For those who attended last Sunday’s talk, the first in our series called What We Believe, today’s readings probably make a bit more sense to you than they otherwise would have.

The first reading from Deuteronomy, for instance, where Moses says, “A prophet like me will the Lord, your God, raise up for you;” undoubtedly, you’ll remember how Peter quoted this verse in his second sermon in Acts of the Apostles; you’ll recall that for the first Christians, Jesus was the prophet like Moses, fulfilling Deuteronomy’s prophecy.[1] You’ll recall the Moses-like pattern of Jesus’s ministry: how like Moses on Sinai, Jesus preached the beatitudes on a sermon on a mount, and how, again like Moses, Jesus fed people in the desert, but with better bread, bread from heaven, the bread which is his flesh.[2]

Such is the depth Scripture gives, the better picture of Jesus beheld by those who seek the scriptural form of Christ. Again, that’s why I keep going on about the Bible, because it gives us the clearest picture of him. We suffer often from false images of Christ, some deliberate and others accidental. That’s why it’s important we keep ourselves attentive to Scripture, because the true image of Christ will always be scriptural. And it will also always challenge our simplistic conceptions of Jesus. Whenever I come across some overly scrupulous, judgmental image of Christ, for instance, I remember that Jesus dined with tax collectors and sinners, that he spoke with the Samaritan woman, that he liberated and did not condemn the woman accused of adultery.[3] But also, when I come across some overly liberal and affirming image of Christ, I remember how hard he was on his own disciples, how rustic and brutal and uncompromising he was about corruption and sin, how he said things that would anger and convict almost every single person in this room. That is the scriptural Christ, the true God you can’t pin down, the Messiah you can’t conceptually tame. Unless, of course, your Christ is an idol, and there are many idol Christs out there.

It’s helpful to think of the Christian life, and even to think of salvation, in terms of seeking a clear picture of Christ. To see Christ clearly is to fall in love with him, to be enraptured and changed by him. The word here is “contemplation.” To be a Christian is to contemplate Christ, to see him with the eyes of love. And in this sense, it’s like contemplating the face of someone you love—a spouse, a child, a friend. Seeing the face of someone you love is a different sort of seeing; it’s not like seeing a random person on the street; it’s a sort of seeing that feels different, that challenges and changes you. Looking at my wife is different than looking at another woman; looking at my kids is different than looking at yours. I see my family differently than I see yours. And the difference is love. And that’s what it means to contemplate Christ; it’s too see him with love. And again, to be clear, this can only happen to someone who sees the scriptural Christ, not some false idol Christ. And again remember, there are many idol Christs out there.

This is important. Jacques Lacan, the French psychoanalyst, spoke famously about the “mirror stage.” That’s the moment an infant recognizes herself in the mirror; it’s a preciously important moment in the life of a child, when one’s sense of self begins. Before that moment, the child depends on the loving gaze of the mother. And if something goes wrong, if somehow the image is not clear or is damaged, so too is the soul harmed.[4] It’s analogous to what I’ve been saying about the importance of seeing Christ clearly; seeing the true Jesus is preciously important. This, I think, explains what’s gone awry with so much and so many that go by the name of “Christian” today. The real Christ is often simply nowhere to be found.

And don’t think I’m not talking about you; I’m quite possibly talking about you. I’m quite possibly talking about myself too. I’ve told the story before of St. Pachomius, that fourth century farmer-monk, one of the fathers of monasticism; it’s a haunting story. Granted once a vision of Christ, crisp and clear, it’s precisely because the vision was so clear that he knew it was too good to be true, that it was devil dressed up as Jesus. “It is clear that he deceives me,” Pachomius said.[5] That was a saint; that was a monk. We should be just as careful, take just as much care for our spiritual vision as he did. The concern is for the quality of our contemplation of Jesus Christ. It’s not something we can take for granted. Again, because there are many idol Christs out there.

Now I’m not trying to shock you or take your spiritual confidence away. I’m simply trying to suggest that we’re no different from the people we read about in the gospels. They too were trying to see clearly, even as Christ was in their presence. Teaching in the synagogue in Capernaum, people are astonished, but that doesn’t mean they see Jesus clearly at all. The demons seem to know more about who Jesus is than anyone else in fact.[6] Throughout the gospels so much of the drama unfolds precisely because everyone is struggling to see Jesus clearly, to contemplate him, to understand him. Is he the Son of God? The centurion came to think so.[7] “Are you the Christ?” asked Caiaphas.[8] Not everyone came to the same conclusion. Even Mary Magdalene for a moment mistook him for the gardener.[9] You see my point? The struggle to see Jesus clearly is at the heart of Christian experience. And we must accept that and beware and renounce all our false idol Christs. Because only the real Christ can save us and not the false Christ we happen to prefer.

Which to be honest is why I belong to the Catholic Church. It’s why I think the best thing to do is to read Scripture in the Church, to pray in communion with the saints of the Church, and to receive the sacraments having immersed myself in Scripture. Not because Catholics aren’t just as often carried away by false idol Christs (they certainly can be and are), but because to live the Christian life in this old, glacial, sometimes highly irritating Church offers me the best chance to recognize my own illusions and then to do something about them. We are here not because of any one preacher or a political outlook or anything other than this singular search for the authentic Christ. I am struggling to find him; I’ve been struggling all my life. This is why I’m here, because I am still a pilgrim. And really, all I have to say is that I hope you’re one too. And I hope you keep looking for him, that we keep looking for him together, waiting patiently for that moment we see him, as we have tasted him, as we have beheld the Lamb of God.

To the blind man, the sun still exists no matter what he may think. Because God is not visible to you doesn’t mean he is not there. It just means you’re blind. Which, of course, means you must pray to see. And lucky you, you’re in the right place. So, pray. And beg to see. Amen.

[1] Deuteronomy 18:15; Acts 3:22

[2] Matthew 5:1-11; John 6 passim

[3] Mark 2:13-17; John 4:4-39; John 8:1-11

[4] Jacques Lacan, Écrits, 75-81

[5] Philip Rousseau, Pachomius, 141

[6] Mark 1:21-28

[7] Mark 15:39

[8] Mark 14:61 passim

[9] John 20:15

© 2021 Rev. Joshua J. Whitfield