March 18, 2010
Cross-eyed Bears and March Madness
Here we are on the cusp of March Madness. The annual college hoops tournament has taken on the connotation of “madness” which, depending on which side of the sporting fence you’re on, can seem like a mania or fixation, and to others total foolishness or idiocy. (A graduate of Northwestern University, I am spared this cruel branding thanks to my school’s lack of basketball prowess – my foolishness can be attributed to other sources.)
One of the dangers of being in church as often as I am is that our wacky Christian beliefs all start to make sense. I find myself believing all sorts of things that I wouldn’t let anyone put over on me in the real world. That which people would choke on in everyday speech, they will swallow if they heard it in church first. That’s a blessing for those of us who spend so much time in church.
Kierkegaard said, “Christianity has taken a giant stride into the absurd.” It’s when the absurd starts to sound reasonable that we should begin to worry. “Blessed are the meek.” “Thou shall not kill.” “Love your enemies.” “Go, sell all you have and give to the poor.” Be honest now. Blessed are the meek? Try being meek tomorrow at work and see how far you get. Meekness is fine for church, but in the real world the meek get to go home early with a pink slip and a pat on the back. Blessed are those who are peacemakers; they shall get done to them what they are loath to do to others. Blessed are the merciful; they shall get it done to them a second time. Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake; they shall be called fanatics. When you hear the Gospel, not with Sunday-morning ears but with Monday-morning ears, it can sound foolish indeed.
Is the world more like Sunday morning or Monday morning? The first Christians were thought to be drunk with new wine. By the world’s standards of what works, and who is greatest, and what is practical, the Christian faith can look foolish indeed.
In this season of Lent, as the church makes its way with our Lord to the cross, we pause with Paul to mock the world. “We proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles… the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength.”
One of the earliest examples of crucifixes shows Jesus on the cross with the head of an ass. He, who entered Jerusalem on an ass, died as an apparent failure, outside our definitions of success.
And there was a kind of playful foolishness in Jesus and his teaching. The Kingdom of God is like a man who gave a party and nobody came, so the Lord of the Banquet got mad and invited in all the folk whom you wouldn’t be caught dead with on a Saturday night. And that’s the Kingdom of God.
It wasn’t that Jesus was being unreasonable or crazy, it was that he was exercising a different rationality than that of the world. After one has made a statement like, “God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself,” then all worldly rationales are thrown into conflict and everything is up for grabs. It becomes funny and foolish.
A certain sort of foolishness is required for any creativity, a playful willingness to roam, to revision, to see odd connections in things. All through Paul’s letters to Corinth, we hear this theme about divine foolishness. Corinthians says, “The word of the cross is foolishness to those whose lives are falling apart, but to those who are being saved, the cross is the very power of God.” We are called to be foolish.
Jesus said: “Someone hits you on one cheek, offer the other cheek for them to hit.” Dumb. Or, “Someone takes your coat, give them all your clothing as well.” Not smart. Or, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” Get real. Or, “Your enemy spits in your eye, love them back.” Impossible. You have to be a fool to take that stuff seriously. His teachings are not practical, not reasonable, not sensible.
And then there is God’s grace which is so perplexing. This foolish love from God is all a gift to us. Tell me, what did you do to deserve the rain today? Nothing! The sunshine? Nothing! The snow? Nothing! The sunrise? Nothing! The sunset? Nothing! To be born? Nothing! God’s love is all a gift, a pure gift, like the rain, like the sunshine, like the forgiving love given to the crowd who crucified him on Good Friday. Pure gift. Pure grace.
At the very heart of the Gospel is a foolishness, a divine madness, a cross-like craziness that we are asked to take up.
A popular joke has a child being asked what God’s first name is, and he replies, “Andy.” He gets this name from the hymn In the Garden (“Andy walks with me, Andy talks with me, Andy tells me I am his own…”). From the Lord’s Prayer: “…Give us this steak and jelly bread, and forgive us our mattresses…and lead us not into Penn Station, but deliver us from eagles…”
My favorite joke of this type is particularly apt during lent. “…Gladly, the cross-eyed bear…” (from the 1894 hymn by Frannie Crosby – “Gladly, the cross I’d bear…”)
Foolish, yet somehow appropriate.
(click on picture for animation)
