Sam Bush, “When Jesus Failed the Duck Test”
Earlier this morning was the Christ Church Christmas Pageant. And, let me tell you, it is quite a production. 105 children dressed as cows, camels, sheep, shepherds, a flamingo, even a Christmas dragon (we’re obviously taking some artistic liberties), all to tell us the good news of Christmas. Awards season is coming up and I believe that our Children’s Minister Jane Grizzle deserves a Tony Award or at least a raise.
But what makes the pageant such an affecting production is not the quality of the costumes or the caliber of the acting. Critiquing the performance would miss the point. You may remember the scene in The Royal Tenenbaums where Royal, the narcissistic, disgruntled father, attends his daughter Margot’s play on the night of her eleventh birthday. When his son asks him what he thought he says, “It wasn’t very believable.” When his son wonders if, at least, he thought the characters were well-developed, he says “What characters? It was just a bunch of little kids dressed up in animal costumes.” It’s no surprise that, as the birthday cake is being brought out and everyone starts singing, Margot exits stage left.
No, the power of the pageant is not in the strength of its performance but in its weakness. Not the weakness of the children, but the weakness of God. Let me explain. Today’s gospel reading is not the story of the baby Jesus in swaddling clothes, but the story of the prophet John in jail which is a great way to suck the air out of the room before the kids take the stage.
John is in a predicament. He was appointed by God to prepare the way for the Messiah who would right every wrong and shine a light into the darkness of the world. John pulled no punches. He dressed down the religious authorities for their self-righteousness and the political leaders for their corruption. And where does it get him? It gets him in jail.
From his jail cell, he hears that, meanwhile, Jesus, the so-called Messiah, is breaking character. He’s dining with the riff-raff, partying with prostitutes. Instead of condemning the tax collectors, he appoints them his disciples. Instead of challenging the Roman authority, he tells the Jews to pray for their persecutors. John hears this and says, “This does not sound like the Jesus I know.” So John boldly asks him, “Are you the one who is to come or are we to wait for another?”
Jesus is failing what’s called the duck test, that if it looks, sounds and acts like the Messiah, then it’s probably the Messiah. John is saying, “If you’re the Messiah, why don’t you act like it? What happened to bringing justice to the nations?”
John represents each of us when we are inevitably blindsided by our lives not going the way we thought they would go. Everything may be going according to plan in your life - and I hope it does in our pageant - but I would guess that something has knocked your plans off-course: a diagnosis, a divorce, a loss, a layover. When this happens, it’s enough to make us question everything including God. John is saying, “I thought you had my back! I thought we were in this together!” Can you relate? What kind of prison are you in right now?
The shock to John’s system is that God’s saving power does not come through strength, but weakness. Jesus says, “Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one is greater than John the Baptist.” In other words, if life is a game, John wins and it’s not even close. He’s not perfect, but he’s a lot better than the rest of you. But then Jesus adds something: “Yet, the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.” Who’s he talking about? I’ll just tell you: he’s talking about himself.
The God of the universe comes to us not as a mighty king but as a little child. God miserably fails our God test. Martin Luther once said, “If I had come to Bethlehem and seen it, I would have said: ‘This does not make sense. Can this be the Messiah? This is sheer nonsense.’ I would not have let myself be found inside the stable.” But God reveals himself not through glory, but through grace. From the cradle to the Cross, the throughline of Jesus Christ is not being the best but the least. This is how God often works in our lives, not in monumental moments, but a still small voice.
Your daily life is likely shaped by small scenes. In a recent interview, Jerry Seinfeld scoffed at parents striving to spend quality time with their children when the most special occasion is what he calls garbage time: “When nothing’s happening and it’s 11:30 and one of your kids says ‘You wanna have cereal?’ and you’re just sitting there. You’re not even talking.” It turns out the holiest moments of our lives are found in the mundane. The signs of the kingdom are hidden in weakness.
We often expect to experience God in a fireworks display, but it’s often more akin to a light that Frederick Buechner said is, “as random and elusive as the lights of cars winding up the long hill [on a winter] night.” He says, “It is not a great light we have seen but only a small light,” one that foretells a greater light that we have yet to see. And yet that little light is enough.
A friend of mine told me when he first joined a recovery group, he was given the phone number of a sponsor to call even though they hadn’t met. And, in a moment of weakness, he calls this guy late at night and the sponsor picks up. They talk for two hours. My friend said he can’t remember anything this man said except for two words: “Me too.” He says that conversation saved his life.
It brings to mind Isaiah’s prophesy: “The virgin shall become pregnant and give birth to a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means, ‘God is with us.’” You see, the good news of Christmas is that God entered into our captivity. In Jesus Christ, God sees you in your loneliness, your grief, your disappointment, your dashed hopes and cancelled plans and says, “Me too. I’m with you. You are not alone.”
This truth was made evident in Eli Tan’s recent New York Times article entitled “The Best Baseball Team Behind Bars” which highlights the story of the men of San Quentin, California’s most notorious prison. Unlike John the Baptist, these men are presumably behind bars for good reason. But within these walls is a highly competitive baseball team which recently opened its doors to other teams from around the country to play.
Eli Tan explains that San Quentin’s warden “believes that baseball can be just as rehabilitative as state-mandated therapy sessions or vocational training,” that the camaraderie and joy that comes from playing actually gives them the feeling of being free again. Carrington Russelle, one of the team captains, has a series of scriptures from the Book of Romans that summarizes God’s plan for redemption: of sin and its consequences as well as of God’s grace and the assurance of salvation.
Tan writes, “But he realized redemption for his mistakes was more complicated than the wins and losses on a baseball field. After decades spent in prison for crimes that could never be undone, to victims that would never be the same, what did it mean to be redeemed?” “We caused tremendous harm, and we were rightly sentenced for our actions,” Russelle said. “Now we’re here, wanting to account for what we did.”
Now, you’re not in jail (obviously), but that doesn’t mean you can’t relate. How do you account for what you’ve done? Where is there hope in the prison of your own life? Your ultimate hope is that God became your bunkmate. He was wrongly accused, but willingly convicted in order to be with you. And he did, in fact, set you free from the prisons of sin and death by being bound and punished and put to death on your behalf. Through his weakness, your sins have been accounted for.
This morning, we witnessed the story of how the God of the universe saved the world. It is not the hero story any of us would have written. In that sense, it is not very believable. And it may very well have looked like a bunch of little kids dressed up in animal costumes. But don’t be mistaken: this is not a children’s play. It is the story of our salvation. Of a baby who was born to die so that you might live. Of a mighty God who made Himself weak for you.
Amen.
