The Rev. Noah Van Niel
The Chapel of the Cross
February 2, 2020
The Feast of the Presentation: Malachi 3:1-4; Psalm 24:7-10; Hebrews 2:14-18; Luke 2:22-40
If you’ve been following the news the past few weeks, no doubt you have caught wind of the shockingly bold and unprecedented behavior coming from the historic halls of power. Behavior that has everyone up in arms, wondering what will happen if it is allowed to set a precedent. Behavior that has been dissected and chewed over for hours by two diametrically opposed sides, one of whom says, “Go for it, don’t listen to them.” While the other says, “This is a threat to the very foundations that uphold our country.” I’m talking, of course, about “Megxit.” No, not Brexit (though that was pretty big too). “Megxit.” This clever moniker was given by the British tabloids to the announcement by Prince Harry and his wife Meghan Markle that they would be “stepping back” from their royal duties. You know, Harry and Meghan, who got married so memorably at Windsor Castle less than two years ago; when Michael Curry preached and the day was happy and bright, well they have chosen to remove themselves from the hot glare of the monarchy’s spotlight. Rather than have their lives constantly invaded by an intrusive press, Harry and Meghan said, “No thank you. We refuse to be who you say we have to be. We choose to decline our destiny.”
Do you believe in destiny? Because judging from the vicious response many people had to Harry and Meghan’s announcement, there seem to be many who cling to the idea that some people have their futures written in the stars, and to refuse that future is a violation of the proper order of things, a violation even, perhaps, of God’s plan for your life. I find this idea of God having a preordained plan for our lives, of us having a destiny, problematic. Because if the idea of destiny, the idea that God has a preordained “plan” for me, is true, that is a direct violation of something else God has given us: free will. Having a preordained future erases our power to choose what kind of life we want to live. There are lots of forces impinging on how free we are to choose our futures—genes, family, race, class—but I don’t think God is one of them. To be clear, saying I don’t believe God orchestrates our destiny, or plans and plots our lives like a stage director, does not mean I don’t think has a goal for us, a dream, a hope of what we might be. I believe God’s goal for each of us, is to be one with Him and to choose to live our lives in ways that lessen the space between us. I just don’t think he will force that goal upon us. Having a goal and having a destiny are two different things. Having a destiny implies that God is going to make it happen. Having a goal implies it’s on us to make it happen. Which is a slight, but important distinction. I don’t think God meddles in the world by intervening and coordinating certain events and outcomes because that violates our free will. I think he gives us chances, and choices, not plans and destinies.
The idea of destiny shows up in our Gospel this morning as well. When Mary and Joseph bring their six-week-old baby to the Temple in Jerusalem, they are doing a very normal thing. It was written in the Jewish Law that a couple’s first-born son was to be “redeemed” from God with an offering in the Temple. It was a way of honoring, thanking, paying God back, as it were, for the gift of this child. So, Mary and Joseph come into the Temple to “do what was customary under the law,” and things take a rather odd turn. First this random stranger, Simeon, grabs their child and starts singing about how, now that he has seen this six-week-old baby, he can die in peace because this boy will be his salvation, the light to the Gentiles, the glory of the people of Israel. And then Anna, a faithful old woman, joins in the song of praise for this newborn redeemer, spreading the word to all her faithful friends. “This child is destined,” Simeon says, “for the falling and rising of many in Israel.”
Of course, Simeon and Anna are not the first ones to tell Mary and Joseph about Jesus’ destiny. First there was the angel who came to Mary to tell her what was in store for the child she was going to miraculously bear. Then an angel came to Joseph in a dream telling him to accept this child and name him “Jesus” because he would save people from their sins. Then there were the shepherds, and then there were the wisemen, both showing up saying this little boy was going to be the King of the Jews, and now this. A LOT of people have been telling Mary and Joseph what their baby boy was destined to become.
Which makes me wonder: could Jesus have said, “No”? Could Jesus have said, “No, I refuse to be who you say I am going to be”? Could he have declined the destiny that was placed upon him, like Harry and Meghan did? Could Jesus have said to God, or to his parents, or to people like Simeon and Anna—“No”?
