shining life and testifies as any six month baby could—kicking and elbowing.  We need pure hearts, hearts freed from ideological filters so that we can see that life is luminous.

Second, John the evangelist invites us to make our first witness to creation an act of affirmation.  Of course, John knows that the light of Christ exposes the evils of the world and that for this reason many reject the light.  But, if I may quote Aquinas one last time, “the first thing that someone wants for a friend is that she exist and live.” (ST 2-2.25.11)  This affirmation is not limited to ones friends.  All things are made through Christ and in the light of Christ all being is luminous.  Yes, the real is true.  Yes, the world is sound.  Yes, life is beautiful.  Yes, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, it is all good.  Our first response to another creature should be delight.  It is good that you exist!  This does not mean that I approve of all that you do.  But I am glad that you are alive!  As the eyes of our heart are strengthened by the means of grace that is contemplation, the capacity to affirm life in its manifold manifestations is stretched.  Saint Francis kisses the leper and embraces brother wolf.  He can even sing of sister death.  Can all things be affirmed in this way?   Is it good that they exist?  Are all lives luminous?  Many say “No.”

In preparation for today, I re-read our statement on abortion in the Book of Discipline (Para. 161J).  There are many things in this statement to which I said “Amen.”  “Our belief in the sanctity of unborn human life.”  Our “respect for the sacredness of the life and well-being of the mother.”  Our rejection of abortion “as an acceptable means of birth control” and “gender selection.” Our support for “the option of adoption.”   I could go on.  I was particularly heartened to read of our commitment to offer “ministries to reduce unintended pregnancies,” and “to provide nurturing ministries to those who terminate a pregnancy, to those in the midst of a crisis pregnancy, and to those who give birth.”  These ministries belong to the mission of the church and are not to be exclusively delegated to non-profits and government agencies.

All things considered it is not a bad statement.  The problem is that in conceding that there are “tragic conflicts of life with life that may justify abortion” the statement undermines our doctrine of creation and muddles our witness to life.

That there are tragic conflicts no one can or should deny.  But how far back does this tragic conflict go?  To the beginning?  How deep down does this tragic conflict go?  All the way down?  The Book of Discipline statement suggests that life is trapped in a web of competition and struggle.

The gospel of John sings a different song.  The Prologue states that those who welcome the Word are “born not of blood, or of the will of the flesh, or of the will of man, but of God.” The phrase is difficult to interpret.  Some see it as an allusion to the Virgin Birth.  Others read it as an unnecessary editorial addition to the hymn.  But there is another way of interpreting this statement: a rejection of a tragic world view.  John lives in a world where children are conceived through violence.  He knows of the power of sexual desires.  He understands patriarchal conventions.  But John imagines a world where the power of the trio of blood, flesh, and man to assign worth is relativized by the light of Christ.

In Spanish when a woman gives birth to a child, she is said to “dar a luz.” She “gives to light.”  She delivers a child from the darkness of the womb to the light of the world.  The act of creation is the most powerful statement of the affirmation of life.  Humans cannot imitate God in this way.  God alone creates. God alone can say: “Let there be.”   But humans can join Mary in affirming life through hospitality: “let it be.”  Ultimately, the affirmation of the light of life is the subject of hope.  The darkness will not overcome the light.  God can redeem any situation. Life is luminous.

Third, and very briefly, John the evangelist invites us to think creatively of how we witness to life.  John witnesses by baptizing.  Indeed in the gospel of John, baptizing is associated with illumination and healing of blindness.  The invitation is to “come and see.”  Montesinos witnessed by preaching a hard message of repentance.  Today many are witnessing by marching.  John the evangelist invites us to consider yet another way, singing a new song.

Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz was a poet, playwright, and theologian who lived in seventeenth century Mexico.  Her fame and renown spread over the Southern hemisphere.  She is known by many names, the “tenth muse,” “the phoenix of America,” “the first Mexican theologian,” “the first feminist theologian.”  But before she was any of these things, she was registered for baptism as a “daughter of the Church” which was another way of saying that she was a child born out of wedlock.  She was abandoned by her father and raised by a single mother.  The church adopted her and so she grew to write poetry for the church.  In one of her many sonnets on the incarnation she writes: “Divine Love this day became incarnate, a gift so precious as to give all other gifts their worth.”

Perhaps our most significant Christian witness does not happen in legislation but in liturgy.  Perhaps what is needed are not more sermons denouncing the culture of death but more poems celebrating that life is luminous.  Of course, there are many gifts and Christians may be called to witness in different ways.  But I do know this, “Only the lover sings.”

[1] Historia de las Indias, editor André Saint-Lu  (Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1986), 3.4:13-14

  1. Comment by MarcoPolo on January 24, 2015 at 9:58 am

    Well, I got through this reading, but I wonder if I would have fallen asleep if I’d been sitting in a pew listening to it from the pulpit?

    I suppose I’m just one of those dreaded Iconoclasts!
    That still doesn’t mean that every woman should be denied the right to choose between an unwanted pregnancy, and an abortion.

    God will still shine through her, if that is her faith.

  2. Comment by Brad F on January 24, 2015 at 5:29 pm

    “Shine through” somebody who murders her own baby?

    I think I’ll go kill my elderly granny, maybe God “will still shine through” me.

    Decent humans don’t kill innocent humans. The Third Reich used the ethic of “life not worthy of life” – if someone is an inconvenience to you, kill him. It’s OK. It’s 2015, and our educated elites have the morals of Nazis. Very sad situation.

  3. Comment by MarcoPolo on January 24, 2015 at 7:01 pm

    But killing someone who is already born would be murder.
    Surely women who have made that difficult decision, deserve the grace of God in their lives, don’t you think?
    Heard of forgiveness?

  4. Comment by Oshtur on January 24, 2015 at 8:11 pm

    So a woman dies when she gives birth?

    You’re an idiot.

  5. Comment by MarcoPolo on January 24, 2015 at 11:00 pm

    Oshtur,
    You are aware that sometimes women DO die during childbirth?
    Aside from that factoid, did I answer your question?
    I’ll have to edit my profile info to include: Idiot.
    Thanks for the notice.

  6. Comment by Thomas on January 27, 2015 at 9:15 pm

    Please notice that this is a regular troll around here and he isn`t even a Christian. He identifies himself as a pantheist, someone who denies the personality of God.

  7. Comment by Ray Bannister on January 24, 2015 at 1:37 pm

    We need more voices like this. We live in a culture that celebrates death and sterility. God created life out of nothing, God Himself is pro-life, so much so that He made it possible to have it eternally.

  8. Comment by Oshtur on January 24, 2015 at 8:10 pm

    When you trivialize sex, you trivialize life. We’re living in the ruins created by the 1960s.

  9. Comment by Alex Soderberg on January 25, 2015 at 9:26 am

    Environmentalism is a religion. Its version of original sin is human existence itself, which disturbs the balance of nature. Any specific instance of pollution, or supposed pollution, activates the crushing sense of guilt that devotees labor under.

  10. Comment by Kay Glines on January 26, 2015 at 11:33 am

    Once we begin taking human lives because of our judgment that the consequences of their killings will be beneficial to others, there is no end to the horrors we can sanction.

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