The Raven Foundation

Ever since Prince William and Kate announced their engagement last week, Kate’s blue dress has been flying off the racks at British retailer Harvey Nichols.  The Issa London dress became an instant sensation.  Averyl Oats, buying director at Harvey Nichols, claims that “Since the announcement of the royal engagement we have been inundated with requests regarding Issa.”

What could possibly explain a sudden demand for a dress that CBS online describes as “understated”?

The best explanation is René Girard’s mimetic theory.  Girard claims that humans imitate the desires of one another.  We imitate the desire for “stuff,” such as an “understated” blue dress, a high end car, and wealth, but we also imitate the desire for transcendent qualities, such as fame, popularity, power, and prestige.  We tend to think that those who possess that kind of “stuff” or those transcendent qualities also possess the fullness of life we associate with their owners.

People generally react to mimetic theory in two ways.  First, many think it is obvious and simple.  Indeed, as Matt Malone claims in his fascinating article exploring Middleton’s dress and mimetic theory, “the basic gist of the theory can be grasped by any ten-year-old, let alone the frenetic adults who were shaking down the racks at Herrod’s last week.”

Still, others have a different reaction to the theory.  Western culture tends to honor autonomy.  We are told to “Be your own man/woman!”  But here’s the catch, someone must first tell us to be our own man or our own woman before we can claim to be our own man or our own woman.  Even here the desire to be our “own” person is given to us by someone who has told us to “be your own person.”

A certain sense of freedom is important, but human freedom is finite.  Freedom, ironically, comes when we accept that human freedom is limited.  Our desires are not autonomous, but are bound to our cultural models.  Kate Middleton, as Princess Diana before her, is now one of Western cultures greatest models.  And yet, even she is not “free,” for she is also bound to the mercurial desires of fashion culture.  Intentionally or not, Kate has entered the game of desire.  Directing our desires to an “understated blue dress” has given her some prestige in this game.  But she is now bound to cultural views of fashion.  So, what will happen when the cameras catch her making a fashion faux pas? 

Unfortunately, we will likely turn on her.  She will be relegated to the inner pages of Us Weekly’s fashion police.  Which leads us to scapegoating, the second aspect of mimetic theory.  But, that’s another blog.

I’d like to begin this discussion with a passage from the Gospel of Mark 9:33-35.

Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?”  But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest.  He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” 

We shouldn’t be too harsh on the disciples; we all share the desire to be the greatest.  Indeed, the disciples were caught up in a mimetic desire as they imitated each others’ desire to be the greatest disciple.  Mimetic desire is very human.  We all want to be recognized; we like the feeling of prestige and power that comes with being the greatest at something.   And, like the disciples, we easily get caught up in a competition to be the best, which, of course, means defeating our opponents.  Our identity is then dependent on being over and against another.

But Jesus reveals the desire to be the greatest for what it is: a false desire.  At least, it’s a false desire when it comes to the way of Jesus.  The desire to be the greatest distracts us from what discipleship is all about.  Discipleship is not about being great; it’s about service.

Service, of course, is part of Christianity’s greatness.  But there’s the trap.  We can even make service into a competition by asking “Who’s the greatest servant?” 

Once one begins to understand mimetic theory, one realizes that a significant part of what makes Christianity great is the revelation of the scapegoat mechanism.  It could be that no other religion reveals the innocence of the scapegoat quite like Christianity does.  

Even if that is true, to claim that “Christianity is the greatest religion because it reveals the scapegoat mechanism” is a trap.  It’s a trap because it allows us to accuse other religions of being inferior, false, or specious.  This creates a mimetic rivalry with people of other religions as we each create an identity over and against one another. 

And, thus, two thousand years later, the followers of Christ continue to be distracted by asking false questions about greatness that lead to false statements about greatness that only lead to the trap of mimetic rivalry.

Still, we hear the words of Jesus in the background, inviting us to renounce our mimetic desires and rivalries to be the greatest, even our mimetic desires to be followers of the greatest religion, and to center our lives on the desires of discipleship: “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.”   

Isaiah 65:17-25

Psalm 98

Luke 21:5-9

During the first half of the 20^th century, there was a major German theologian.  He was brilliant and his books, especially those on the great reformer Martin Luther, remain influential.  As a man, he was well respected and well liked by his colleagues and his students.  He was gracious to his friends and his foes.  He was known for being a mediator.  He didn’t like the theological or political extremes and he avoided making radical statements.

His name was Paul Althaus.   Althaus was described by his colleagues as having “no character defects … he [exhibited] … a warm and humane personality.  He was the perfect gentleman, friend and teacher.”[1]

We tend to value moderation and especially as we look upon the present American political climate, we can appreciate Althaus’s spirit of moderation.

But, moderation is relative to any culture.  You see, by mediating between the extremes of his theological and political cultural context, Althaus gave his support to Adolf Hitler and the Nazi regime. 

You and I, of course, can easily judge this not as moderation, but as extremely reprehensible.  Still, Althaus and his colleagues saw him as a moderate, and according to his cultural context, in many ways he was.  He critiqued some Nazi practices, but overall he was pleased with the political climate.  Some theologians within Germany even thought Hitler would deliver the Kingdom of God.  This sentiment was too extreme for Althaus, but he associated Hitler’s rise to power in 1933 with a religious sentiment.  For Hitler gave the German people “a sense of unity, of calling, of obedience and of profound meaning in life, all of which are religious in nature.”[2]

Reflecting on the events of 1933, Althaus gave voice to what many religious people thought. He claimed, “Our … churches have greeted the turning point of 1933 as a gift and miracle of God … So we take the turning point of this year as grace from God’s hand.  He has saved us from the abyss and out of hopelessness.  He has given us – or so we hope – a new day of life.”[3]

Althaus’s primary concern was not to support Hitler, but to support the German Volk.  Volk meant more than just German people; Volk included the German nation, history, spirituality, citizenry, and nationality.  It had a transcendent, mysterious, and even religious aspect to it.  Althaus believed that God created the Volk, God was on the side of the Volk, that the Volk was holy, and thus one’s ultimate obligation was to the Volk.  Yet, from about 1918 to 1930 the Volk suffered.  It was politically unorganized, it was split into factions, each blaming the other for their economic, political, and spiritual problems.[4]  In this cultural climate, Althaus believed the success and unity of the Volk was what really mattered, and the Volk needed a strong and successful leader.  Now they had one, who, according to the moderate Althaus, was a gift from God.  Hitler gave meaning, purpose, and hope to the Volk.[5]  Hitler relished in the religious fervor surrounding him.  He took on a messiah-like quality.  During this time of factions and blaming within the Volk, Hitler’s leadership provided the path to unity by finding a scapegoat: the Jewish people.  The German Volk needed to know who was in and who was out of the Volk.  Hitler, in his messianic leadership, told them who was in and who was out - and Jewish people were out; he claimed they were less than Volk.  And the moderate Althaus saw the beneficial effects of finding a common enemy. Always wanting unity for the Volk, up until his death in 1966, he never officially supported, and never officially denounced, the horrific atrocities the Nazis committed against the Jewish people.

But we can.  Because in the background of this history, the apocalyptic words of Jesus ring in our ears. Our New Testament reading this morning from Luke provides us with an example. Jesus says, “Beware that you are not led astray; for many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and, ‘The time is near!’  Do not go after them.”

Luke, as many of you know, wrote after the Jewish revolt against Rome during the years of 66-70 AD.  There were people who claimed to be a new Messiah during this time and they tried to lead the Jewish people in a revolt against Roman occupation.  That revolt failed and the Romans destroyed Jerusalem and the Temple.  Reflecting upon this event, Luke could have had Jesus say, “We will get those Romans.  We will get our revenge!  For God is on our side!”  But Luke didn’t write that.  Instead, Luke quoted Jesus as saying that it will get worse, “Nation will rise against nation, kingdom against kingdom … they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over … and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name.  This will give you the opportunity to testify … You will be betrayed … and they will put some of you to death …  By your endurance, you will gain your souls.”

