Living with Death, Dying with Life

Living with Death, Dying with Life was the title of a lecture that Mark Strom gave at Regent College this past summer, which I listened to on my Tuesday morning walk. I've transcribed here the final few minutes of his lecture, which moved me considerably:

I want to finish with my own picture of the Jesus that we are speaking about here. Tom Wright in one of his little books has asked the question: “Was Jesus God?” and he says, Well, it depends upon which god you’re talking about. If god is some abstract removed deity who throws rocks, then no, Jesus is not that god. But the question becomes better: “What kind of god is the God who could become Jesus?”

This God could put on eyebrows and kneecaps, tear ducts and saliva glands. This God could be born under the tyrants Augustus and Herod. This God could accept the smells of shepherds and the extravagances of political emissaries. This God could start life a vulnerable hunted child born into scandal. This God could grow up under foreign domination and among terrorists and outcasts.

This God could sit in the street playing marbles. This God could wear with pride the calloused, splintered hands of an honest workman, building the houses and fixing the furniture of half-castes, outcasts, and bigots. This God could ask his cousin to baptize him along with the rest of the crowd.

This God could make the best vintage Pinot Noir or Cabernet Sauvignon even when the guests were too drunk to know the difference. This God could befriend a bloke in a tree with “small man” syndrome. This God could enjoy a prostitute washing his feet, giving her his full and undivided attention, ignoring the eye-rolling of the lawyers and theologians. This God could spend a whole night making a whip to crack over the backs of con artists who rip-off the poor. This God could wrap the greatest truths in the simplest stories and put a sting in the tail of every yarn.

This God could let himself hang on a tree; nails tearing at his sinews; blood, feces and urine running down his legs. This God could invite women to be the first to know that he was back. This God could delay his own glorious home-coming long for a bite of breakfast on the beach and a yarn with an old friend to let him know there were no hard feelings and to pass on his mantle. This God could take his own story and give it the most surprising ending.

This God — this God is worth knowing.

This God could reach into the crevices of my soul to bring to life the longings I smother so pathetically and recklessly with shameful excuses. This God could raise me up to life with him. This God could give me every blessing he could give himself. This God could draw me out of my petty self-interest without the hint of a “tut-tut”, a patronizing frown or a smile.

This God could be more infuriating and fascinating and gob-smacking than any god I could ever make up. This God could love my obsessiveness and overlook my forgetfulness. This God could laugh and cry with me and come play with me. This God could make me his glory. This God could love me. This God could make my heart good. This God could trust me. This God could never be safe, but always be good.

This God — this God is worth knowing. This God I want to know. This God I know in the face and spirit of Jesus. This God I know as I die and rise with Christ.

For more quotes from Mark Strom, along the lines of things he covered earlier in his lecture, check out this post I read yesterday by Len Hjalmarson.