Yes. Because if Jesus was fully human, if he really became “like his brothers and sisters in every respect,” and shared their very same flesh and blood, as Hebrews puts it this morning, and if to be human is to have free will—the ability to say yes, or no, to choose how to live our lives for ourselves—then it follows, that yes, he could have said no. If you read the Gospels nowhere is Jesus forced into this role of Messiah. He assents to it. God never coerces Jesus to do anything. And he doesn’t for us either. God does not force or coerce, because God loves. Love invites, it calls, it woos, but it never coerces. Because that would be a violation of our free will, a violation of the possibility to return that love by saying yes to God. It would turn us into God’s puppets, rather than God’s children. And so even though it risks us saying no, risks us choosing distance rather than relationship, risks us choosing pain and sin and death, God is not willing to turn us into puppets, for that would erase the joy that is experienced when we do, freely, choose Him. At any point, Jesus could have said, no. He had that freedom. And so do we. Which is incredible. And terrifying. Because along with the immense opportunity free will offers us, comes the immense responsibility to use it rightly. And charting a way through the chaos of choice, with the state of our souls on the line, can sometimes feel like too much to manage.
It reminds me of a story from last year when we were taking some of our Campus Ministry students on a trip for Spring Break and we were flying on Southwest, where they let you pick any seat you want once you’re onboard. This usually works okay, but for some reason this time it was mayhem. One of our young women fought her way through the madness into a seat next to an older man who had his arms crossed, pretend sleeping, not the most welcoming posture. He cracked open his eyes when she sat down. Being a personable young woman, she said, “Hello. Pretty crazy on here isn’t it.” “Hmph,” he snorted. “Too much freedom.”
Too much freedom. When the stakes are as high as how to orient our life, how to construct our souls, having free will can feel like a bit too much freedom. We’d take some coercion. We’d take a destiny. We’d take frameworks that offer a very clearly defined, black and white explanation of what it is you are to say and do so that we can make sure we’re doing it right. I think that’s part of the reason so many people still cling to the idea of destiny, still hold to that idea of God managing a preordained plan for us, because it creates the illusion of order in the face of chaos. It gives a simple answer to life’s complex problems. And perhaps that’s why some people still hold so tightly to antiquated institutions like the British monarchy as well: the fear brought on by “too much freedom!” But in my experience, what is good, and right and true is often complicated to discern, and somewhat unclear. In reality it’s often difficult to know what we should say, and do and be, and even when it is clear, it’s not inevitable we will have the courage to do it.
It’s at those moments when I am particularly perplexed by the possibilities of how I might exercise my free will and try to build a life that is holy and good; as I stumble my way through the underbrush of existence, wondering where the right next step should be, it at those moments, that I am most grateful for Jesus; for one who knows what it is to try and navigate those same struggles. God may not give us a destiny, but he does give us a guide. Someone who has picked his way through the minefield of life without a misstep. Since Jesus was human, he knows the struggle of trying to live up to God’s goal for us, to choose a life in union with God. And because he knew how hard it was, and was still able to do it, that gives me some hope, some direction for how I might do the same.
For in a beautifully ironic way, it is Jesus’ humanity that makes him our savior, as much as his divinity. He gives us hope of living a life that is holy and good not because he was the Son of the Almighty but actually because he was a baby in a manger; and a teenager in the Temple; and a young man making his way. It is the humanness of Jesus that makes us able to relate to him enough to follow him, enough to be saved by him. That’s the argument Hebrews is making: “Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help [us] who are being tested.” And because, in the midst of that testing, he was able to choose a complete and continual “yes,” to God’s invitation, it gave us a glimpse of the joys and power on offer for a life lived in complete connection and oneness with God. He actually lived the goal God has for all of us, and by choice. And in him, we are given the invitation to bring our life in alignment with his and let him lead us to that same place; to be choose a state of mind and heart where our wills match his will, so that our lives can match his life, so that our eternity, can match his eternity. That’s all God really wants, for us to choose Him. Completely and continually, just like Jesus did.
I don’t think Harry and Meghan made their decision to step back from their Royal duties in order to be closer to God. But they did remind us once again that in this life we are the ones who get to say who we will be. At times we may wish someone figured it all out for us; we may long for a divinely orchestrated destiny. But that’s not what we’re given. We’re given a life, and we’re given a goal, and we’re given chances and choices, and we’re given the compass of Christ in our pocket to find our way home. Each step is still a struggle, and we may chart a circuitous route, but Jesus is there to reorient us when we get turned around, with a promise of what awaits us and a promise that it can be done. That way even when we suffer the inevitable setbacks and stumbles, we won’t stop moving, we will keep saying yes to God, even when we may want to say no. So that when we make it home it will be not be because it was our destiny, but because it was our choice. And that will make all the difference. Amen.