I want you to notice a few things about this.  Jesus is no Pollyanna.  He doesn’t say, “Follow me and everything is going to be just great.”  This is not a call to an easy way of life.  No, this is demanding, hard, and risky.  When faced with persecution, Jesus says that you may suffer, but this is an opportunity to testify and endure.  Jesus never says that the faithful would escape persecution and be miraculously raptured up to heaven.  The Gospel is not about escaping but persevering.  And the weapons that Jesus provides for his followers were not the weapons of Rome.  Rather, Jesus says in our passage, “I will give you words and wisdom.” As we’ve seen in the book of Revelation, the symbolic weapon of God is the sword that comes from the mouth, in other words, testimony.  In his commentary on this difficult apocalyptic passage, New Testament scholar Allen Culpepper claims that for Luke, and for Jesus, those words of testimony were to “create community, oppose injustice, work for peace, and make a place for the excluded … [to dare] to live out Jesus’ call for a community that transcends social barriers, that cares for its least privileged, and that confronts abuses of power.”[6]

In the book of Acts, Luke tells us that the followers of Jesus were persecuted for doing just that.  And we see that throughout human history when some confront abuses of power in an attempt to include those who are excluded, they will often find themselves becoming excluded and persecuted.

That is exactly what happened to another German theologian of the early 20^th century.  Rather than being a mediator, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a radical.  He knew that his culture demanded a divided loyalty.  Indeed, this was an apocalyptic moment in world history.  Hitler came, saying, “I am he!” Jesus warned us about just such a person, but Althaus, like many German Christians, wanted both Hitler and Christ. But Bonhoeffer knew the way of Hitler was incompatible with the way of Christ.  Like the early Christians had to choose between Caesar and Christ, Bonhoeffer knew that his 20^th century Germans had to choose between Hitler and Christ.  There could be no middle ground; there was no room for moderation.

Throughout his life, Bonhoeffer asked this fundamental question, “Who is Christ for us today?” The question was paramount because many Christians had hijacked the religion based on Christ.  Under Hitler, Christianity was no longer centered on Christ; it was centered on hate.  As one theologian and Bonheoffer scholar states, Bonhoeffer “believed that the Third Reich, the new thousand years of Aryan domination of the world, was an enemy of Jesus Christ and all that the gospel stood for.  Hitler preached hatred, while the message of Christ was love and reconciliation.”[7] 

But there was no room for love and reconciliation in Nazi Germany for the Jewish people.  Racist Nazi laws defined the Jewish people as less than Volk; indeed, as less than human.  This, as we know, led to the most horrific genocide the world has known.  And it was supported by many religious people.

If this is what religion does, Bonhoeffer asserted, then the world needed a “religionless Christianity.” Rather than emphasizing “religion” Christianity should emphasize the God revealed through Christ.  A Christ centered Christianity has nothing to do with a religion that devalues human beings and makes them into victims.  Rather, as we’ve seen in our passage from Luke, a Christ centered Christianity means that Christians would confront abuses of power and stand with the victims of political regimes.  Bonhoeffer wrote that Christians, and the church, are obliged to do just that.  He wrote, “In the first place, [the church] can ask the state whether its actions are legitimate and in accordance with its character as state, [in other words] [the church] can throw the state back on its responsibilities.  Secondly, [the church] can aid the victims of state action.  The church has an unconditional obligation to the victims of any ordering of society, even if they do not belong to the Christian community.  The third possibility is not just to bandage the victims under the wheel, but to put a spoke in the wheel itself.”[8]    

It was this unconditional obligation to the victims that led Bonhoeffer to stand with the Jewish people, and yet he didn’t want to create further victims.  For most of his life, he took a non-violent stance against Hitler.  In his most influential book, The Cost of Discipleship, Bonhoeffer had to have had Hitler in mind when her wrote that when Jesus says, “love your enemies”, “Jesus means those who are quite intractable and utterly unresponsive to our love, who forgive us nothing when we forgive them all, who requite our love with hatred and our service with derision … Love asks nothing in return, but seeks those who need it.  And who needs it more than those who are consumed with hatred and are utterly devoid of love.”[9]

And, yet, we know that Bonhoeffer participated in a plot to kill his enemy, Hitler.  He took no pleasure in that plot.  He didn’t see it as the will of God.  It is a false religion that supports killing another person in the name of God.  Bonhoeffer’s reasons for participating in the plot to kill Hitler primarily had to do with guilt and responsibility; the modern German theologian Renate Wind states that Bonhoeffer “faced the question[:] which was the greater guilt, that of tolerating the Hitler dictatorship or that of removing it.  In particular,” Bonhoeffer believed that “anyone who was not ready to kill Hitler was guilty of mass murder.”[10] And yet, Wind claims that Bonhoeffer “left no doubt that any use of force is and remains guilt.”[11]

