O Emmanuel, come make us human

O Emmanuel, our king and our Lord, the anointed for the nations and their Savior: Come and save us, O Lord our God. 

O Emmanuel, Rex et legifer noster, exspectatio gentium, et Salvator earum: veni ad salvandum nos Domine Deus noster.

There is freedom in community. There is liberty in communion. There is deliverance in the covenant. That is the message of Christmas. That is the sign of Emmanuel -- God with us. 

Greek theologian John Zizioulas vigorously argued in his work Being as Communion that human freedom -- indeed, the fullness of humanity itself -- can only be found in community. He proposed this thesis as the antidote to the rampant individualism omnipresent in our current culture.

Western culture’s embrace of individualism stems from its embrace of reason because, as we shall see, the individual — and only the individual — has the ability to reason. Emerging from a Christian-Protestant background and because of the heritage of the Reformation and the Enlightenment, Western society came to apperceive the social, political, and moral worth of the individual. 

A group of people, then, does not have the ability to reason or enjoy freedom, strictly speaking according to this philosophy. Only the individuals comprising the group do because all perception and thought takes place within the individual mind. There is no group mind or any submission to group mores. The individual sets the agenda.

Today, individualism is at its peak. Everything that makes human life secure and enjoyable—from achievements in medicine, music and engineering to breakthroughs in transportation, literature, arts, and government—we believe was, and is, ultimately the creation or discovery of one: the individual using his or her power of reason. The individual, therefore, is the hero of humanity.

Sadly, even at Christmastime we can forget about others and only serve ourselves -- wanting the best presents, purchasing gift cards only to benefit ourselves, or giving to charities only to benefit from a personal tax break.

As author Heather Davis shared on her Facebook feed the other day, "when individualism is taken to an extreme, individuals become its ironic casualties." (a quote by David G. Myers, excerpted from Man Turned in on Himself: Understanding Sin in 21st-century America - coming January 2015).

In contrast to our culture's idolatry of the individual Zizioulas retools Greek, and postmodern, philosophy to read Scripture through a communal lens. From this perspective, he argues that full humanity is achieved only insofar as a person participates (koinonia) in the Trinitarian life of God. 

This participation is only made possible in and through the incarnation, the birth of Jesus -- Emmanuel, God with us. 

Indeed, Jesus' taking on of human flesh -- the merging of humanity and divinity -- makes possible a deep fellowship between humanity as it was meant to be and divinity as it really and truly is, in communion. 

Incarnation signals the re-unification of humanity and divinity, the restoration of community, the re-creation of communion and the opportunity for us to truly say, for the first time, "I am." However, we do not say this as individuals on our own believing in Jesus, but as part of a community, a cathedral of humanity, a divine communion that says, "I am because we are." 

This is, for the initiated, the phraseology of the ubuntu philosophy derived from the Nguni proverb umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu, which means "a person is a person through other persons." Now ubiquitously recognized and respected throughout sub-Saharan Africa among Bantu people groups, the theology of ubuntu reflects that of Zizioulas' "being as communion" theology insofar as it affirms that full humanity is only possible through communion with others. Our very existence and well-being is grounded in the lives of those around us. This flies in the face of our predominant culture's slavish devotion to the self above all others. It's downright revolutionary. 

Scripture goes one step further and reveals that true community, and thus true humanity, is only possible in the fellowship of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Fellowship with this eternal communion is only possible in Christ -- Emmanuel, God with us. 

Amidst this heady theology I pray you can begin to sense just how significant this turn is. Emmanuel, the presence of the Eternal Trinity with us, is the causeway for us to become fully human. Don't miss that this Christmas. Hear the invitation to true communion and through God's Word and Sacraments come to enjoy the fellowship that fosters freedom and true being. 

Of course, I must warn you, in entering into this communion, there is a certain ethic that emerges as well. Living life in communion with Christ leads to a certain lifeway and set of postures toward others. As Claude Nikondeha said to a gathering of leaders discussion post-colonial African theology/ministry in Krugersdorp, South African in 2009, "'We are set in a delicate network of interdependence with our fellow human beings and all of creation,' Tutu states. This is a foundational understanding for our humanity, as one connected to others. In African we call this ubuntu. We are persons through other persons. Our humanity is all bundled up together -- yours, mine, those outside this camp, even those across the world. We are interconnected, and we are affected by the wellbeing of one another. When someone is humiliated, I am humiliated. When another is going to bed on an empty stomach, I am not satiated. When you are broken-hearted, my joy cannot be complete. I am diminished when you are not well. We are connected." 

Likewise, Martin Luther wrote on 1 Corinthians 11 in the 16th-century that not only do "we walk in the fellowship of [Christ's] benefits and He in the fellowship of our misfortune," but also, "we Christians also do with each other, take upon ourselves that of another, so that one person bears the sin and failings of another and serves the other with his piety."

Christmas is an invitation into humanity as it was meant to be, restored in the coming of Emmanuel. First, Jesus invites us to take on his humanity in fellowship with the ultimate Communion of the Cosmos -- divine and profane, fleshly and holy, perfect and physical. Second, we are called to live in communion with one another, to be fully human by serving, loving, and bearing one another in compassion and community. 

As you share gifts, break bread, sing together, watch movies, or just enjoy one another's presence this Christmas I invite all of you to see this as a foretaste of all God intends for humanity itself. All of it is good, right, and salutary in that Emmanuel, God with us, is ultimately a celebration of humanity itself. So, Merry Christmas, Christ -- Emmanuel -- has come and now we are invited to enjoy his fellowship and commune with one another from now unto the not yet of the Kingdom yet to come. 

Merry Christmas! 

*Follow @kchitwood on Twitter for more religion, theology, and culture

O King of the nations, uniting all people

O King of the nations, the ruler they long for, the cornerstone uniting all people: Come and save us all, whom You formed out of clay. 

O Rex gentium, et desideratus earum, lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum: veni, et salva hominem, quem de limo formasti.

Let's get political. 2014 was another year of political tension, turmoil, and terror. 

Surprise, surprise. 

*Follow @kchitwood on Twitter.

I'm not sure if you know this about me, but I once dreamed of a career in politics. During the 1996 elections I drew political cartoons of Clinton & Dole, I was president of my 5th grade class, I reveled in the opportunity to be part of a mock party convention in junior high, travelled to D.C., joined the Student Youth Council for my city, was Associated Student Body Vice President, and applied, and was accepted to, Pace University's combined BA in Political Science/JD in Law program. 

And then I dove head first into religion world. 

I'm glad I did.

Other than never being able to have a discussion at the dinner table, between my interest in politics on one hand and religion on the other, I have enjoyed studying religion and eschewing politics. 

Why?

Because I am ever more convinced that political platforms, government programs, & nation-states are not the answer. While they may prove some earthly good, they are not the ultimate solution. Whether it's government shutdowns in the U.S., "dirty politics" in New Zealand, coups in Egypt, persecution of minorities in Myanmar, or bloody sectarian violence in Syria we are all longing for something more. Sure, a candidate comes along that brings hope, a promise of change, a new look for the future...but then reality sets in, hairs gray, and promises and policies lose their luster.

God institutes the so-called "Left Hand" kingdom of earthly powers and authorities for our own, temporal, good. But he does not put them in place for our eternal good. He does not intend for them to speak to, or realize, our deepest longings for peace and prosperity. Only one King can fulfill those yearnings. 

Rex Gentium is his name, King of the peoples - Jesus. 

He is the one, the antiphon acclaims, we long for. And why? He is the "cornerstone uniting all people." 

My dreams of political prowess were one part personal excitement and other part utopian vision. I saw racial division, injustice, calamity, and infrastructural mayhem growing up in Los Angeles and I wanted to do something about it. I wanted to fix it. The truth is, I can't. We can't. No one can. 

I know, what a Debbie Downer. 

While we can work toward change and good, beautiful, restorative things can be done as we unite around a common purpose and transform hate into compassion, injustice into equality, and marginalization into agency our work is never complete, it is never universal, it is never what we truly yearn for. 

That is why we call for Jesus to come. He is the one piece we are missing from this world. As we vote for leaders, as we suffer political change, as we march in the streets, and launch into political diatribes on Facebook we are all longing for the same thing, the same person - Jesus. 

He is the stone that will unite all of us into one. One building. One people. One Kingdom. The Kingdom of God. That Kingdom has come near in Jesus once (Mk 1:15) and will come again to bring the world together in hope, joy, love, and peace. For now, we wait and we work realizing that we are but dust, and to dust we, and our feeble efforts at kingdom building, shall return (Ps 103). 

Yes, as we see the political strife and the worldly injustice, as we seek to make a change and work together toward peace, we pray together "Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come." Amen. 

O Dayspring; splendor of light everlasting

O Dayspring, splendor of light everlasting; Come and enlighten those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death. 

O Oriens, splendor lucis aeternae, et sol iustitiae: veni, et illumina sedentes in tenebris et umbra mortis.

