Sermon121105
Richard Underdahl-Peirce
“ENCOUNTERING THE POWER”
Isaiah 61:1-4; Philippians 2:5-11
Our two Scripture readings set the theme for the third Sunday of Advent. In Isaiah we hear the promise of God intervening in a hurting world to bring comfort and hope, to bring good news to the oppressed, the brokenhearted, liberty to the captives. Our second Scripture reading, in Paul’s letter to the Philippian church, says that God has done this, but in a very surprising way- through God in Jesus Christ coming in a humble way, even willing to die on a cross.
This raises an interesting question: why should God come into the world in such a weak, powerless way? Why come as a tiny baby, and then live in such a humble, weak way, even to the point of death? And what would the world be like without Christmas?
A movie that opened this past weekend, The Chronicles of Narnia, actually explores these questions, telling of a world where Christmas was banned, covered in a winter of fear and hopelessness. The movie is the first of a children’s fantasy series, written by C.S. Lewis, this one called “The lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe.” Lewis was an Oxford professor of medieval Literature, who became a Christian in part through the influence of his friend and colleague Tolkien, author of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Tolkien convinced Lewis, who loved the literary genre of myth – and myth in literature simply means a story that points to a larger or deeper meaning about life – that in this case the myth of Christianity, of God coming into the world through Jesus Christ, is a myth that happens to be true. Lewis wrote a number of influential books on Christian thinking, from “Mere Christianity” to “The Problem of Pain” to “Surprised by Joy.” But in 1948 Lewis returned to his love of myth, or of stories that are parables that point us to larger truths, and he began writing a series of children’s books that can be read on one level as exciting adventures with moral lessons, but that also have basic Christian truths imbedded in the stories. In particular the somewhat mysterious hero in the series is a great lion, Aslan, who clearly is a Christ figure.
In the story of the first book, that is followed in the movie, the four children in the Pevensie family are sent to the countryside to stay with an elderly professor while the blitzkrieg rages in wartime London. First Lucy, then the others, discover an old wardrobe that leads into a magical kingdom called Narnia, populated by dwarfs, fauns and talking beasts that now is under the wintry spell of an evil queen witch, whose hold over the land is broken only the arrival of the four children, and by the great lion named Aslan.
The story can be seen as a parable about good and evil, of the temptation and abuse of power, and of the kind of power that can heal and cleanse. It’s about the love of power, and the power of love. You know, power is a strange force. There is the familiar saying that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. And there is the definite tendency that the longer a person has power the more likely he or she will begin to abuse it. On the other hand, powerlessness is even more destructive – for then you don’t have a choice for good or evil, and the feeling of helplessness can be just as corrupting as the feeling of absolute power. There is a core basic theme of the Christian faith that deals with power, especially the choice between the love of power and the power of love. And that is also the theme of the Chronicles of Narnia – two kinds of power battling for the control of Narnia and its people. Let’s look at these two kinds of power.
First is the love of power. Ronald Levy, a first grader in Philadelphia, was told to come directly home from school, but he arrived late almost every day. He often took almost 20 minutes longer to come home than to walk to school. His mother asked him, “You get out of school the same time every day. Why can’t you get home at the same time?” And he replied, “It depends on the cars.” What do cars have to do with it?” The youngster explained, “The patrol boy who takes us across the street makes us wait until some cars come along, so that he can stop them.”
The story of Christmas tells of paranoid king Herod, willing to massacre children in order to protect his power. And Joseph and Mary had to fight another kind of power, of peer pressure, what society might think when Mary became pregnant before she was supposed to. They evidently managed to be away from home much of her pregnancy, perhaps to avoid the attitudes and comments of others.
In Narnia the witch loved power for its own sake, and anyone who displeased her or who she thought was a threat, she turned into stone. The boy Edmund turned out to be an easy conquest for the witch. He had an older brother and sister and felt lost in the shuffle, feeling powerless. Only Lucy was younger and smaller than he, and so he tried to boss her around and get her into trouble. Someone has said that the lust for power is rooted in weakness. Edmund felt weak, and so when he was tempted by the witch to be made a king and be boss over this brother and sisters, he succumbed to the temptation. The witch also tempted him by his love for candy, for Turkish delights – but that is getting a little too close to home for me, so I won’t talk about that one!
