Q is for Quizical

    A year ago, in the period of time known as B.C. (“before Covid”), I began writing on the divine alphabet, a series of adjectives (mostly) that are both fitting and unusual for God. We come now to the letter Q, and with it, a very odd word.
    The word “quiz” seems to have first appeared about 1789, which is to say, it’s relatively recent. No one is certain of its origin. Long before it came to mean a test or exam, it meant an odd or eccentric person.
    “Quizzical”doesn’t exactly mean “asking questions,” but questioning hangs in the air around it. Its meanings run from “comically quaint” to “mildly teasing or mocking” to “expressive of puzzlement, curiosity, or disbelief.” God, it seems to me, is quizzical in all these ways.
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    God is quaint in that he is old-fashioned. He doesn’t fit in with our world. On the other hand, we could say with equal truth that he is future-fashioned, and that he doesn’t fit in with our world because he is so far in advance of it.
    God is both behind and in front. In both ways he doesn’t fit in, although it would be truer to say that the world doesn’t fit in with God. God has principles that the world has wrongly abandoned, and he has truths that the world has never achieved. The world looks at God and sees someone irrelevant to the way things are. God sees the world and is quizzical.
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    While God never mocks us in a cruel way, there are lots of questions he puts to us that are “mildly teasing or mocking.”
    Here is God’s first question—the first question in the Bible. “Adam, where art thou?” The man and woman have eaten the forbidden fruit and, having heard God coming, have hidden from him. God of course knows exactly where they are! The question, as “mildly teasing or mocking,” points out that no one can hide from God. But rather than shout: “You can’t hide from me!” God puts forth a question, “Where are you?” When God asks what we have done, we hear a gentle mocking—done with a certain tenderness, in fact.
    In this vein we should hear the questions God puts to Jonah after he has mercy on Ninevah. “Do you do well to be angry over the plant?” God asks. Humor runs throughout the book of Jonah; here, by means of a question, God invites Jonah to get outside of his self-pity and have some sympathy for Ninevah. It almost feels like friendly teasing.
    God seems to like asking questions as much as anything else he does, and those questions often are efforts to try to get us out of ourselves. Jesus: “Who proved himself neighbor to the man wounded on the side of the road?” God to Job: “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the world?” These are not exam questions. God does not ask them in order to test, judge, and punish. He asks them almost ironically, inviting us to enter into a new and better way of seeing things, leading to a new and better way of living.
    God is quizzical.
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    To be quizzical is also to express a puzzlement over a state of affairs. To be quizzical is the perfect response to sin, for the reason that sin never makes sense. “What were you thinking?” we ask, but we know that nothing can answer the question adequately. Consider God’s question, “Did you eat of the tree I told you not to eat?” No one can give an answer that enlightens or explains the sin. The man blames the woman, the woman blames the snake, and the snake, as you may have heard, had no leg to stand on.
    Sin doesn’t make sense and the best we can do is blame others.
    With regard to sin, the reason God is quizzical is that it is impossible for anyone to be other than quizzical.
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    You might find it interesting to flip through some pages of the Bible and look for questions that God or Jesus asks. See if you agree that Q is for Quizzical.
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    Out & About (virtually and otherwise). I am to preach at Our Merciful Saviour in Kaufman, Tex., at 10 o’clock this Sunday (February 14). Then on Ash Wednesday I am to preach at the 7 a.m., high noon, and 6 p.m. traditional services at Church of the Incarnation in Dallas.
    Sunday, February 21, I am to begin a three-week class on Leviticus. Yes! Up with Leviticus! This will be at Incarnation at 10:15ish each week, with, it is hoped, both on-line and in-person options; details to come.
    Wednesday, February 24, I am to give the homily at the 5:30 p.m. Eucharist for the feast of St. Matthias. This will be at St. Matthew’s Cathedral in Dallas, online and also in-person (email the cathedral to sign-up for in-person).
    Sunday, February 28, I am to preach at the 4 p.m. patronal festival for St. David of Wales (whose feast is indeed March 1), Denton, Tex.
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    On the Web. An essay of mine, “On Twinning,” appears in the Fall 2020 issue of the Human Life Review. This is the current issue and, for now, can be accessed for free at https://humanlifereview.com/issue/fall-2020/. At the front of the issue, the editors say some good things about Susan also.