Human violence and the age old human religion that pits “us against them” put Bonhoeffer in a lose-lose situation.  There were no good choices.  He now felt the most responsible choice was to use violence.  But he took responsibility for it.  He never projected that violence upon the God revealed in Christ.  So, as a man of integrity, before he plotted to kill Hitler, Bonhoeffer officially and deliberately left the church of Christ.[12] 

The plot to kill Hitler failed and Bonhoeffer was imprisoned.  While in prison, he wrote letters to his friends.  In one of those letters he reflected upon his life and upon his own sense of responsibility and of guilt.  He wrote that the only hope we have amidst “life’s duties, problems … experiences and perplexities” is to “throw ourselves completely into the arms of God.”

Near the end of that letter Bonhoeffer gave this blessing to his friend, “May God in his mercy lead us through these times; but above all, may he lead us to himself.”[13] 

Despite his own experience of persecution and the horrors surrounding him, Bonhoeffer lived and died believing in the God revealed through Christ.  Bonhoeffer was executed just a few weeks before World War II ended.  His last words were, “This is the end.  For me, the beginning of life.”[14] You see, for Bonhoeffer, a Christ centered Christianity meant that not even death can separate us from the love of God[15] and from the arms of God’s merciful embrace.  This is what the Christian understanding of resurrection is all about.  For Christ reveals that God eternally embraces the whole world in God’s merciful, forgiving, and loving arms. 

So, like Dietrich Bonheoffer, in life and in death, may we also throw ourselves into the merciful, forgiving, and loving arms of God.

Amen. 

[1] Robert P. Ericksen, Theologians Under Hitler, (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1985) 79.

[2] Ericksen, 85.

[3] Ericksen, 85.

[4] Erik Metaxas, Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Prophet, Martyr, Spy (Dallas: Thomas Nelson, 2010) 144.

[5] Ericksen, 103.

[6] Alan Culpepper, Luke, New Interpreter’s Bible, () 402-403.

[7] 117.

[8] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, No Rusty Swords, 221.  Quoted from Renate Wind, Dietrich Bonhoeffer: A Spoke in the Wheel, (Gran Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 2002) 69. 

[9] Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship, 148.

[10] Wind, Dietrich, 144.

[11] Wind, Dietrich, 144.

[12] Wind, Dietrich, 144.

[13] Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers From Prison (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1997) 370.

[14] Wind, Dietrich, 180.

[15] For example, see Romans 8:38-39.

Bullying is a hot topic these days.  It seems to be everywhere: in middle schools and in college, in business and in politics, in secular institutions and religious institutions, bullying infects every aspect of our lives.  There is one unfortunate reason for this:

Bullying creates unity.

Bullying creates unity because it gives us a common goal.  That goal is to scapegoat another person.  To find a scapegoat, or a common enemy, is one of the easiest ways to form unity.  This inclination to find unity at the expense of another person has plagued humans from our very beginnings.  Rene Girard exposes the scapegoat mechanism in his book I See Satan Fall Like Lightning. Girard claims that when a community is under threat a scapegoat is found, who is deemed to be the sole threat to the community and is violently expelled.  Thus, “violence of all against all would finally annihilate the community if it were not transformed, in the end, into a war of all against one, thanks to which the unity of the community is reestablished” (pg 24).

Let me be clear: There is no true justification for bullying, only false justifications.  The false justification is that the community cannot be safe unless it rids itself of this enemy.  Indeed, there are real threats to our safety, but the trap that good people fall into is that we find a sense of unity and security by uniting against bullies.  We claim the mantle of goodness in unifying self-righteous indignation against bullies.  In other words, we bully the bullies.  This creates an endless cycle of bullying, as it reinforces the myth that bullying creates security.

Which is why I’m impressed with a group called Queering the Air.  The group was formed as a response to the calls for revenge (veiled as calls for “justice”) against Dharun Ravi and Molly Wei, the two students who united in bullying Tyler Clementi, whose sexual orientation offered them a cheap and easy way to reinforce their goodness over and against Tyler’s difference.  Bullying Tyler also reinforced their friendship by providing someone to unite against.  Tragically, Tyler committed suicide.  Dharun and Molly will have to live with their role in his suicide for the rest of their lives.  Now, in an effort to create a sense of security, Rutgers encouraged Dharun and Molly to withdraw.  Of course, that is the politically correct way of expelling someone who is deemed a threat to the community. Their expulsion will give a false sense of security to Rutgers.  In reality it will only reinforce the myth that bullying and expelling the bullies will lead to lasting security. 