It shouldn't be like this. I'm about to write on the "Dayspring, splendor of light everlasting" and its dreary, overcast, and dull outside. 

What happened to the Sunshine State, Florida? 

Oh well. No bright dawn for us this morning. But in this O Antiphon for December 21st, the verse builds off the metaphor of the turn of the dawn. It's a beautiful picture and one we can appreciate, especially as we turn the page of the calendar on the Winter Solstice, the day of long darkness. We yearn for light to shine. 

I'm a morning person. When Elizabeth and I lived in South Africa I used to get up before dawn, make coffee, and sneak out the back door to our patio before light broke over Mabola, Mpumalanga. Mpumalanga literally means, "the place where the sun rises" and one of my favorite memories of living there was watching the mist and smoke rise to mix with the tendrils of early morning light breaking over the golden grassy mounts, mud brown huts, and red dirt roads. One of my other favorites was the birds. Crested barbets. Sacred ibis. Weavers. Red-headed cisticola. Starlings. 

*Read "A Mabola Morning" by my wife, Elizabeth Chitwood.

Even before dawn broke and Mabola awoke the birds would sing softly, begin flitting between branches, going about their waking hours as if it was already day. 

Bengali poet Rabindranath Tagore wrote, "faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark." 

We are the people who "sit in darkness," the ones who dwell in the shadow of death yearning for light to break. And so it has. So it will. We are the people on whom light has, and will, dawn. As Charles Spurgeon penned, "the light which will come...lies all in Christ; and...(joyful news!) that light has already sprung up all around [us]: they have but to to open their eyes to delight in it."

I don't know your situation. It may be one of great darkness, one of serious sadness. I grieve with you, truly I do. But light has dawned and will dawn. Tomorrow, or the "tomorrow" after that, Christ will come and night will break forth into glorious day (Is 58:8).

Let us take confidence in the promise of the light to come this Advent, let us take heart in the dawn to break this Christmas, let us, with faith like birds, feel the light that has sprung up around us and sing, and dance, and get to work while dawn is still yet dark.

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus, come. 

*Follow @Kchitwood on Twitter

O Clavis David; open the door

Ever heard that cliche "when one door closes, another door opens?" 

Ugh. Give me a break. 

It's not that the phrase in and of itself is worthless and perhaps this cliche has delivered you some relief in the past. But I know for me, and others I've talked to, this little limerick comes rolling off the tongue of some well-meaning friend or interloper right when you've received a dump truck's load of rejection, missed opportunity, or some other bad news. It just rings hollow. 

The school rejected you. He dumped you. The job promotion got passed to her instead of you. I know, it sucks. And the last thing you want to hear? Some cream-puffy, cloud-fluffy, nonsense about your life being a series of doors or windows...or whatever...that some heavenly being is fatefully opening or shutting on you as you try each door, test each lock, jiggle each handle in wave-after-wave of dejection, denial, and seemingly divine deception. 

What kind of God plays that stupid game anyways? Is that really what God is all about? Closing doors and opening others? Prompting us through some celestial cheese maze? Maybe, maybe not. 

At least in this antiphon, he's about opening doors. Wide. That's what we are going to focus on today.

O Key of David and scepter of the house of Israel, You open and no one can close, You close and no one can open: Come and rescue the prisoners who are in darkness and the shadow of death. 

O clavis David, et sceptrum domus Israel: qui aperis, et nemo claudit; claudis, et nemo aperit: veni, et educ vinctum de domo carceris, sedentem in tenebris.

Yes, God closes doors. He shuts them. But this verse ends on liberation. It's denouement is divine pardon. The lock clicks in favor of the captive. The gate swings wide open. Freedom. 

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Merry Christmas everyone! 

I can't help but think of my dog Pepper at this moment. When we take her to the dog park or we let her outside she sits in a mix of anticipation and longing...waiting for the moment the door opens and independence is hers. When the sliding glass door runs its course backwards or the chain link fence gate creaks on its hinges and provides the open pathway she's gone. Zoom. Like a flash of white lightning across the grass. She barks. She jumps. She chases squirrels. We call out to her as she pushes the boundaries, tests the limits of her rein. She's free and she loves it. 

My favorite moment? When she has run her course a bit and she comes trotting back up to us, tongue laggard and panting, with a smile that says, "Thank you guys. I love you." 

Is it just me or is there a picture of a divine covenant here? The Key of David opens the door that no one closes. He permits us to go free. He unleashes us. We push boundaries. We chase the metaphorical squirrels of this life. He calls out to us, in love and reprimand, but we always run back in gasping adoration to the one we know has set us free. 

