Discovering Jesus in the Manger of the Heart

A Sermon Preached at the Cathedral Church of St. Mark on the 3rd Sunday of Advent, December 13, 2020 by the Very Reverend Tyler Doherty, Dean & Rector.

One of the basic ways to understand the Christian life is that it is all about the transmission of the light. God sends God’s only son into the world as the light to enlighten the nations so that humankind might recognize what it means to be a truly human human being, what it means to fulfill our meaning and purpose on earth as boundary-crossing love. We are made for union and communion with the Beautiful, the Good, and the True--with God our loving creator. We are made to enjoy life in God, to participate in God in spirit, soul, and body. It is through surrendering to God--letting God live God’s life in and through us--that we discover the peace, joy, happiness and abundance that is life in God and God alone. We see the light. We become the light. We share that light with others with open hands.

That’s one of the reasons for all the rather gloomy, apocalyptically-themed readings we hear during Advent. The world as we know it, the world as we are accustomed to navigating it with ourselves, our wants, our desires at the center of the picture is going away whether we like it or not. Power, prestige, possessions--all the ways we usually secure our identity and find meaning in life--ultimately disappoint. They are like castles in air. Morning dew on grass blades that fades as the sun crests the hill. Pigeon’s milk and Fool’s Gold. We think that we’ll find the happiness for which we are made in the pursuit of security, affection, or control, but we find out (either on the spiritual journey or through the vicissitudes of life) that these strategies for happiness don’t work. They don’t bring us lasting peace. They don’t provide us with the bedrock foundation that allows us to rejoice always, to give thanks in all circumstances as Paul writes in his Letter to the Thessalonians. 

So the apocalyptic language of the Gospels is not meant simply as a threat, a cheap fear tactic to get us to profess our belief in Jesus. Those terrifying visions are meant to show us in the graphic and hyperbolic language of metaphor the dead-end nature of a life lived with anything except God at the center. That’s why, in a normal year, we have that brief candle lighting prayer at the start of the service during Advent. It’s not because we worship candles or think that the liturgy could use a little seasonal adornment to spice things up. The lighting of the Advent wreath at the start of the service and in our homes before each meal is meant to show us something profound. It’s meant to show us where to look for the light. The wreath is meant to show us, remind us, that it is only with Jesus at the center of our lives that we enjoy the happiness for which God created us. The world goes dark in order to show us where the light is truly to be found: not in the pursuit of happiness on the world’s terms, in externals “out there,” but in the love of God that has been poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit. Advent is the journey to the inextinguishable light that burns in the manger of the heart. It is the opening of the gift that has always already been given. It is learning to live for and from the light of love that is Christ Jesus dwelling in us. 

Thomas Merton puts it this way in his Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander:

At the center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God, which is never at our disposal, from which God disposes of our lives, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will. This little point of nothingness and of absolute poverty is the pure glory of God in us. It is so to speak His name written in us, as our poverty, as our indigence, as our dependence, as our sonship. It is like a pure diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely ... I have no program for this seeing. It is only given. But the gate of heaven is everywhere.

Especially at this time of year, we can get tricked into thinking that it’s the Cathedral that looks beautiful. We can get tricked into thinking that the candles, the wreaths, the poinsettias, and the creche are the beautiful things. Of course they are, but the true beauty is not to be found “out there.” The true beauty is to be found in the depths of the heart. The true beauty is that “little point of nothingness… the pure glory of God in us…. like a pure diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven.” When we make the Advent journey to encounter the love of Christ that dwells within us we see beauty everywhere. The scales fall from our eyes and behold, this very place is the gate of heaven. Where we are standing--right here, right now--is Holy Ground. 

That’s what is so intriguing, so human, about our reading from John’s Gospel today. The people around John--the priests and Levites--are obsessed with who John is. “Are you the Messiah?” Nope. “Elijah?” Nope. “A prophet?” Nope. They try to figure out who John is so they can put his strange voice crying in the wilderness in a box of received, conventional wisdom. But John refuses to take the bait. It’s not that he’s simply being coy or obstinate. He’s not being difficult for sake of being difficult. His “nos” are meant to show the priests and the Levites that this isn’t about John. John’s life isn’t about John. John’s life is about pointing to the light that is God coming into the world, that is our discovery of Him in the manger of the heart. 

John, like Mary, is an icon of complete other-centeredness, of what a human life centered on Christ looks like. On a traditional Orthodox altar you’ll often find an icon of Christ Pantocrator in the center flanked with icons of John the Baptist and the Virgin Mary on either side. Both John and Mary gesture towards Jesus with open hands inviting the viewer to focus on him and him alone. Andrei Rublev’s icon of John depicts this perfectly: wild-haired, disheveled, honey and locust crumbs in his beard, John gestures with both hands away from himself and towards the person of Jesus, one through whom all things were made. Mary and John tell us again and again that they are not the light. “It’s not about me!” Mary whispers. “It’s not about me!” John bellows tightening his leather belt. It’s about the one who is closer to you than you are to yourself, that inextinguishable light at the center of your being that you’ve been looking for all this time in all the wrong places.

The priests and the Levites think that if they can just figure what this strange fellow is on about they’ll be able to maintain the status quo, the world as they know it. But John is trying with his whole heart and mind and soul and strength to show them that the world as they know it is an illusion. John is trying to show them that the peace and security that they’ve tried to maintain through an exhausting program of institutional power and hierarchical control is not necessary. And he utters those astounding words, “Among you stands one whom you do not know….” Words as true about us as they are about the priests and Levites. Like them, we’re busy with externals, busy with trying to ascertain the Levitical bona fides of this upstart in the open spaces on the edge of town, but the whole time the happiness for which we yearn, for which are hearts are made, has been standing among us if we could just wake up and recognize him, come into relationship with him, know him as he already knows us.

So Advent is a breathtaking opportunity to come into contact with the light that is who we really are. We become that light and then spread it to others. Like John and Mary our lives aren’t about pointing to ourselves or building ourselves up, accumulating stuff, currying favor, or keeping others under our thumb. Our lives are about pointing to the light, pointing to one in whom we live and move and have our being. Our lives shift from being about us to us being about Life, the life of Christ in each person without exception. And what a relief! Now we know why Jesus’ yoke is easy and his burden light--because it is no burden at all! Anyone can point to the light! Anyone can let that light illuminate their life. But we have to know where to look. That’s what Church is for--to show us the way to one who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. And once we know where to look, we have to gaze upon that light. We have to bask in that light through daily prayer, dwelling on the scriptures, worship in community, serving others, and witnessing to justice and peace. “Christ could be born a thousand times in Bethlehem – but all in vain until He is born in me.” as the seventeenth century German poet and mystic Angelus Silesius writes. So tell me. Will this be the Advent when Christ is born in you? Will this be the Advent when you wake up to realize the one body? Will this be the Advent when the Gate of Heaven reveals itself to be everywhere?