The Reverend Seth Ethan Carey
December 28, 2008
First Congregational Church,
www.firstconge.org
630-469-3096
Introduction to the
Scripture:
In this little-known passage, we catch a glimpse of
Jesus’ early infancy. Don’t expect to hear a neat story about the boy Jesus
that you’ve never heard before. From a literary standpoint, Jesus is not the
protagonist of this story. Still a baby, He cannot yet even speak. Rather, this
story revolves around an amateur prophet named Simeon, and his encounter with
the baby Jesus. While most of this narrative is pretty bland, it takes us by
surprise at the end with a jarring, almost ominous prophecy, as Simeon warns
Mary of the child’s true power.
Scripture: Luke 2:22-35
When the time came for their purification according to
the law of Moses, they brought him up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord
(as it is written in the law of the Lord, ‘Every firstborn male shall be
designated as holy to the Lord’), and they offered a sacrifice according to
what is stated in the law of the Lord, ‘a pair of turtle-doves or two young
pigeons.’
Now
there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon; this man was righteous and
devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit
rested on him. It had been revealed to
him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the
Lord’s Messiah. Guided by the Spirit,
Simeon came into the temple; and when the parents brought in the child Jesus,
to do for him what was customary under the law, Simeon took him in his arms and
praised God, saying,
‘Master,
now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word; for my
eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all
peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people
Israel.’
And
the child’s father and mother were amazed at what was being said about
him. Then Simeon blessed them and said
to his mother Mary, ‘This child is destined for the falling and the rising of
many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner
thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.’
Sermon:
Justice has a new face—but it
hides behind a mask.
Five years ago, an ordinary
man came home to his London flat to find that his car had been booted with a
wheel clamp by parking authorities. After being told what it would cost to
liberate his vehicle, he opted instead to remove it himself with an
angle-grinder, a kind of circular saw. He later photographed what was left of
the clamp and left the picture on his windshield with a note that read, in
polite English fashion, ''Please don't
clamp me, because I've got an extremely sensitive nature.'' That single act
of rebellion changed his life forever. Just as Batman swore vengeance against
the criminal underworld when his parents were killed before his eyes, this
quiet Englishman donned a mask and became “Angle-Grinder Man.” The name doesn’t
really roll off the tongue, but I guess it serves its purpose.
His focus is clear, his
mission singular: to remove parking-violation wheel clamps all over London, in
his epic battle with the police force of Scotland Yard—and his evil nemesis,
Parking-Meter Man.
One young woman recalls her
fateful encounter with Angle-Grinder Man. Having just discovered that her car
had been booted—in what appeared to be a perfectly legal parking spot—the local
superhero appeared out of thin air, his blue spandex highlighted by a sparkling
gold cape and matching cowboy boots. He looked her in the eye from behind his
mask and declared, “If anyone can,
Angle-Grinder Man can.” In less than a minute he had sawed off the clamp
and disappeared into the night.
Despite his conspicuous
costume, the police have been unable to find him. While some people may find
the idea of charging about the city in tights to be the worst kind of
adolescent behavior, this caped crusader is much admired by the citizens of
London. ''I think he's extraordinarily
attractive,'' one woman remarks, ''especially
the golden knickers.''
Angle-Grinder Man isn’t the
only costumed superhero wandering the streets. In New York City, a masked woman
in crimson spandex and a cape patrols the city’s bars and nightclubs in an
attempt to safeguard women from the seductive wiles of unscrupulous men. Born
from the trauma of a bad break up with her boyfriend, she calls herself
“Terrifica.” While I confess to making up that bit about Parking Meter Man,
Terrifica really does have an arch-nemesis, a womanizing philanderer named
“Fantastico.” How any woman could fall for a guy who calls himself “Fantastico”
is beyond me. Maybe it has something to do with his villainous superpowers.
When interviewed by the press
about her own superhuman abilities, Terrifica replied smartly, “I am a human, who just happens to be
super.” When asked about her costume, she said, “ever since I was dumped—in the most brutally humiliating of ways—I
have felt compelled to put the stupid tights and wig on. As soon as I pull on
that mask, I feel really strong.”
Perhaps masks do more than
conceal our identity—perhaps they also reveal our innermost selves, for good or
evil. Robbers don masks before committing the crimes that they are capable of,
just as superheroes disguise their identity before showing the world the extent
of their power and compassion—and just as God wears a human mask while
revealing God’s self to us in Jesus.
The playwright Oscar Wilde
once said that “man is
least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will
tell you the truth.”
***
That’s why people on
television shows, when revealing some dark secret, will often have their faces
blurred out on camera. I myself had to conceal my identity in court, once, when
I testified against an underboss of the Chinese mafia. That’s why I had to join
the witness protection program and move to Illinois. If you have any friends in
the Red Dragon Triad, you didn’t hear that from me.
I digress. My point is that
superheroes aren’t the only ones who wear masks. In Switzerland, for instance,
citizens of the town of Basel indulge in an annual three-day masquerade, a
party in which people don masks and take part in a wide variety of processions,
parades, and a good deal of uninhibited behavior. Safe behind their costumes,
these Swiss revelers are free to do things that they wouldn’t ordinarily do—and
as you might imagine, this can lead to some serious debauchery and questionable
moral standards.
The local branch of the
Salvation Army—a virtuous, God-fearing organization—became so concerned with
the things that were going on in Basel that one year, they rebelled against
this masquerade by posting signs all over town that simply read, “God sees behind the mask.”