I pray that is what this Christmas is for you. For me. That in the freedom that the Key of David has given us we might circle back to enjoy the presence of the Master - "to thank the Lord and sing his praise" (Ps 92). 

Amen. Come, you peoples of the earth, come. 

O Root of Jesse; standing as an ensign

O Root of Jesse, standing as an ensign before the peoples, before whom all kings are mute, to whom the nations shall do homage: Come quickly to deliver us.

O Radix Jesse, qui stas in signum populorum, super quem continebunt reges os suum, quem gentes deprecabuntur: veni ad liberandum nos, iam noli tardare.

*Catch up with other O Antiphon posts: O Wisdom & O Adonai

Ensign, there's a word you don't hear very often. Simply, it means "flag" or "banner." In old military ranks the "ensign" was the second left tenant, or second lieutenant, who would bear the banner as the army corps marched forward. While most armies have done away with the rank of "ensign" it is still the most used junior officer rank throughout the Star Trek Universe (it's also still used in the U.S. Navy, Coast Guard, & elsewhere). 

In this O Antiphon, Jesus is both the "root of Jesse" and the signum populorum, the "ensign before the people." He not only lies below the earth, but stands tall above the people. He reaches into the past, but leads us bravely forward. He is grounded and yet he flies. 

The message in this O Antiphon is one that promises that destruction is not eternal. Death is not the end. What is laid deep will rise. 

David's lineage, given to him by his father Jesse (hence "root of Jesse") seemed to have died off only to be resurrected in Jesus - the Son of David by Mary (as foretold in Is 11:10). So too, his kingdom. In Jesus, both the line and the kingdom are restored and now the people who are gathered under this banner march forth.  

What of death? Many who march forth in battle are only destined to die. To not survive. To suffer mightily at the hands of the enemy. The verse from the hymn "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" reads, "O come, Thou Branch of Jesse's tree, free them from Satan's tyranny. That trust thy mighty pow'r to save, and give them vict'ry o'er the grave!" 

This is the promise - that with Christ's advent, his coming then, now, and still one day, is one that looses the bonds of death, that breaks its brutal hold on beauty, that destroys decays' despotism over life. 

The root that lay dormant for thousands of years now bursts onto the scene, into glorious day to lead his armies before the evil foes of sin, death, and Satan himself. To what end? That the ensign before the people shall be hoisted over even the gates of hell, which shall not, cannot, prevail before the Radix Jesse, who has come forth from of old. 

So "we peoples" march under the banner of the Root of Jesse. We battle death, we fight for life. As we cry out, "O Root of Jesse" we also proclaim with Paul, "O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?" (1 Cor 15:55)

It is hard to muster a rebuke of death when it stares us in the face. When children are taken from us, when spouses shrivel before us, and when loved ones depart from this life. In these moments it is right to mourn life lost. To weep. To rend our garments. Good weeps with us. His purpose was, and is, life. 

But we cannot dwell there forever, we must remember the battle fought, the skirmish won. The Root of Jesse is victorious and so we can rebuke death, we can admonish it, and reprimand it to keep silent before radiating, pulsing, everlasting life itself. 

To all of you who have lost those dear to you this year or to those whose souls are still tinged with the dank depression of loved ones who passed years ago; hear this -- death is not the end.

We who march under the Ensign can join in the unending chorus of the hosts of God and with the band Gungor sing, "This is not the end; This is not the end of this; We will open our eyes wide, wider....We will shine like the stars bright, brighter." 

Amen, come Lord quickly come.

*To hear more, follow Ken on Twitter.

O Adonai; come with an outstretched arm and redeem us

O Adonai and ruler the house of Israel, who appeared to Moses in the burning bush and gave him the law on Sinai: Come with an outstretched arm and redeem us. 

O Adonai, et Dux domus Israel, qui Moysi in igne flammae rubi apparuisti, et ei in Sina legem dedisti: veni ad redimendum nos in brachio extento.

Ten years ago I stepped into Karlskirche and felt a chill go down my spine beholding the masterful altarpiece conceived by Johann Fishcher von Erlach and completed by his son, Joseph Emmanuel Fischer von Erlach. Backlit by natural light with marble statues surrounding and gold rays emanating from the center, the tetragrammaton - YHWH - is inscribed en absentia for light to pour through (see above).

*This post is part of a series on the #OAntiphons. To read part one, click here. 

Yahweh. The unutterable name of G-d. Over time, the rabbis would conceive of ways to convey, but not to speak, the name of G-d. They placed various "vowels" - breathing marks - to bring about various pronunciations, including Jehovah. To distinguish YHWH from adonai, another name for master, or lord, they used all capital letters - LORD. 