Aslan, and Jesus, represent a different kind of power, a healthier version. The word “power” has as its Latin root “posse,” to be able. It means ability to act, to do something. It is a necessary force in ones life, but it also gives freedom, the freedom to choose unhealthy or healthy decisions and actions. Traditional societies often have two words for power: mana and taboo. Mana is the power which creates, and taboo points to the power that destroys. In the story of Narnia, Aslan shows us the power of love, creative, life-giving power, in action.
Now Aslan is not a nice, bland kind of loving stuffed animal or pet. Listen to how the children described their feelings when they first heard of Aslan: “Perhaps it has sometimes happened to you in a dream that someone says something you don’t understand, but in the dream it feels as if it had some enormous meaning- either a terrifying one, which turns the whole dream into a nightmare, or else a lovely meaning – too lovely to put into words, which makes the dream so beautiful that you remember it all your life and are always wishing you could get into that dream again. It was like that now. At the name of Aslan each one of the children felt something jump inside. Edmund felt a sensation of mysterious horror. Peter felt suddenly brave and adventurous. Susan felt as if some delicious smell or delightful strain of music had just floated by her. And Lucy got the feeling you have when you wake up in the morning and realize that is the beginning of the holidays or the beginning of summer.” (p.64-65)
Later the children have a conversation with Mr. Beaver about Aslan. “Aslan?” Mr. Beaver says. “He’s the King. The Lord of the whole Wood…and the son of the great Emperor-beyond-the-Sea…If there is anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.” Then He isn’t safe?” asked Lucy. “Safe?” said Mr. Beaver…”Of course he isn’t safe. But he’s good…He’s wild, you know. Not like a tame lion.”
Power is never safe or tame, even the power of love. But it’s good. And that’s what counts. How we control the destructive uses of power, which come out of pride, or the addiction to power, or more often comes out of our own insecurities and fears, is crucial to our lives and faith. And how we build up the power of love becomes the antidote. All our relationships with others are shaped by these two forces of power.
So how do we apply all this to our own lives? First, as Advent reminds us, be on the watch. Be on the watch both for the power of love that comes into our lives, and for the things that might hook us, or make us fearful, or mistrustful or bitter.
Second, seek the opposite of the need to control. Build up a love that invites, welcomes, that enables us to be freer to make healthy choices. But beware that the path of love has a price, which the love of power does everything it can to avoid. To love, by definition, means to be vulnerable – it means that we don’t coerce our values and feelings on to others. And the story of Aslan – and the heart of Christian Faith – reminds us of this. In the story of Aslan the boy Edmund, because he had been a traitor to his family and friends, is required, by ancient law, to be sacrificed on an altar, to be killed for his sins. And mighty Aslan must adhere to that ancient law. But then Aslan reminds the wicked queen that there is an even older law, or deeper magic, perhaps coming out of the very fabric of the universe, from before the dawn of time, in which a person may give himself or herself as a sacrifice in place of the person deserving the punishment. And so Aslan makes the ultimate sacrifice of love, even as Jesus Christ made the ultimate sacrifice on the cross for us.
It is sometimes in the depths of despair, when life has fallen apart, that God leads us to a deeper strength and love at the very core of our souls. Lewis writes: “I hope no one who reads this book has been quite as miserable as Susan and Lucy were that night, but if you have been – if you’ve been up al night and cried till you have no more tears left in you – you will know that there comes in the end a sort of quietness. You feel as if nothing was ever going to happen again.” (p.155)
One of the lessons of love seems to be that sometimes there must be sacrifice and loss before you can pass through to the healing, and to the resurrection power of love. Out of that love flows a power than can change people’s lives, as the story shows when Aslan is resurrected and leads his side to victory in a great battle with evil. In the Christian faith the story may begin with Christmas, and then it moves on to the Cross, but it ends with the Resurrection, the power of love ultimately winning against the love of power!
The story of Jesus Christ, and the story of The Chronicles of Narnia, is that there is a force powerful enough to give us the strength and guidance we need in life – the power of love. And our calling is to respond to that love, and let it lead wherever it will. I have often used the phrase “let go, and let God.” My daughter likes another version of it – “Let go and let love.” And this, ultimately, is the only real power that leads to healing and reconciliation in our lives and relationships. Amen