 

 

 

Jesus Reaches Forth His Hand

 Saint Matthew structures his gospel so that we will see the movement from teaching to action, from word to deed. It is set out in large form in chapters 5 through 9. Chapters 5 to 7 are the Sermon on the Mount, that magnificent body of teaching that begins with “Blessed are the poor in spirit” and contains at its very center the Lord’s Prayer. The Sermon on the Mount gives us Jesus’ teaching in depth. Then chapters 8 and 9 give us his healings and other actions in particular detail.
    It is well-crafted, and worth close attention.
    The deeds of Jesus begin with a simple healing story, but what depths are in the simplicity! Jesus comes down from the mountain of teaching, and a leper comes to him, falls down before him, and states his belief to Jesus: if you want to, I know you can make me clean. What this leprosy was, we don’t know for sure, but in the text it is understood as an uncleanness, some sort of contagious something that insinuated itself into one’s skin. Consequently, the leper was shunned and stayed to the edges of society. People kept their distance from the leper, to try to be safe and not to contract the disease themselves.
    The leper’s faith is well-placed. Jesus can heal him, and he does want to. But before Jesus speaks, he performs an action. You, dear reader, can imagine having an infectious condition that people are afraid of. You can imagine a healer coming to you who, maybe, has the wherewithal to make you clean. But how will you imagine that healer coming to you? In the year of our Lord 2021 you will imagine: he stops outside your room, washes his hands carefully, puts on a gown, puts on a hood, puts on a mask, covers his face with a shield, and covers his hands with gloves. Then he comes in to see you.
    Jesus had no PPE. But the situation was as emotionally fraught, and you can imagine a gasp ran through the crowd. The leper came forth and everyone else, instinctively, pulled back, but Jesus stood his ground. And as the crowd stared,Jesus put forth his hand, and touched him. And then Jesus spoke. Immediately, Saint Matthew says, the man’s leprosy was cleansed.
    The man was cleansed when Jesus spoke: be thou clean. When Jesus first put forth his hand, and touched him, he was not yet cleansed.
    Don’t get me wrong: I’m not making a point against PPE; for those of us who are not Jesus, I think PPE is good stuff! My point is about Jesus, and about human touch. The immediate action that flows forth out of the word of Jesus is the deed of touch. Jesus comes down from the mountain of teaching and stands his ground and touches a man no one else would have touched. The isolated, feared, shunned, unclean human being feels on his body the touch of God.
    That touch of Jesus restores his humanity.
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    Our humanity has been grievously challenged by the Blasted Virus. We have been told to “practice” social distancing. But being distant from one another is not what we humans are created by God to be; to avoid touching one another is not what Jesus restored us to be. It surely seems important for us to keep physical distancing at this time—I myself believe it is very important—but we should not get used to it. It needs to feel wrong, to be only an emergency measure, not something we “practice” in order to get good at it. We practice virtues in order to grow into them. We dare not grow into physical distancing.
    As we look forward to a time of “re-emergence,” let us keep in front of us the very first action that flows out of the teaching of Jesus: the hand stretched forth to touch, to heal, to restore to human fellowship the person everyone else was afraid to touch.
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    Readers Write: In response to last week’s post, a professor of psychology and ethics told me there was a local storm online amongst social psychologists back when “social distancing” began to be promoted. They were wondering whether to intervene around the term. (Obviously, social psychology was not part of the science governing the early pandemic response.) And another reader told me that the first time he heard someone say “physical distancing” (rather than “social”) was by our presiding bishop, Michael Curry. This also was early on, and striking; my correspondent thought, “Good for him.” Amen.
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    Out & About, Virtually & Otherwise. I am to preach at the Church of the Redeemer in Sarasota, Florida, this weekend (Feb. 6/7) and to speak to a widow(er)s’ group and the adult Sunday class. This will also be on their website. When I lived in the Hudson Valley I used to badmouth Florida (see a remark or two in A Priest’s Journal), but I’m happy to eat those words.
    Sunday, February 14, I will be preaching at the 10 o'clock eucharist at Our Merciful Savior in Kaufman, Tex. This is an exclusively in-person experience. It has charmed me to see that the diocese of Dallas has had three churches dedicated to the Savior, to our Savior, and to our merciful Savior. I am campaigning for a church plant dedicated to either “Your Savior” or “Our Unmerciful Savior.” The latter could have a special devotion to Oscar the Grouch, no?
    After such thoughts I clearly need to confess sins. I’m to preach on Ash Wednesday (February 17) at various services including two services outdoors “in the lot.” I suppose that entails a lot of ashes? (Sorry; how many Hail Marys for a bad pun?)

 

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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.: