a sermon

Our passage in Colossians today is a hymn. Scholars, studying scripture over the centuries have noted how this passage is different from Paul's typical writing - and that it has a particular rhythm, a lot like poetry. It's no surprise that the early Christians had hymns. Paul doesn't however say he's quoting a hymn, perhaps because people hearing this letter would already recognize it.  Paul  includes this affirmation of the Godness and humaness of Christ that was current in the early Church as a reminder for this congregation of who they serve. Throughout his writings Paul says a lot about Christ and God, but here he's using words that are already available and are very familiar. It's a point of connection with this congregation - as it would be with any congregation at the time. These people can't read, but they can hear and they can sing. They may not know Paul, but they know this song.
Now:
I'm going to tell you something, and I ask your forbearance with me: these hymns - the other one we have is in the letter to the Philippians - act like portraits. We may not think of portraits as acting - they usually seem passive sitting there on the walls of banks and schools, but they act on our imaginations. Portraits depict someone who is absent, so they can be remembered or represented in different places. Through time artists have painted portraits as a way for people far apart to meet each other. We have wonderful portraits from the Roman era, but Paul didn't use painted ones- that we know of. What does seem to have been used are these hymns and confessions. "I'd like you to meet Jesus - this is what he looks like." He's the centerpiece of the cosmos - the firstborn of creation - who holds all things together - all rule and authority and power."
I'm an artist and if  Paul came into my studio and said to me, "I want you to paint a picture of Christ." I would have said, "OK, what does he look like?" Expecting to hear some standard description, some stock features: He has curly hair, almond eyes, a swarthy complexion, a dark pointed beard. When Paul starts singing this hymn I'd realize we were in different territory. From the content of the hymn, he's describing a god, Apollo perhaps. That's fine, I can paint that. And then Paul would throw me a curve: "firstborn from the dead, making peace through the blood of his Cross."  Blood of his Cross - well that startles me. Now I don't know what I'm painting. A cross is a form of execution and people executed on a cross, by the state, don't merit commemoration. Portraits are finally about honor. Parents are honored; benefactors are honored; and the emperor is honored - especially on money - which demonstrates imperial ownership of the state.

This portrait of Christ in this hymn directly confronts expectations: Who is honored; What the character of the honoree is.
The portrait of Christ is no ordinary portrait.
The Christ we meet is no ordinary God.
The God we meet is an ordinary / un-ordinary human.

If you accepted an invitation to come to Church back then - early in the morning, the first day of the week, you might have heard and even joined in singing this hymn. Whatever effect it might have on you - you could only notice the effect it had on others in the congregation. Paul's description in Colossians of what you would see - people who were once hostile, engaged in evil - would testify that something of the character of this image had changed these people. I believe that the character of this image - its power for change - is healing. This image is meant to heal humanity. As Jesus says in John's gospel, "I came not to condemn but to heal." What is the content of this healing? The Christ who is at the center of creation, resides there not by force, but, as Paul says elsewhere, in weakness. At the heart of creation we find mercy not punishment; kindness, not blame; understanding, not indifference. In singing this hymn the congregation becomes part of this image. This is what the Church is, a place of healing for souls - souls that feel the burden of anger, the sting of misunderstanding, depression, fear, weakness, guilt.

This portrait is different from portraits seen on the walls of institutions. The images of long passed powerful people, usually white men, are pinned powerless to the walls. When I was in seminary I enjoyed looking at the portraits of presidents and teachers from long ago. The images themselves don't say much about how to live or give much hope. I realize what I'm looking at is what the institution intended me to see. And that may be another feature of this hymn - it presents an image from before an institution existed.  This language about Christ rose spontaneously from among early worshippers. How spontaneous is difficult to say - certainly there was no committee like we know of them; there was no agenda to get the theology right. They just sang it; it was already present. This portrait is a living portrait. We are all part of it. The Church is not separate from this image.

When we gather for worship we create something. We create something and when it is created, we must create again. The process of being this healing image is continuous. The unique power of the church is that it expresses the love and presence of Christ. This love is always there and it is always healing.

I say this aware of problems. The history of the Church in time is rife with suffering and pain inflicted on people high and low. I've been in churches that specialize in saying the right things - and felt wounded and miserable. I've felt alone, broken, unheard in the midst of praise songs and orthodox liturgies. In these churches, Christ may be entombed in the center but he is not alive and ruling the center.  This image of healing prevails, though in spite of this. I believe it is as accessible for us today as it was for these 1st century believers. Our context and circumstances are very different - but the elemental human nature is the same. With the Holy Spirit's help we seek it out and work to create it. Creating this healing image is a struggle. We remark on its confessional truth when we say "Christ is the Center" - the center of our lives, our faith, of creation - but if we are merely content with saying something that is correct - without investing our lives, then we miss the healing in this image.

How do we get at this healing? How do we embody this? How do we create this?

Paul, in this passage attests to how this image is lived out when he remarks that "in his flesh he is completing what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for  Christ's body, the Church." He  is not talking about atonement here - Christ's washing away our sins. Paul is describing how he lives out his faith. Paul's gaze into this portrait of Christ has altered his life - from persecutor to preacher, and this alteration has healed him. Looking at Paul's life, he has changed from a person seeking out people to hurt, carried on by rage, to a person who seeks out hurt people - who wants to bring people in rather than exclude them.

One aspect of creativity is openness, the willingness to make connections rather than to close off. That excites me about Edgewood: the decision to be a More Light congregation. The early Church practiced that kind of openness when it accepted gentiles instead of remaining exclusively Jewish. They endured some criticism and lost people who wanted to remain closed off and exclusive. Embracing change is like that. A church I am part of back in Atlanta, Oakhurst Presbyterian, embraced the changing demographics of the surrounding neighborhood and began to thrive and grow - becoming a racially diverse congregation that works for social justice and racial reconciliation.

When a church is open to change and open to the input of new people healing occurs. People who had been silenced find a voice - that's healing. People who had been excluded are empowered - that's healing. Healing is a creative exercise. Because it is creative it involves our spirits at a deep level. It's in our spirits that crises are easily masked. We can spot a damaged body, but a damaged spirit - that takes some skill to notice - or some surrounding love to talk about. The world exhibits this spiritual damage in its advertising, its inequalities, its consumption - the earth is scarred and peoples are scarred.

What the Church does is limited, perhaps, but still significant. Our worship tells forth the central image of our text today: Christ in the center binds together what is broken, is present with the grief and loss that mark human lives, and creates peace in a broken world. This is an image that invites us all in to feast at the table - a table where the Holy Spirit lifts us up and seats us in a place where the nations are healed.