Unfortunately, we cannot simply point our fingers at a few people, send them to jail, and hope the problem will go away.  Only when we find justice and security without bullying the bullies will we have justification to call ourselves good and begin to create true security.  A new group called Queering the Air provides a good example of this in their Justice Not Vengeance Campaign:

With the Justice Not Vengeance Campaign, Queering the Air will provide a voice for those opposed to the politics of revenge that have been aimed at Dharun Ravi and Molly Wei, the racist and xenophobic discourses mobilized against them, as well as homophobia, transphobia, sexism, and the lack of safety on campus and beyond. Recognizing that homophobia is a concern that goes well beyond these two people and that our criminal justice system is historically biased against people of color, the group endorses a politics of perspective that encompasses these larger issues.

Yet, even in this good example of trying to move beyond revenge, there is a hint of finding security by bullying the bullies.  I applaud this statement, but recognize that it is incredibly difficult to “oppose the politics of revenge” without seeking revenge on the politics of revenge. 

As Girard points out, and Queering the Air is trying to point out, the larger issue here is that bullying infects every aspect of human culture.  Until we are able to find unity and security without finding someone to be against, even without being against our bullies, we may be doomed to our own cycles of bullying and violence.

See also Jay Phelan's Additional Markings article Culture of Voyeurs: http://additionalmarkings.blogspot.com/2010/10/culture-of-voyeurs.html

See Raven Foundation Board member Tripp Hudgins video on Tyler Clementi here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C3vXAEtiZdw

A Sermon Delivered at

The First Congregational Church of Wilmette

October 31, 2010

Adam Ericksen

Revelation 5:5-7

Psalm 32:1-7

Luke 19:1-10

I love Halloween.  Many people assume that just because I’m a pastor that either Christmas or Easter must be my favorite holiday.  I’ve got nothing against Christmas and Easter, but man, Halloween is awesome.  I told you a few years ago that I love Halloween for one reason, and that is chocolate.  And indeed, I love chocolate.  So I have members of our youth group passing out chocolate.  Now, if you don’t like chocolate, there’s something wrong with you and you should seek professional help.  Or better yet, you should pray.  A lot.  Cuz you are in need of some divine intervention

At FCCW we’ve been studying parables in the Gospel of Luke for during the last month and a half. It is fortuitous that the end of our series on parables happens to come on October 31st, for there is a parabolic element to Halloween.  Stephanie and Stacey have taught that the word parable comes from two Greek words.  Para, meaning “along side of” and “ballow” a verb that means to throw, or to cast.  A parable is a story that casts two different worldviews alongside each other, and says, “you pick which worldview to live into.”  When Jesus tells parables, he provides different worldviews about God.  He puts these worldviews before us and asks, “Is God more like the unjust judge, or more like the poor widow?  Is God like the rich man who keeps his wealth for himself and pays no attention to Lazarus?  Or is God more like the poor man Lazarus?” 

Of course, the ultimate parable is the life of Jesus itself.  The early Christians chose to believe that Jesus revealed who God is at a fundamental level, and that belief turned their worldview upside down.  For example, in a few months on Christmas, we will see that Jesus reveals God is like the vulnerable One who was born in a stable, rested in a bed of straw, and was heated by the breath of a cow.  And a few months after that, on Good Friday, we will see that, at the end of his life, Jesus reveals to us that God’s power is not seen through violence and domination; rather God’s power is seen through Jesus’ vulnerability in taking human violence upon himself and offering forgiveness in return.  Then, on Easter, we see that Jesus does not seek revenge, but offers resurrected peace to those who betrayed him.

Now, you might be asking, “What does this have to do with Halloween?”  Good question.  Halloween, I want to suggest to you, offers us two worldviews.  First, Halloween is the day when we adults openly acknowledge what we know to be true throughout the year: That our children are little monsters.  This is what Halloween is primarily about.  We see the “monster” in the “other.”[1]  We discussed this Wednesday with the youth group.  It is easy to identify the other as a monster.  Young people can easily identify adults in their lives, parents or teachers, as monster-like.  Bossy, out to get them, trying to rule their lives.  Conversely, it is easy for adults to identify young people as monsters, too.  They are unruly, undisciplined, won’t do their homework or make their bed.  And here’s the problem, we begin to live into the monstrous expectations that the other has of us.  Each begins to project monstrosity onto the other, and each begins to live into that monstrosity.

And this leads us into the second worldview of monsters.  There is always the danger of any one of us becoming a monster.  We see this, for example, in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and in the Incredible Hulk.  We can easily be provoked into anger, bitterness, resentment, and violence.  Admitting that we have monstrous tendencies can be painful, and it can be even more painful to conduct the necessary introspection it takes to examine our own monstrous tendencies.  Jesus refers to this painful introspection when he says, “Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye.”  Of course, the huge log in our own eye conveniently blinds us to our own monstrous tendencies.  It is painful to take that log out, because once we do, we have to examine the monster that lies within each of us.

Now the English word “monster” comes from the Latin word “monstrum” which means, “omen” or “warning.”  And here’s the warning: we project monsters everywhere, onto young people, onto adults, onto political opponents, onto criminals, onto terrorists, even onto God.  And when we project monsters onto those out there, it blinds us to the monster that lies within.  As the Russian novelist Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn wrote, “the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being.”[2]     

We see in our two readings this morning this human propensity to project monstrosity onto others, yet our readings also warn us about this human inclination.  We’re all familiar with the story of Zacchaeus.  We know that he climbed the sycamore tree to see Jesus.  Those around Zacchaeus thought he was like a monster.  He was a tax collector, but he was not just a tax collector, he was the chief tax collector.  He was the worst kind of tax collector.  People assumed that tax collectors took more than their fair share; that they stole from the people.  They assumed that Zacchaeus stole not only from the people, but also from the tax collectors under him.

When Jesus saw Zacchaeus up on the tree, he said something that you are not supposed to say to monsters.  “Hurry and come down, Zacchaeus; for I must stay at your house today.”  And the crowd grumbled against Jesus and Zacchaeus, saying “He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner?!?”  You see, Zacchaeus is the monster and Jesus associates with him. We are not monsters and we certainly would not associate with a monster!  And here is the parable.  Is God primarily seen in the voice of the crowd that accuses the other of being a monster, a “sinners”?  Surly the united voice of a crowd, whether it’s composed of 10 people or nation of millions, must be correct.  Or, is God primarily seen in those who have the courage to stand with those we accuse of being sinners? 

Of course, Jesus does cause a transformation in the heart of Zacchaeus.  After their encounter, Zaccheaus became concerned with the poor and gave half of his enormous wealth to them.  We don’t know for sure if Zacchaeus became rich by stealing collected taxes, for he says, “if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.”  But for the crowd, Zacchaeus’s guilt or innocence doesn’t matter, for they have already identified him as a monster.  Jesus, on the other hand, came to Zacchaeus to bring transformation and salvation to this monster’s house, for in reality, he was not as monstrous as the crowd mad him out to be.  In fact, Zacchaeus was really one of them; as Jesus said, Zacchaeus was also a son of Abraham.  We are left to wonder, “Were the members of the crowd ever transformed?  Were they able to see the salvation that was brought to the house of their monster, Zacchaeus?  Would they ever open their eyes to the humanity of Zacchaeus? Or would they remain blind to their own monstrous tendencies?”

And this is what parables do.  They confront us with, and warn us about, the monster that lies within each of us.  For how often have we been part of the crowd that turns against one like Zacchaeus?  How often have we felt self-righteous by uniting with others over and against that monster out there and thus neglect the monster that lies within?  But here’s the other warning, according to the whole parabolic life of Jesus, when we stand against our monsters, we may also be standing against God, for Jesus reveals that God seeks to bring salvation to our monster’s house.

The Bible both acknowledges and challenging the human inclination to project monstrous qualities onto the “other” and thus neglect our own monstrous qualities, but it also challenges the human inclination to project monstrous qualities onto God. 

We see this in our passage this morning from Revelation, and we will explore this much more on Saturday at our Making Peace with Revelation conference.  In its original language, Greek, the title of the last book of the Bible is called Apocalypse.  In American culture, we generally associate Apocalypse with violence and destruction wrought by God.  But the word Apocalypse literally means “unveiling” or “revealing.”  Revelation is trying to reveal something fundamental about God.  In parabolic fashion, chapter 5 puts two theological worldviews before us.  An elder in the heavenly throne room tells John to look at the Lion who is the one worthy to open the scroll.  John looks, but instead of seeing a lion, he sees a slaughtered Lamb. 

And here Revelation puts these two theological worldviews before us.  Is God more like a Lion, one who rules through power and might?  Or is God more like a Lamb, one who becomes a vulnerable victim of human violence?[3]

I, personally, would rather God be like a Lion.  Because there is the possibility that we might tame the Lion, and that the Lion will be on our side and help us fight in the battle against our monstrous enemies.  But Revelation doesn’t give us a Lion that we can tame.  Rather it gives us a slaughtered Lamb that can never be tamed.  You see, the slaughtered Lamb of God is reckless in its love for all things; for it is a love that includes even those who act like monsters and slaughtered it. 

Indeed, the Lamb opens the mysterious scroll.  As many of us know from our class on Revelation during August, out of the scroll come the four horsemen of violence and destruction, which is the same violence and destruction that slaughtered the Lamb itself.  Here we see that the reckless love of the Lamb has a paradoxical affect, for we tend to respond violently to those who love monsters.  Jesus identified with the monsters of his society, those like Zacchaeus, which set in motion his own monstrous victimization.[4]  Remember that the crowd grumbled against him and Zacchaeus.  Anyone who stands with our monsters is instantly vulnerable to the violent ways in which we defeat our monsters. 

Now, it is true that there are monsters in Revelation.  And they are scary; there’s a dragon, there are beasts, and there is even the devil.  Revelation doesn’t deny that there are monsters in the world.  Whether perceived, imaginary, or very real, there are monsters.  But the warning Revelation provides is this, “If we choose to defeat our monsters in monstrous ways, we inevitably become the very monsters we seek to defeat.”  The answer that Revelation gives to this problem is found in chapter 12, where there is a battle with the greatest monster of all time, the devil, and we are told that the followers of the Lamb conquered the devil, but did so in an unexpected way.  And here Revelation provides an alternative way of dealing with the monsters in our lives, stating, “The followers of the Lamb have conquered the devil by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they did not cling to life even in the face of death.”  You see, the followers of the Lamb are not passive; they do conquer, but not through the monstrous ways of swords, or guns, or bombs.  No, their only weapon is vulnerability and the spoken word.

I don’t know about you, but for me, the best way I know to love the monsters in my life is at a distance.  Sometimes we may convince ourselves that we need more drastic and violent means. 

But if we are followers of the Lamb, we can never justify violent means in the name of God, for once we start to justify violence in any form we start to feel good about our own violence.  Once we feel good about our violence, we become blind to the monster that lies within. 

On the anniversary of 9/11, in the year 2006, I was in seminary and my New Testament professor opened our class with a prayer, and he said something I will never forget.  He said, “When our need for security comes at the expense of another person’s life, may we fall on our knees and ask for forgiveness.”      

And maybe that’s the best response when we feel the need to us violence, whether physical, emotional, or verbal.  Because it means we’ve failed.  We’ve given up on the hope and the possibility of salvation and transformation.  It means we are moving away from the way of the Lamb and moving closer to the way of monsters.  But there is good news.  Jesus reveals that salvation is offered to all, here and now, even to monsters, and it is ours to receive.  It came to the house of Zacchaeus and it comes to all of us.  May we receive the forgiveness, peace, and salvation offered by the slaughtered Lamb.

Amen.

[1] I am indebted to Dr. Richard Beck’s blog Experimental Theology, especially his article series entitled Monsters: The Theology of Frankenstein, Werewolves, Vampires, and Zombies. October 26, 2010. http://experimentaltheology.blogspot.com/2010/10/monsters-theology-of-frankenstein.html. For those interested in mimetic theory, he references Rene Girard.

[2] The Gulag Archipelago, http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/2944012

[3] I want to be careful not to make lions into monsters.  There is a lion-like quality to the slaughtered Lamb of God.  For example, one might that the Lamb has a lion-like determination to love all.  The Lamb really has no choice but to love all, for that is who the Lamb is. As 1 John 4:16 claims, “God is love.”

[4] Christopher Rowland, Revelation, New Interpreter’s Bible (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1998) 607.  In his commentary on Rev 5:5-7, Rowland is heavily influenced by the work of Rene Girard.