Still, both words LORD (YHWH) and Lord (Adonai) express the unspeakable power of God, the awe of his presence before Moses in the burning bush, and his sheer holy charisma. 

That presence is what imbues this Antiphon today.

With the cry, "O Adonai," the antiphon recalls God's potency, his immensity, even his wrath. Yet, it does not imagine him as some transcendent deity, some far removed master. Instead, Adonai (Lord) is imminent, close at hand, present. 

But not just present, present in powerful ways. In a burning bush and "with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm." (Ex 6:6; Deut 26:8; Ps 136:12) 

This antiphon speaks not only of God's might, but his power to save. It testifies to the Lord's willingness to flex his might according to his promise, on behalf of his people. It confesses, and calls upon, the Lord's forceful intervention to liberate, deliver, and redeem.

It coyly alludes to the exodus of the Hebrew slaves from the hands of Pharaoh, the contest between the God of the Hebrew people and the Pharaoh, the Lord, of Egypt and master of the cosmos. It hints that the hand of God not only neutralized the natural forces of the cosmos in the plagues, but even smote the greatest power known to humankind at the time - the Pharaoh and his family. 

This narrative is the central story of the Jewish people. The line alluded to, "with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm" is of great value in Judaic tradition and is a symbol used as part of the Passover Haggadah - the Seder meal. Rabbis reflect that the liberating power of the Lord on their behalf is twofold - with a strong hand he snatches them from their enslaved past, with the outstretched arm he delivers them out of evil and into a peaceful future. 

Our prayer today might be the same. Whether we call out "O Adonai, come with an outstretched arm and redeem us" or simply, "Lord, deliver us from evil" as we look around and scour the headlines we see much evil to be redeemed from.

Children massacred in Peshawar, innocent hostages murdered in Sydney, injustice in our homeland, Ebola wreaking havoc and killing thousands in West Africa, cancer attacking those too young, marriages rending at the seams, and the list goes on...

To this we pray "O Adonai, come with an outstretched arm and redeem us." With your mighty hand snatch us away from the painful present; with an outstretched arm deliver us from evil and grant us a peaceful future. This is the prayer of Advent. The prayer said in the waiting days before the coming of Christ.

And to this oration he responds, "Tomorrow, I will come. Tomorrow, I will come with a mighty hand to liberate all humankind. Tomorrow, I will come with an outstretched arm and deliver you from evil." And so we cry aloud, "Come, Adonai, quickly come." 

*Continue to follow along with Ken's daily mediations on the O Antiphons in the days leading up to Christmas by subscribing to the blog or following Ken on Twitter. 

O Antiphons - when Advent calls out for Christmas

From now until Christmas the O Antiphons are the Advent call for the coming of the Messiah, at Christmas and at the eschaton - the last of days. Each antiphon begins with the interjection "O," an exclamation of hope, expectance, excitement, and need. Each antiphon culminates with a call for the Messiah to come. As Christmas draws nigh, the cry beckons more urgently.

Originally composed in 7th- or 8th-century C.E. by monks who merged texts from the Hebrew Testament with the hopes of the New Testament, the antiphons were meant to help the world look to the coming of salvation in Christ Jesus - then, now, and in the future. Popular in the Middle Ages, when monastic choirs sang the antiphons in chorus with the great bells of cathedrals, the antiphons are also an acrostic. Together, the antiphons weave a rich tapestry of scriptural metaphors and images and provide a masterful mosaic of meditations leading up to the celebration of Christmas.

Yet the cries for the coming of Christ do not fall on deaf ears. There is a response embedded in the orations as well. The first Latin letter of each invocation (backwards) forms the phrase ero cras (Emmanuel - Rex - Oriens | Clavis - Radix - Adonai - Sapientia). The line is, indeed, the response of Christ to the calls of Advent, "Tomorrow, I will be there." 

With that response assured, let us together pray aloud and think upon the "O Antiphons" over the subsequent seven days. Each day until Christmas I will be posting an O Antiphon with its full verse and an image to meditate upon. 

And so, an expectant Advent and a Happy Christmas to all of you!

"O Wisdom, proceeding from the mouth of the Most High, pervading and permeating all creation, mightily ordering all things: Come and teach us the way of prudence." 

O Sapientia, quae ex ore Altissimi prodidisti, attingens a fine usque ad finem, fortiter suaviter disponensque omnia: veni ad docendum nos viam prudentiae.