Thumbing through Benedictus last night, I read two excerpts from the pen of our good pope, Benedict XVI, in succession. The second nearly took off the top of my head.
It’s not that Pope Benedict is saying anything that -on some level- we don’t already know. It’s that he fleshes out these truths in such a way that heightens the sense of revelation:
By calling ourselves Christians, we label ourselves as followers of the king, as people who recognize him as their king. But we can understand properly what the kingship of Jesus Christ means only if we trace its origin in the Old Testament, where we immediately discover a surprising fact. It is obvious that God did not intend Israel to have a kingdom. The kingdom was, in fact, a result of Israel’s rebellion against God and against his prophets, a defection from the original will of God. The law was to be Israel’s king, and through the law, God himself . . . But Israel was jealous of the neighboring peoples with their powerful kings . . . Surprisingly, God yielded to Israel’s obstinacy and so devised a new kind of kingship for them. The son of David, the king, is Jesus: in him God entered humanity and espoused it to himself . . . God does not have a fixed plan that he must carry out; on the contrary, he has many different ways of finding man and even of turning his wrong ways into right ways. We can see that, for instance, in the case of Adam…and we see it again in all the twisted ways of history. This, then is god’s kingship – a love that is impregnable and an inventiveness that finds man by ways that are always new . . . God’s kingship means that we have an unshakable confidence. No one has reason to fear or to capitulate. God can always be found.
— Coworkers of the Truth
I gave you almost the entire excerpt because it is full of good stuff, and one never knows what the Holy Spirit will use, but what I love about this is the notion that (as I emphasized with the italics) God yielded to Israel’s obstinacy.
What sort of God is this? A God who yields to a people who do not understand, and who, like spoiled adolescents, tell him time and time again that they’re not patient enough, not mature enough, just too darned human to put up with doing things His way, which is the way of wisdom?
This is remarkable, almost reckless love. This is a love so all-in-all, so unconditional, that it is willing to be not just vulnerable, but almost -by human standards- foolish in its boundless unconditional reality. Look at the profundity of God’s love for His people, Israel, and for those of us grafted onto their branch. He gives His people something better than a king -something transcendent and eternal and incorruptible. But because they are so body-bound, so captive to their senses and the need to touch, hear, taste and smell, they cannot see what He shows, which is Everything. And so they whine, “well, we want a king, like they have over there,” and God acquiesces.
God takes pity on human limitations and tries another way of teaching and reaching; a better way to know the transcendence. He says, in essence:
“My love and my law are not enough? You need a corporeal king? Alright then, I will come down and be your corporeal king. I will teach you what I know -that love serves, and that a king is a servant- and I will teach you how to be a servant in order to share in my kingship. In this way, we shall be one -as a husband and wife are one- as nearly as this may be possible between what is Whole and Holy, and what is Broken. For your sake, I will become broken, too, but in a way meant to render you more Whole, and Holy, so that our love may be mutual, complete, constantly renewed and alive. I love you so much that I will Incarnate, and surrender myself to you. I will enter into you (stubborn, faulty, incomplete you, adored you, the you that can never fully know or love me back) and I will give you my whole body. I will give you all of myself, unto my very blood, and then it will finally be consummated between us, and you will understand that I have been not just your God, but your lover, your espoused, your bridegroom. Come to me, and let me love you. Be my bride; accept your bridegroom and let the scent and sense of our love course over and through the whole world through the church I beget to you. I am your God; you are my people. I am your bridegroom; you are my bride. This is the great love story, the great intercourse, the great espousal, and you cannot imagine where I mean to take you, if you will only be faithful . . . as I am always faithful.”
This God of Abraham, this King, this One who Ravishes will give us anything, if we only trust, even though we do not understand -will never understand- what it is he has in mind for us. We have never understood. We have never been faithful. We are constantly alert to sexual cues, and we think erotica is somehow sophisticated but we daily manage to miss the Divine Lovemaking that is constantly offered to us. The strain of our brokenness still runs rampant throughout the Church, throughout society, throughout our families, and within our deepest selves.
He sends his angels to hand-deliver the invitation to his Chamber, and the angels say, over and over, “do not be afraid,” and yet we hang back, in fear. He sends his Holy Spirit to whisper at us, incessantly, “draw near, come closer,” and we tune it out with politics and instrumentation and facsimiles of love. He Incarnates and speaks clearly, “come to me, all of you . . . I am the Door. I am the Vine. I am the Way. I am the Water. I am the Bread that feeds the multitudes.”
In Holy Communion, he speaks the spousal words of love: “My flesh is for you; for the life of the world. This is my Body.” He sings the Song of Songs:
Open to me, my bride, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night. I have put off my garment; how can I put it on? I have washed my feet; how shall I defile them?
And still, with all of that romance, with all of that tenderness, we turn, and turn away, distracting ourselves as quickly as we can.
He makes the spousal promise: If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you.
It is a promise, from a God who always keeps his promises; from a loving spouse who cannot do enough for us. And still, we find it so difficult to engage, and nearly impossible to trust.
This is the Greatest Paradox in a God who Is many paradoxes: It is only by surrendering what is broken within us, and that is trust, can we once again have trust.
Whole trust, unreserved trust is what resides within His Majesty, but we do not trust Him back. We did not trust in Eden, which is why we fell, and why we hid ourselves. But we cannot be whole, or wholly His, unless we give him that broken trust … by trusting Him.
What God is like this God? O Come, Divine Messiah. Come, Your Majesty. O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, “God With Us” and ransom us; we are captives to our distrust. We are daily Isra-El, who struggles with God.
Advent is drawing to a close; the season of the Incarnate Word draws near. Let us draw near to Him, then. Let us slouch toward Bethlehem, carrying the poor gifts of our selves. Let us bow down in worship, and place before him the thing of which we are most protective, because it is so very fragile: the trust of our own tender hearts.
Let us lay down our trust. Love is good. God is good. Let us allow His Love.
And then, we may Rejoice. Rejoice.
Related:
Vespers Podcast w/ talk (From 2008)