"Imagine the Story"

“Imagine the Story”

Robert M. Thompson, Pastor

Corinth Reformed Church
150 Sixteenth Avenue NW
Hickory, North Carolina 28601

828.328.6196   corinthtoday.org

 (© 2011 by Robert M. Thompson.  Unless otherwise indicated, Scriptures quoted are from The Holy Bible, New International Version, Copyright 2011 by New York International Bible Society.)

Life is just one…thing after another.”  (Elbert Hubbard)

Luke 2:1-7

December 4, 2011

The Ignatian Way

There are moments in life which prompt us all to realize how little we know, and how wrong have been our presumptions about others.  I’m experiencing one of those moments this fall while reading and following a book about Ignatian spirituality. Six weeks ago I couldn’t have told you much about Ignatius.  Because he was a Catholic, I guess I presumed he wouldn’t have much to add to my devotional life.  I was wrong. 

Ignatius was the founder of the Roman Catholic Society of Jesus, the Jesuits.  He lived about five hundred years ago, about the same time as the Protestant reformers – Luther, Zwingli, and Calvin.  In fact, he was part of the “counter-Reformation,” the Catholic church’s attempt to reform itself from within in response to the Reformation.

Ignatius is teaching me how to read and pray the Bible in fresh ways. Protestants have rediscovered Ignatius in the last generation or so precisely because of his biblical focus and his quest for intimacy with Jesus.

Last week I introduced you to one of Ignatius’ exercises: meditative reading.  This week I want you to experience another: imaginative contemplation.  Once again, I’m going to ask you to turn to Luke 2:1-7 and read it silently.  As you do, your assignment is to use your imagination.  Visualize the story.  Become part of the journey Mary and Joseph took to Bethlehem.  Feel their feelings, think their thoughts, and listen to their conversation as you imagine it might have sounded.    

Along the way, listen to what God is saying to you.  Talk back to him.  Have a conversation with the Lord as you read again this familiar text.  Get in touch with your own emotions as you vicariously experience those of Joseph and Mary.  Let this text speak to you in the midst of whatever’s happening in your life.  Turn the printed words into heartfelt prayer through imaginative contemplation. 

Joseph and Mary

You might think that since Linda and I traveled to Israel in September this story is a little easier for me to imagine than it is for you.  You would be partially right.  I have a much better feel for the rolling hills of Galilee and the barren wilderness of Judea than I did three months ago.  But our tour bus necessarily rolled down modern highways, which is not exactly what Joseph and Mary traveled on.  And Nazareth and Bethlehem are hardly the sleepy towns they were two thousand years ago. 

Bethlehem, in fact, was our most difficult day as tourists.  The Palestinians control Bethlehem, and they were demonstrating for statehood on the day we went there.  Green and white flags, banners, chants, and a rally on the square made us feel conspicuous as Americans and insecure.  The streets near the Church of the Nativity were closed for the rallies and we had to walk about a mile to get to our destination.  My wife was particularly anxious about that walk.  She wanted us to turn back.  Inside I was churning while at the same time I was trying to maintain an outer demeanor of calm.  “It’ll be fine,” I said, as convincingly as I could.

Perhaps this is exactly the kind of imagination I need to bring to Luke 2.  Pastor Paul pointed out to me this week that nowhere in the Gospels do we have a single quote attributed to Joseph, the husband of Mary.  Not one. We know his actions.  And on a couple of occasions we are told what he was thinking (for example, he at first intended to divorce Mary quietly when he found out she was pregnant without his “help”), but we have no idea what words he spoke on this or any other occasion.

Still, we know that Joseph was a just man who was willing to take the middle road.  He wouldn’t have his wife stoned but he wouldn’t marry her since she pregnant by who knows who.  He wasn’t naïve enough to believe the whole Gabriel story about a virgin birth when first told about it.  Joseph was resolute that the right thing to do was a quiet divorce, until the angel appeared to him.  Then he was ready to do the right thing.  My view of Joseph is that he was a deep thinker of few words, a man who weighed options carefully and acted decisively when it was time. 

We do know enough about Mary through her words and actions that someone has typed Mary on the Myers Briggs as an INFP.  If they’re right, that would mean Mary was quiet, reflective, and idealistic.  She had a servant heart and was extremely loyal.  Most of the time she was adaptable and laid-back, but in the midst of a crisis she might step up and seek to take control.  She was quick mentally and able to find possibilities in the midst of problems.

Perhaps that’s enough background to help us imagine together Luke 2:1-7, the journey to Bethlehem, which means, “House of Bread.”

Journey

I would imagine that Joseph did not welcome the news about the decree of Caesar Augustus.  Not that anyone did, really.  It wasn’t just the inconvenience – shuttering his carpenter’s shop, securing his home and belongings in Nazareth since there would also be people coming to the town as well as leaving it, deciding what provisions would be needed, and realizing that the whole purpose of the census was for taxation.  All of that would have been enough to resent the decree.

But why now?  Mary was advanced in her pregnancy, and the rumor mill had run its course.  They had a legal marriage contract, but had not consummated the marriage.  They were married, but not really.  That was nobody else’s business, though people always try to make things their business that aren’t their business.  Mary had handled all this was an amazing security for a teenage bride, and they were making preparations for welcoming the baby into their home.

Now this.  Mary wasn’t required to register as a female, but Joseph still felt conflicted between three unattractive options.  He could skip the census altogether.  Maybe he wouldn’t get caught.  But he was a just man, and didn’t like the legal or spiritual possibilities of being a lawbreaker.

He could leave Mary in Nazareth – leave her to the gossip mill, leave her in a situation where she would have to go out in public more often and field the questions or overhear the whispers, leave her with the possibility that the baby would be born while he was away. 

Or he could take her with him, late pregnancy and all, and likely deliver the baby in someone’s guest room with a midwife she never met in a town that might as well be Alexandria for its unfamiliar feel.  Hopefully not as many people in Bethlehem would know about the prenuptial pregnancy.

That’s the option they chose, and the two of them gathered the belongings they knew they’d need – not only for a quick trip there and back but for an extended stay with a new baby.  Joseph brought out the cart he used to deliver finished products from his carpenter’s shop.  He walked into the shop freshly aware of the smell of wood shavings and sawdust – it was like perfume to his nostrils, and he would miss it – and loaded it up with his tools since he’d still need to make a living.  He gathered some bedding, water pots and wood scraps for fires.  Mary emptied the pantry of cheese, dates, and bread and also bagged their clothes, including some cloth strips she had set aside to swaddle the newborn.

The conversation in the village during those days of preparation ran the gamut from those who were excited about the adventure to those who were terrified of bandits and packed swords and spears under their tents and blankets.  Much buying and selling took place so they would have some cash to pay the tax collector and buy food and supplies.  Men compared notes on everything from whether the kids were going to which route was shortest or safest.  Some families headed in the same direction agreed to travel together.

Joseph and Mary’s journey would be about 80 miles, traveling first through fertile Galilean fields to the east side of the Jordan River to avoid Samaria, then back across the river at Jericho up the notoriously dangerous path to Jerusalem, continuing on through the barren Judean hills to Bethlehem, about five miles south of Jerusalem.  They would travel about 10-15 miles a day, meaning up to a week on the road and seven nights of finding somewhere to sleep.

Two introverts traveling together are perfectly happy with long periods of silence, processing their thoughts.  I suspect that Mary, though mostly reflective, occasionally voiced her questions if not her fears.  “Are you sure we took the right fork?  This doesn’t feel like a safe neighborhood. Do you think we’ll be able to find a place to stay in Bethlehem?  I’m not sure I completely put out the fire at home.  Do you think the donkey needs a rest?”

Joseph was thinking all the same questions, feeling the same apprehensions.  But he wanted to be the strong one, so all he could say was, “It will be fine” as convincingly as he could.  I don’t know if he was irritable or not, but having been in inconvenient and unpredictable situations, I can be vicariously irritable enough for the both of us.  Where does faith come in when you think you’re doing the right thing but the circumstances aren’t very conducive?

Arriving in Bethlehem was the counterpoint to leaving Nazareth.  Arrivals instead of departures.  Setting up house instead of vacating it.  Happy reunions instead of tearful goodbyes.  But everywhere there was chaos.  Everywhere there were crowds.  Nowhere was there an inside bed that wasn’t spoken for.  One gracious innkeeper offered the cave where he sheltered and fed the animals.

Grateful for a roof over their head and some privacy, the tired couple ignored the barnyard scents and cleared a place in the straw for their blankets.  The fire would have to be outside, given the combustibility of straw and manure.  The animals seemed surprised to share their space, but continued their munching and mooing and swishing of tails.  By morning there would be another sound in the stable orchestra – the cry of a newborn that followed the agony of labor and delivery such as lower creatures seem not to feel.  God the Son was wrapped in swaddling clothes.  In the words of a song sung by the Hickory Choral Society last night, “The God of love in Mary’s arms.”

Listening to God

It’s not enough just to imagine the story.  Our task when we read the Scripture is to listen to the Spirit, to pay attention to the Father, to engage a running dialogue with Jesus.  “Lord, how would you speak to my life as I hear ponder these scenes?”

One after another.  I think Joseph would have agreed with Elbert Hubbard, the American writer and artist who said, “Life is just one d____ thing after another.”  Sure enough, Hubbard had the misfortune of being aboard the American passenger ship Lusitania that was torpedoed by the Germans early in World War I. 

Here’s the principle the Lord reminds me of.  Sometimes when things happen one after another, we convince ourselves that we’re on the wrong path.  We must be doing something wrong.  Maybe, but not necessarily.  Think of Joseph.  He prays for a bride and finds himself engaged to the sweetest girl in Nazareth.  He acts honorably to her, but finds out she’s pregnant.  He gets over that with the help of an angel, and then Caesar wants to take a census.  They make the trip down to Bethlehem, but there’s no room in the inn and his baby is born in a stable cave.  A few months later wise men show up with gifts, but then he has to run to Egypt for safety.  Life is just one d_____ thing after another, but that doesn’t mean you’re doing the wrong thing.

Obstacles are not the test of good decisions.  Obstacles are just obstacles.  God will sometimes use them to redirect you, and sometimes just to refine you.

What’s good for you.  Do you realize how much of our time we invest in trying to make life easier?  To make things more convenient so we’ll be less frustrated?  How’s that working for you?

Take the Internet.  It’s so helpful when it works.  But when the Charter line is accidentally cut by construction at 11:45 on a Saturday morning (might I be talking about yesterday?) you realize how much you’ve come to count on a convenience that you can’t count on.

This imagination journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem is good for me to remember when I complain about life’s inconveniences.  As I walk along with Joseph and his pregnant bride enduring risks, stares, and whispers on their week long camping trip toward Bethlehem, my inconveniences seem trivial.

       Bread of Life.  I am grateful to my Bible study groups this week for their imaginative contemplation on this text.  One of their insights was that the name Bethlehem means “house of bread.”  Jesus was laid in a manger, the feeding trough for sheep and oxen.

This story reminds me powerfully that the sustenance I need is in the One who stepped into our world to share our humanity.  Intimacy with him is, in fact, my only real need.  The God of love in Mary’s arms became one of us that he might be with us.  St. Ignatius teaches me that what I need most is to be with him.  He is the bread of life.  Amen.