This week I've been thinking about theological anthropology - and the way in which the Eucharist might shape our understanding of what it is to be human before God, and with one another.
However, after last night's performance of Messiah at the Cathedral, I found that the opening recitative 'Comfort ye' was lodged in my mind.What light these two things mean in the context of the ministry of witness John the Baptist.
The texts were: Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24; John 1:6-8, 19-28.
Advent three: the light shining in the darkness
Last night, a story unfolded; of hope, struggle, joy and triumph.
The music captivated and inspired.
There were standing ovations.
It was an emotional journey.
But there were no jives, quick steps of show dances; no quest for a glitter ball.
For this wasn’t #StrictlyFinal
Last night, a story unfolded; of hope, struggle, joy and triumph.
The music captivated and inspired.
There were standing ovations.
It was an emotional journey.
This place resounded with orchestra and chorus:
For this was Messiah.
A tenor voice breaks in: disrupting the melancholic strings.
A word hanging in the air: Comfort.
Again: Comfort ye.
Words of God spoken to his people facing the distress and dislocation of exile.
Words of God which echo throughout the generations; which continue to resonate with us in the seasons of our lives.
In the midst of political upheaval and personal anxiety; in the midst of the creativity and joy, untidiness and complexity of our lives; in the midst of the uncertainty of life and the certainty of death: there’s a clarion call comfort ye my people.
To hear Messiah the midst of Advent, heightens our sense of waiting with expectation: for the light to break into darkness; for glory to be revealed; for healing, rejoicing and tidings of peace.
Handel’s musical mastery is in the space he gives for words of prophecy, hope, judgement and joy to unfold; and in doing so, those words enfold us.
The conductor, the late Christopher Hogwood said of Messiah: ‘it is a mediation rather than a drama of personalities, lyrical in method; the narration of the story is carried on by implication, and there is no dialogue’.
This meditation is an interplay of words and music which intensifies our experience of God’s ways and our human condition. This concentration of promise and fulfilment - moving us from creation to new creation - is generous and expansive. Allowing us to pray and ponder; being comforted and challenged. It becomes a dialogue as we are drawn into the story.
Comfort, O comfort ye, my people.
I wonder what might happen if we entered into our familiar pattern of worship in that same way - as a lyrical meditation on God’s story. An enacted story in which we play our part - listening, responding, receiving and being changed by what unfolds.
When he was congratulated on the effect the Messiah had on an audience, Handel is reported to have said:
‘I should be sorry if I only entertained them, I wish to make them better.’
There is something profoundly sacramental about this: words of scripture are proclaimed with power. They are ‘voiced’: voiced with human breath and song. The gift of our creaturely embodiment becomes a means of grace, comfort and healing.
Comfort ye!
In this Eucharist, we are given a lens through which to see ourselves and our world: a lens which invites us to recognise God’s faithfulness and promise to us; to encounter God with us in Jesus our Emmanuel; to be renewed as God’s people by the power of the Spirit.
Here we are attentive to God’s commandments, faithfulness, forgiveness, love and blessing. Here we name our desires, frustrations, imperfections, brokenness and joy; seeking forgiveness for all that separates us and giving thanks for signs of God’s gifts of kindness, hospitality and friendship.
All this might be a response to that prophetic, lyrical plea: Comfort ye!
The cry of the the tenor’s recitative is taken up in our lives, before God in our world.
Comfort is a recurrent theme in Isaiah: in the passage we hear today, he gives substance to that refrain of ‘comfort ye’. The oppressed, broken-hearted, captive, and grief-stricken find good news, release, gladness and healing.
This is the passage of scripture which Jesus read in the synagogue in Nazareth. He is the Messiah. The one who will both bind up our wounds and free us from all that binds us.
Handel’s Messiah doesn’t focus on the things that Jesus did - the people he called by name, the parables he told, the meals he shared or the miracles he performed. And yet, as in this Eucharist, we are given space to encounter Emmanuel - God with us.
He is the light of the world; the lamb of God. The rejected one who bears our grief. The crucified one who brings judgement. Judgement as the rebuke when we do not share God’s love of justice and mercy, pursuing instead our own selfish ways, diminishing others in the process.
And still God says, Comfort ye!
Comfort because God so loved the world, so loved us, that his Son bears that rebuke: the Hallelujah chorus greets not a birth alone, but a death which defeats death; a recompense that brings everlasting covenant and blessing. A judgement of forgiveness which brings forth tidings of peace.
Comfort, O comfort ye!
John the Baptist isn’t named in Messiah - but we do hear the refrain found on his lips in today’s Gospel: ‘I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord’.
St John the Baptist: El Paso Museum of Art
Jacopo del Casentino and assistant (c. 1330)
John isn’t someone we readily associate with comfort. Descriptions of him illustrate his abandonment of earthly comforts: living in the desert, wearing camel hair, eating locusts and wild honey. He discomforted others - being willing to speak truthfully to Herod about his abuse of power.
John’s Gospel most succinctly distils his vocation. He is the one who witnesses to the one who does bring comfort: he testifies to the light for the sake of others, that all might believe and find comfort.
John is a humble witness. His isolation draws people to him, seeking hope and comfort. In the wilderness they find a path of repentance, turning and retuning to God’s ways.
When questioned, he replies three times confirming bluntly who he is not.
When he does answer, it is to point to one who is coming.
He is allows space: awakening new hope; fostering a sense of expectation.
John’s humility points to the one who will come in the smallness of infancy; from the obscurity of a small town. The one who is greater than he is does not wield power and might.
Our Messiah will come and stand on muddy river banks - sharing our humanity and restoring our dignity. He will walk the land bringing love to those on the margins and shining light into the dark places of our hearts.
Comfort ye!
Jean Vanier in his commentary on John, invites us to lead people to this Jesus, following the example of John. Like him we are not seek followers for ourselves or our own glory; they speak truthfully and with courage. He writes:
They tell their story.
They tell how Jesus is healing their hearts of stone,
leading them into the world of universal love and compassion
and breaking down barriers of culture, fear and sin
that close them up in themselves.
Witnesses tell how Jesus is transforming their lives
and bring them a new inner freedom, peace and joy.
We too are to be credible witnesses of this hope: as Paul reminds us, we do this by being rooted in prayer and listening to the prophets; being alert to the work of the Spirit; learning to live joyfully in the present.
The one who calls us if faithful: in bread and wine, body and blood, Christ extends the horizons of our imaginations with a vision of flourishing, justice and peace. Here we are formed as whole persons - within the body of Christ - receiving healing and nourishment in order that we might be with others, breath by breath.
Comfort ye, o comfort ye, my people.
© Julie Gittoes 2017
