Sarx

Fourth in the 2009 series on the Great O Antiphons. The complete text of the Antiphons is here, and a meta-post listing all the meditations is here.

 Clavis David, et sceptrum domus Israel, qui aperis, et nemo claudit, claudis, et nemo aperuit: veni, et educ vinctum de domo carceris, sedentem in tenebris, et umbra mortis.

 Key of David, and sceptre of the house of Israel, you open, and no one shuts, you shut, and no one opens: come, and lead the prisoner from jail, seated in darkness and in the shadow of death.

Jesus says we shall know the Truth (that is, he, himself) and the Truth shall set us free.

This antiphon refers to hell – “you open, and no one shuts, you shut, and no one opens”. But it also refers to each of us in the first person – “lead the prisoner from jail” for we are in hell now, in darkness now. Trapped.

The Chronicles of Narnia, the book series by C.S. Lewis, has recently been popularized by two big screen movies that have been produced: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and Prince Caspian. Originally written for children, the books and the moves are also enjoyed by many adults… In the final book of The Chronicles of Narnia, The Last Battle, everyone is living in an Eden-like paradise; however, the dwarves refuse to believe this is really true. It is the end of a very long winter in Narnia and the powers of darkness and evil have been overcome and a new day is dawning. The reign of Aslan, the lion (a figure of Christ), is beginning and with it comes springtime. Flowers are in bloom where there had only been snow and cold before. The sun is out and the sky is blue where before it was always grey. Water tastes sweet and fruit is delicious for everyone, except for the dwarves. Throughout the Chronicles, the dwarves have prided themselves in not being “taken in” by any “humbug” that may have misled others. “The dwarves are for the dwarves,” they said, and not being “taken in” means that they only ever believed what made sense to them. Lucy is the youngest of the Pevensy children, and as she stands in the sunlight and sees the dwarves, she takes pity on them. She asks Aslan to fix this dilemma and show the dwarves the way the world really is – full of life and light and love. The great lion says, “I will show you what I can and cannot do.” Aslan gives the dwarves a feast of wonderful food and puts a glass of wine in each of their hands. The dwarves refuse to see the gift as it really is, as it is given by their king. Instead, they see themselves as eating turnips, and drinking dirty water out of a donkey’s trough. Their refusal to believe is very sad indeed.

(I borrowed this summary from an online sermon text at St John’s Lutheran Church in Alexandria)

I’ve been wrestling with a lot of things this season of advent: my own parish is struggling, my own, terribly unsatisfying job ended, I fought through a depression, made some choices came out of the depression, just to have the job call me back to work again. I was, this AM, looking at one of the choices I made, to return to school and get a Masters and try to move forward. Sitting here, sipping strong, sweet tea and listening to NPR, I surfed into one of those dreams (the MA program in leadership from my Alma Mater) and I wondered what the hell was the problem. Why was I not in school? And the answer, painfully is part of the meditation on this verse:

No matter what Jesus does, the prisoner can still sit in darkness if he – the prisoner – wants it to be so. And this is usually out of fear. Perfect love (that is, Jesus) drives out all fear. Unless the prisoner wants it to be otherwise.

To be clear this isn’t about missed opportunity: it’s about refused, ignored, or otherwise passed-over opportunity that we told to move along because of fear in all of its many guises. What I usually take (or explain away) as “signs” that indicate where I should be or where I should go are, effectively excuses for fear.

When the prisoner is sitting in the jail and the door is opened how does he walk out?

In this story, I’m both Lucy and the dwarves. I see the sunshine and the flowers, but I can not bring myself to do anything about it.

This past weekend I invited my boyfriend to come and face a dragon with me. I drove in Toronto, a city that has hitherto intimidated me. Up the QEW from Brodie’s home in Hamilton, to the Gardiner Expressway. Then up Spadina Ave to park. WE made it from there to the Royal Ontario Museum and also to Kensington Market. Then we drove over to the east end of town and had supper with a friend. The rewards were tangible: I got to see the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit at the ROM, we got sixties-era costumes for a “Mad Men” and we got to see a friend and eat some wonderful food. We also saved $40 in transportation fee (the round-trip cost) plus several km of walking. And now I think I’m ok with driving to town.

One less thing to make me say “the dwarves are for the dwarves…”

The point being: the door is always open. It’s the walking through that’s hard. This Antiphon has us asking Jesus to “come, and lead” us out of darkness. How can I pray it if I don’t mean it? How can we? What becomes of freedom we ask for but reject when it is offered?