God sees behind the mask. In
other words, while we can put on a disguise and disassociate our faces with who
we are deep down inside, God is not fooled. God sees behind the mask. God knows
who we are inside and out. God knows us. But I wonder—do we really know
ourselves?
***
In this scripture from the
Gospel of Luke, a righteous and devout man named Simeon encounters the
Christ-child within the Temple in Jerusalem, where Joseph and Mary have brought
him to be purified according to Jewish custom. Like the demons who would
recognize Jesus later in his life, this man Simeon takes one look at Jesus and
knows that He is the messiah. But after giving a predictable and— let’s face
it—derivative speech about how this child will become a light to the nations
and a bringer of salvation and so on and so forth, Simeon looks Mary in the eye
and says something rather strange.
"This child,” he tells her, “is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to
be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be
revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too."
What a striking image that
is. It’s visceral, even violent. A sword
will pierce your own soul, too. It has the ring of a warning, or even a
threat. Yet, for all of his uncompromising pacifism, that is exactly what Jesus
does. He pierces the soul—not with a sword, but with his words.
Consider for a moment the
human soul. The authors of scripture often describe their characters as being
“hard of heart,” which can actually be translated as having a calloused heart,
a soul that is encrusted in some kind of armor—a mask if you will, or at least
a facade that renders it’s inner nature invisible. Just imagine a deep fried
potato covered in a greasy, golden brown crust, and you’ll begin to get the
picture. You will also begin to get hungry.
As we live out our lives in
this world, stuff begins to accumulate on our hearts. I’m not talking about
cholesterol. I’m talking about all of our hopes and fears, the clothes we wear,
the careers we pursue, the things we want, the things we buy, the people we
meet, the music we listen to, the food we consume, the money we earn, the
houses we live in, the names we answer to. These are just a few of the things
that identify us as who we are. Very few of them, have anything to do with who we really are, way down inside.
They’re just the crust, the mask, the calloused surface of our souls.
As Oscar Wilde observed, a
mask on one’s face can allow a person to reveal the innermost truth; but the
mask we wear on our soul hides our
true nature, even from ourselves. This mask does more than simply conceal our
souls. It can also distort them beyond recognition.
There is an old episode of
the classic TV series The Twilight Zone
that illustrates this beautifully. In this episode, a dying man gathers four of
his relatives together on Mardis Gras to distribute the wealth of his vast
estate. Each of these relatives is thoroughly flawed. They display greedy,
narcissistic, self-centered, and brutish personalities. The only stipulation in
the dying man’s will is that each of them must wear a mask until the clock
strikes midnight. Now, each of these hideous masks has been crafted to portray
the wearer’s ugliest character flaw, and it is only the promise of wealth that
convinces them to keep the dreadful things on. When midnight rolls around and
they remove their masks, they discover to their horror that their faces have
actually conformed to the shape of the masks, leaving each them horribly
disfigured.
This crust on the human soul,
this innermost mask, threatens to do the same to every one of us. When the
stuff that it’s made of—the things we own, the jobs we work, etc. etc.—when
that stuff covers our souls to the point that our true selves are no longer accessible, our very souls have conformed
to the shape of that hideous crust of the Ego.
Jesus pierces the soul. He
reminds us all that there’s a spark of divinity buried deep within, like the
grain of sand that lies at the core of the pearl. With the sword of his
mouth—with his teaching—he shatters the mask and shows us what lies beneath.
***
To return to our earlier
discussion of masked superheroes, I have actually heard people describe Jesus
as a kind of superhero. He is, of course, of a higher caliber than
Angle-Grinder Man. It’s not an unreasonable comparison, as Jesus does possess
numerous superhero qualities. In particular, he has a lot in common with
Superman. They both wield superhuman powers, and they both use those powers to
fight evil and injustice. They’ve both demonstrated an ability to come back
from the dead. They both came to earth from somewhere far away, and they both
disguise themselves as ordinary human beings. Don’t we all disguise ourselves
as ordinary?
I once heard a monologue in
which the speaker distinguished Superman from other comic book heroes. He
pointed out that while most superheroes put on a mask and become something
greater than they have previously been, Superman does just the opposite.
Superman was born Superman, and disguises himself as Clark Kent. The speaker
points out, “Clark Kent is weak. He’s
unsure of himself. He’s a coward. Clark Kent is Superman’s critique of the
entire human race.”
Whereas other heroes put on a
mask and become something great, like Superman we put on our masks and become
something less. We define ourselves, not by the spark of divinity within, but
by the mask that conceals it. Hidden within the safety of these masks we dance
a tragic waltz, looking at one another, looking at ourselves, but never really
seeing what lies beneath.
What does lie beneath, exactly? I don’t know. I haven’t stripped enough
of the mask off myself to find out. I can hear faint echoes of something
beneath the person that I project to the world, even beneath the person I know
as me. Within that inner self dwells
all of my love and compassion, all of my most beautiful things—the Kingdom of
Heaven, as Jesus would say. As a new year dawns, I for one resolve to seek it
out, and I invite all of you to do the same. It may indeed take a year, or
five, or twenty to breach the core; but with Jesus as my guide, I hope to get a
little closer every day—for He pierces the soul.
Jesus tears the veil away,
and invites us to really see. He invites us to a better party, where masks are
put aside and we can be who we really are.
He invites us to this table. Come
as you are.
Amen.