Br. Maximillian Esmus, n/OHC
The Second Sunday after Epiphany - January 19, 2020
Isaiah 49:1-7
1 Corinthians 1:1-9
John 1:29-42
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They spend the rest of the day with him, and the gospel community is born.
The very first act of Jesus in this Gospel is to turn and look at these two disciples. I speculate that they became fully convinced this was the bona fide Anointed One at that moment when Jesus looked them in the eye. Just then, they caught a glimpse of the eternal, and they knew that the salvation of Israel was at hand, that the Lamb of God was here, taking away the sin of the world.
And Jesus, in turn, saw the image of the Divine reflected back to him in their eyes. This is one of Jesus’s greatest superpowers: his ability to look at you and see you for who you really are, and to love you for it.
When Jesus asks what they seek, the disciples don’t request from this Rabbi a word of wisdom, nor a Messianic holy war manifesto. They seek to know where he is staying. It is about being with Jesus, and Jesus being with them, mutually beholding each other.
The initiation of this community of mutual beholding is almost shockingly direct. I want to know, How is it that these two are able to see Jesus for who he really is? How is it that they are able to respond so unreservedly to Jesus’ equally unhesitating acceptance?
I think that the disciples were able to see and respond because they were well prepared for this moment by a good teacher: John the Baptist, the preacher of repentance. John, who it was said would “go before the Lord to prepare the way, to give God’s people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins.”
I believe the disciples’ eyes were open to Jesus in part because they had acknowledged their human frailty and received God’s promise of forgiveness in those cleansing waters, and in so doing, had received the gift of humility. They had set aside all pretense. Humility, the honest acknowledgement of my situation as a beloved, broken, sinful, forgiven child of God, is a crucial element in my readiness to behold the Lamb of God.
What does the path of repentance – the path toward humility – look like? The Gospel does not give us any details about the paths that originally brought those two disciples to the Jordan river to be cleansed. We can imagine and speculate about that. We can think of our own stories of forgiveness and repentance.
I’d like to share one such story that comes the realm of legend and myth. It comes from one of the greatest epic myths of Western Culture, or at least, one with great influence on me from my childhood. As in all myths, the characters in this story are archetypes, whose experiences are universally relevant.
The story begins:
I, like you, wear a variety of masks – personas – that disclose a curated version of myself to myself and to the world. They obscure a deeper me, the “me” who I’m not so sure is lovable, or capable of love.
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there lived a young Jedi knight named Anakin Skywalker. He was a skilled Jedi, strong in the force, and advancing well in his training. He and his wife, Padmé, a formidable politician, were expecting their first child. One day, Anakin had a nightmare, a prophetic vision that Padmé would die in childbirth.
Anakin became greatly distressed, and began acting out in anger at the unfairness of this fate. How could this happen to him? How could Anakin, so strong in the Force, be dealt such a devastating loss? In his desperation to resist Padmé’s fate, Anakin abandons the ideals of his Jedi masters and begins to seek the security of cultivating power and control.
When the time came, Padmé gave birth to twins, and named them Luke and Leia. Then, tragically, she died.
Anakin acted out in anger and frustration yet again. His fellow Jedi knights, fearing for the safety of the twins, took them away into foster care. In the darkness of Anakin’s grief, the Evil One came to him with sympathy on his face and said, “Oh, my dear Anakin. What a tragedy. If only you had been strong enough to save Padmé. If only you had loved her enough. If only you hadn’t been so angry.”
In his pain Anakin believed these words. He didn’t think he could bear the shame of what he had done, and what he had failed to do. He started to believe himself incapable of love, to believe that he was in some way defective. He had to hide. And so, he crafted a mask for himself, a dark mask and a cloak that would project strength, power, and invulnerability. He called this mask Darth Vader. For many years, Vader lived a kind of half-life, almost more machine rather than man, and allied himself with the Evil One.
Then, one day, Darth Vader’s son Luke, now grown to adulthood, returned to him, and said to him, “Father, I know there is good in you. I see the good in you. Won’t you take my hand and come back home to yourself?” And Vader felt so threatened by Luke’s compassion, more threatened by this than by any who had ever raised a sword against him, that he swore to destroy Luke.
But Luke said, “I will not fight you, Father. There is good in you.” Vader didn’t believe it, he said it was too late for him to have such hope. But then he saw Luke do a remarkable thing. Luke was so determined not to jeopardize his relationship with the one he loved, that he chose even to surrender to the most destructive forces of the Evil One, rather than draw a sword against his own flesh and blood.
Seeing this, Darth Vader – Anakin – finally understood something about love he had long forgotten. He at last was able to face the guilt over the wrong he had done, and the shame – the unearned guilt – over what had been beyond his control. In receiving Luke’s acceptance of him, he accepts himself. He casts the Evil One into the abyss, and repents. He turns around to face his son.
The first thing he says is, “Luke, help me take this mask off, so that I can see you with my own eyes.”
“Help me take this mask off, so that I can see you with my own eyes.”
The black helmet is lifted off, the twisted mask is peeled away, and behind it we see a broken man whose eyes are filled with nothing but love for his son. The deep shame of past hurts, failures, and losses has fallen away, and with it has fallen away the need to armor up, puff up with pride, and protect himself.
And we see that all along, behind the mask of Vader have been the eyes of a man desperate to love, desperate to give himself in love. Luke had said over and over, “I know there is good in you.” And Anakin’s final words to Luke are, “You were right about me. You were right.” Thus ends the story of Anakin Skywalker.
But God knows — God knows that your point of origin is not sin, it is love. He sees the goodness in you. He says to you, in the words of the Psalmist: “Princely state has been yours from the day of your birth; in the beauty of holiness have I begotten you, like dew from the womb of the morning."
When you undergo repentance, and let go of your mask, you see Christ afresh. And then you can Look! Behold – the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! And you find yourself adoring him, overflowing with love that spills over into every relationship, into every hurt that needs healing.
Christ notices you beholding him with these new eyes of love and says, “What are you looking for?” And you say, “You, Rabbi. I’m looking for you! I have seen you with my own eyes, and I wish to abide with you. Tell me, Where are you staying?”
And he says, “Come and see.” He guides you along the way to where he abides. He says, Come here to where two or three are gathered in my name. There I am. Come and see – in the face of this little one who comes from a distant land seeking a cup of water to drink. Give it to her, and in so doing, you give it to me. Come and see. In the fragile and majestic beauty of this world my Father made. Come here to the table and see the broken bread; there I am. Abide with me and I will surely abide in you.
Jesus knows that my attention is fickle, my resolve is weak, and the old habits of shame and self-rejection are not overcome in a day. I find myself hiding, holding back, losing sight. So again and again, I turn back to the one I love and I say, “Rabbi, teacher, open the eyes of my heart. Help me take this mask off; so that I may see you, where ever you are staying.”
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