Divine Plagiarism

It is amazing how two different people can remember the exact same event in two completely different ways. This is especially true when that event was an argument between those two people. Retold a hundred times in the minds of each combatant, the story becomes sharper, the hero nobler, and the villain crueler. Of course, one story’s hero is the other’s villain and vice versa. Anthropologists call this legendary development. It usually takes about two hundred years for legendary development to reshape a historical text. It usually takes about two weeks for it to happen to our individual histories. So it should take somewhere between two weeks and two hundred years for legendary development to reinvent the history of a people group.

On some level, we all assume that if the Apostles to show up today, they would all be found safely within the confines of our own denominational group. We all claim to be the legitimate successors and heirs to the early church. The problem is that we all say that, and many of us belong to denominations that are not in full communion with each other. We cannot all be right. We could all be wrong.

I wonder how different it is from a spat between once-friends. ‘When he admits that it is all his fault, then we can be friends again.’ ‘When all the ‘born-agains’ come back to Rome Sweet Home, then we can be in unity.’ Perhaps more a family feud, where one sibling does not respect anything the other does that he does not understand. ‘If all the Catholics became Charismatic, then I’d be glad to call them brothers. Until then, they are step-children.’ Really, both sides are saying the same thing: we will accept you if and only if you become like us. If there is a more direct expression of pride, I am not aware of it.

Pride is the diametric opposite of love. Love is patient and kind, it always hopes, it keeps no record of wrongs. Pride is not patient enough to pursue understanding, not kind enough to be gracious in the interim, it does not hope enough to pursue others, it forever keeps records of wrongs. Where love seeks to redeem those outside its reach, pride mocks and destroys the things it cannot grasp. The lifeblood of the Church is the self-giving love of Christ. Only by His blood is man reconciled to God, and only by His blood is man reconciled to others.

Praying for reconciliation is really quite dangerous. God promises that He will give us whatever we ask in His will. In praying, we clear Him to tear down all the parts of us that get in the way of that prayer. So when we pray for patience, He tears down our impatience with trying times. When we pray for humility, He tears down our arrogance with a good dose of reality. And when we pray for reconciliation, He tears down our pride. This is the trouble with asking God to adjudicate something: He is rather like Solomon. The true mother of the child puts aside her pride, even in the face of tremendous injustice, to save her child’s life. In doing so, she shows herself the rightful parent and is hence reconciled to her baby.

It is rare that God reconciles two people by telling one, ‘you were right and they were wrong.’ Instead of magnifying the pride of one party at the expense of the other, God casts down the pride of both parties and glorifies Himself. He generally answers, ‘both of you are fallen and need my grace.’ In the abundance of that grace, both find the love to find each other again. Joseph was reconciled to his brothers in this way, and what was true for the children of Jacob will be true for his tribes. Only in humility will the Body of Christ will regain its unity.

I imagine that in the unpleasant parting of Joseph and his brothers, there was a breaking of stories. To Joseph’s understanding, he was betrayed and sold into slavery by his cruel brothers, simply because they were jealous of the love that their father Israel lavished upon him. Perhaps to his brothers, Joseph forced their hand. In telling them that he would rule over all of them, Joseph made clear his intention to usurp the inheritance, and they did the only thing they could do. Perhaps, to their eyes, selling him into slavery was not less wrong that the slavery that Joseph had promised to impose on all of them. Better one man a slave than all men slaves. In the hundredth retelling, doubtless all the nuance had long since passed from either side of the story. The two narratives were separated by an ever-widening chasm, across which no love or compassion could pass.

We, too, have our spilt narratives. The Council of Trent was no less bloody than Joseph’s day in the desert, and we all have our version of what happened. Retold by different people in different places over the course of five hundred years, all we really remember is that we were right and they were wrong. As with an argument between lovers, only the facts that support that conclusion make it to the final cut of the story. It is strange that the things that were the least clear in the initial telling of the story are the most clear in the legend that develops from it, and the things that were most clear become the least remembered.

We have different stories. One is a story of transference, of rebirth through grafting. That retelling of the story is the passing of the gospel to the Gentiles. The Pharisees, the inheritors of Moses‘ seat, bent the laws of God to the selfish ends of men. The commandments were twisted until they were unrecognizable, while those entrusted with the law used it to enrich themselves. The teachers of the law made sure that their robes were beautiful adorned, without a thought for the fatherless or the widow. When confronted with the Word of God, they silenced the Messenger with death threats, demanding that he repent from His blasphemy. So the law was torn from the hands of that people and given to another.

So the inheritors of the seat of Peter forget the words of the Rock. They hid the law of love from those it was meant to save, twisting and distorting it to enshrine their positions of power. And the red-breasted Cardinals in their gilden palaces knew nothing of the poor in the streets of their cities, as St. Peter’s was built with the blood of their parishioners. When a messenger armed with the Word confronts them, they demand recantations on pain of death. So the chair of Peter is ripped from their hands, and given into the hands of others. As Gamaliel would say, we would still be growing five centuries later if God was not with us. While there may still be a remnant from the old covenant, it is the Protestants who are in the center of God’s story.

Of course, there is another retelling. This one is a story of legitimate authority and rebellion, of those willing to submit to the fullness of God’s Truth, and those who only wanted Him on their terms. It is a story of Israel and Samaria. There was one Ark of the Covenant, passed down from the days of Moses. It had one legitimate resting place: the Temple in Jerusalem. There was only one Temple, only on Holy of Holies where the Spirit of God chose to dwell. And there was only one tribe of Levi, empowered to serve and celebrate the presence of God. There was only one faucet from which the grace of God flowed to His people, and you had to place yourself under that faucet to find the fullness of His grace. You could choose to worship at the Well of Abraham if you wanted to, but you were choosing to distance yourself from the center of His blessings. Still, there was such an overflow from the faucet that grace may splash all the way to Samaria. Nonetheless, the Samaritans were a proud people, unwilling to submit to the authorities established by God, and hence they cut themselves off from the fullness of His grace.

So there has always been one Faith, passed down from the Apostles, one Seat of Peter, passed down from one Holy Father to another, one Holy Communion, entrusted to the new Levites. There are those who find the humility to submit to the grace that flows from the one true Church, and there are those who refuse it because of their own pride. There is only one faucet, and under it grace flows down through the sacraments to the People of God. You can choose to worship outside the confines of the true Church, but you are choosing to distance yourself from the center of His grace. Still, there is such an overflow of His grace that it may splash all the way into Baptist and Pentecostal churches. Nonetheless, the Protestants are a proud people, unwilling to submit to the authorities established by God, and hence cut off from the fullness of His grace. While there may be some of them who truly pursue God as revealed in nature and Scripture, it is the Catholics who are in the center of God’s story.

Though told from two seemingly irreconcilable perspectives, something about these stories seems striking similar. They both sound a lot like, ‘I was right and you were wrong.’ Perhaps there is a different story, one that sounds a lot more like, ‘both of us are fallen and in need of a Savior.’ Perhaps there is a story we can tell together, one where we are humbled and Christ is glorified.

That story is one of Israel and of Judah. It is a story of a kingdom of God divided by the sin of men. There was once one Israel, a land of milk and honey, of prophecy and promise. The land of Joshua and of David and Solomon. A land with one King, one law and one tribe of priests. But Salvation History is written at the intersection of the perfect will of God and the sinfulness of men, and so it was here. The kings of Israel fell away from God, and in the process fell away from each other. And so Israel was divided into two. Both Israel and Judah had legitimate claims to the inheritance. Judah claimed Jerusalem, Israel claimed the majority of the tribes. The Northern and the Southern Kingdom both claimed to be the true people of God, and in a way, they both were. It just that neither of them were all of the true people of God. Because the kingdom is divided, both claims are incomplete. In a united kingdom, all the claims would have been reconciled to each other, for there would only have been one Claimant. One Man unites the claims.

In Return of the King, Tolkien tells of Aragorn, the Ranger who becomes King of Men. There are many kings, princes and stewards of men in Middle-earth at the end of the third age, many claims to the various thrones. Aragorn reconciles all those claims to each other. He is last of the line of Numenor, the legitimate heir to the kingship of men. He saves the Kingdom of Rohan, earning the allegiance of Theoden and Eomer, the rulers of Rohan. He saves the Kingdom of Gondor, winning the allegiance of Faramir, the Steward. He is the one man that all the princes of men will recognize as their rightful ruler, and he is the one man that unites all the free men of Middle-Earth.

Tolkien’s Aragorn reflects something of Jesus Christ. The Lamb of God unites all the claims, and all of His children are united in Him. He is the Lion of the Tribe of Judah, the prophesied King of the line of David, the Alpha and the Omega, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. He is the Savior of the Catholics and Evangelicals, the Savior of Luther and Erasmus, of Hus and Ignatius, of Billy Graham and John Paul the Second. One Man would have restored the kingdoms of Israel. One day, He still will. That One Man will unite the church. As we draw in to Him, the claims become reconciled, and we start telling one story again. Therefore, in reconciliation, there must be a fusion of stories.

On this side of the fall, any great good is almost always associated with a great deal of friction. Without the terrible War of the Ring, Aragorn would not have been able to unite the claims to the kingship of Middle-Earth. His greatest enemy in doing so was not the armies of Mordor, but the pride of Denethor, the Steward of Gondor. Accustomed to the power and the position of ruler, Denethor is unwilling to relinquish Gondor to Aragorn, the rightful King. Instead, the kingdom is pried from his dead hands. The Pharisees were to be the Stewards of the Seat of Moses until the return of the King. When He came, like Denethor, they were unwilling to relinquish their position as rulers. And like Denethor, rulership was wrenched from their dead hands, as the Romans tore the Temple apart, brick by brick.

We are hardly immune to the temptation of the Steward. Pastors and priests grow accustomed to their position and their influence. Make it through Seminary, pay your dues as a youth pastor or a parish priest, and you finally find yourself in a good place. It is hard to let go of such a place. After all, that time should count for something, right? It should count for something to learn the entire Torah, to be of the tribe of Benjamin, to be circumcised in accordance with the Law, to be the Pharisee of Pharisees. Paul counts it all as loss. (Of course, only after having been wrenched off his horse by the Hand of God.) I wonder how hard it would be for many in the ministry to submit to a loss of power and prestige were God to reunite the claims of His Church. I wonder how much Faramir versus how much Denethor lives within each of us.

There is still a question of understanding. Imagine a restaurant with a newlywed couple sitting right across from an older couple. The newlyweds are all googly-eyed, hands all over each other, almost making out right at the table. The older couple sits all prim and proper, talking about how much they enjoy the weather this time of the year, and about their plans to go to the museum the next day. Looking at the older couple, the newlyweds can’t understand how two people who love each other can sit across from each other so bereft of emotion. The newlyweds express their love in their passion, and they are not wrong to do so. But they would do well to learn and appreciate other ways to express love. Looking at the newlyweds, the older couple doesn’t understand how two people who know so little about each other can truly love each other. You see, the older couple started going to the museum every Tuesday when they were a younger couple. As years of Tuesdays passed, museums were one of the things that lasted, along with their respect and appreciation for each other. Therefore, to them, that tradition is a more meaningful expression of love than is adolescent groping. But they, too, would do well to re-discover their springtime passions for each other.

We are like the two couples. Neither of us are particularly interested in learning how the other expresses their love for God. Until we do, neither of us will truly learn to respect each other, certainly not enough to call each other family. I venture to say that much of this has to do with our love affair with comfort. But Agape is hardly comfortable, it sends you across railroad tracks and across oceans. Agape teaches us to pour ourselves out as a drink sacrifice for others. Part of this is understanding the story of the other. A bigger part of it is letting go of our own.

For this, we return to Joseph. Sitting in a slaver’s pit, Joseph certainly had time and reason to ruminate over his side of the story. Instead, he does something far wiser. He lets go, and asks God to tell the story instead. Trusting in God, Joseph believes that God will work all things for good, and through that trust the Lord frees him of the power of pride and vengeance. God brought Joseph to a place where he could lead his brothers into that same freedom. It is for freedom that Christ sets us free, and Joseph uses his freedom to free his brothers. Through Joseph, both he and his brothers enter into God’s retelling of the story, and in that retelling are reconciled. Only when they found themselves back in the same story could they turn to the next chapter. Only in that next chapter does the rest of the story make any sense: Joseph was sold into slavery so that the lives of many, including his own family, could be saved.

We would do well to let God tell our stories. Trusting in Him, we will find ourselves free of pride and vengeance. We will find ourselves in a place where we can lead others to freedom. In that freedom, we will find reconciliation. We will once again be one people under one King. And when our stories becomes one again, we will finally be free to turn to the next chapter. I have a feeling it will be a good one.