Sickness and Happiness

It may have happened to you: a flight to visit people you want to see, but when you get there you are laid low with sickness. In Chicago for an academic conference, I saw an old friend sitting, alone and masked, in the back of the room. She had arrived at the conference a couple of days before, but this was her first time out of her hotel room. It was the last session of the conference; she was feeling better only as it was coming to an end. Along with many others, I was glad to see her.

    More often, I suppose, it happens with families. You haven’t seen each other since maybe last Christmas, but just before you arrived a child got a fever and is now sleeping it off; over the next few days this heavy tiredness comes over first one parent then the other. It was hardly the Christmas visit you had anticipated, and everyone is sorry for that.

    But as you leave, it comes to you: even with sickness, it is still Christmas. 

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    When the Word of God took on our humanity, he took on our vulnerability to disease. The gospels never record Jesus having a sore throat, but it was something that could have happened to him. The gospels do record him being tired and weary—”the Son of Man has no place to lay his head”—even as they also record him staying awake through the night in prayer. Yes, Jesus had command over disease, yet it is impossible to imagine him using that power for his own comfort. When passersby mocked him on the cross, telling him to come down if he really were the Son of God, they were right in this: he could have come down. But he did not use his own authority to preserve himself from death.

    Vulnerability is the point of being a baby, of lying in a manger, of needing to nurse and all the rest. If, dear reader, yours was a Christmas that fell short of expectations, a Christmas interrupted by sickness, it was still Christmas. Jesus has identified himself with everything that is human, and he is one with us throughout our lives, both when our lives unfold as expected and also when they do not.

    Out & About. Thus Sunday (Jan. 14) I am to preach at St. Matthew’s Cathedral in Dallas at the 9 and 11:15 a.m. Eucharists. That evening at 5 p.m., also at St. Matthew’s, I will lead a discussion of J. F. Powers’s novel, Morte d’Urban. Anyone who reads the book is welcome to the discussion; others are welcome to come and listen. We meet in the Great Hall: from the parking lot, walk around the church for the entrance. The conversation ends at 6:30.

 

"A name written, that no man knew"

   But he knew! On the first day of the year, the feast that Episcopalians call “Holy Name,” every other year we read from the 19th chapter of the Revelation to Saint John the Divine. It is a passage that describes a vision of Jesus in the future. He is in (or above) the sky. He is on a white horse. He is called Faithful and True. He is coming to judge, and he is going to judge with righteousness and make war, which is to say, he is going to conquer the unrighteous who have wickedly turned against God and terrorize the earth. His eyes see everything; his head wears many crowns. His clothing has been dipped in blood—a sign to remind us of the cross. And in case we are wondering who he is, we are told that “his name is called The Word of God.” He is going to rule the earth. On his clothing and on his thigh there is a name written: King of Kings, and Lord of Lords.

    This is a thrilling picture of the victory of Christ over all evil, and his effectuation of his kingship and rule over all the nations of the earth. But in the midst of it is a very mysterious line. We are told what he is called (Faithful and True); we are told that his name is called The Word of God; we are told that there is a name written upon him, King of Kings and Lord of Lords. But for all this we are not told as it were his real name. Saint John the Divine writes: “His eyes were as a flame of fire, and on his head were many crowns; and he had a name written, that no man knew, but he himself.”

    I do not know what this means. I do not think it means the name “Jesus,” because that name is known throughout the world, known to those who love him and known also to those who despise him. Rather, I think that he has “a name written, that no man knew” points to the infinite depths of Jesus’ person. There is more to him than anyone can know. We know he is faithful, true, God’s Word, and the ruler over all other rulers through the universe. But that does not exhaust who he is. There is ever more to Jesus than we can name.

    It also, I think, points to Jesus’ complete self-understanding. In a sense, no one knows your real name, whoever you are. You also have infinite depths that are hidden from other people. But in our cases, those depths are hidden also from us. This means that, in a sense, I don’t know who I am! I don’t know what the name “Victor” points to. But Jesus always had complete self-mastery; he always understood everyone around him and also himself. Perhaps the most amazing words in Rev. 19:11-16 are “but he himself.” No one knew the name he had; “but he himself,” he knew.

    The scripture lessons for Morning and Evening Prayer on major feasts, like the Holy Name on January 1, tend to approach the substance of the feast obliquely. The Holy Name is about Jesus’ circumcision and being given the name that means “God saves.” But the church opens up the possibility of meditating on things from unexpected angles. I am writing this in the evening of January 1. I read Rev. 19 earlier this morning, and I’ve been pondering it all day.

    You have a chance to try this yourself. Saturday, January 6, is the Epiphany. The lessons for Morning and Evening Prayer are in the Prayer Book on page 943.

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    Out & About. Sunday, January 14, I am to preach at St. Matthew’s Cathedral in Dallas; the Eucharists are at 9 and 11:15 a.m. That evening at 5 p.m., also at St. Matthew’s, I will lead a discussion of J. F. Powers’s novel, Morte d’Urban. Anyone who reads the book is welcome to the discussion; others are welcome to come and listen. We meet in the Great Hall: from the parking lot, walk around the church for the entrance. The conversation ends at 6:30.


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The Rev. Canon Victor Lee Austin. Ph.D., is the Theologian-in-Residence for the diocese and is the author of several books including, "Friendship: The Heart of Being Human" and "A Post-Covid Catechesis.: