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In Latin it is called the mysterium
tremendum. The more pedantic English is not nearly as
poetic. We would say “tremendous mystery,” so the Latin is
more poetic and probably more powerful—mysterium
tremendum. It is what theologian Rudolph Otto calls “The
Idea of the Holy.” He says an encounter with this sense of
the “holy” results in nothing less than stupor: “blank
wonder, utter astonishment that nearly strikes us dumb.”
(academic.brooklyn.cuny.edu/english/melani/gothic/numinous,
“Otto on the Numinous”)
Mysterium tremendum…tremendous mystery.
And to be honest, in our scientific,
Western culture, we aren’t much on mystery unless, of
course, you are talking about suspense in fiction: Agatha
Christy, CSI, Jonathan Kellerman. Suspense, meaning
intrigue, danger. But mystery in the sense of wonder?
Mystery as encountering the unknown? Mystery as the idea of
the holy? I guess it’s just not our thing. We are probably
more like the characters in Charles Dickens’ too
infrequently read Hard Times. We want the facts and
nothing but the facts with no room for fantasy or mystical
experiences. Much of Dickens’ writing, including The
Christmas Carol, was an attempt to speak out against the
hard facts of his age, the Industrial Revolution, in favor
of wonder, love, beauty, mystery, the holy. In much the same
way, we find ourselves in a technological era when
everything needs to be explained, understood and answered,
and we aren’t very comfortable with truth beyond our grasp,
knowledge beyond our understanding, wonder and mystery.
But for the Eastern mind, the mind of the
Bible, life is more than just the facts. Life is measured by
mystery, not just the facts. In the Eastern mind, truth is
better told in poetry than prose. Truth is communicated in
parable and song, mystery and wonder. The Gospel writers
tell the Christmas story in brevity and understatement, with
this sense of mystery and wonder. It is a story filled with
angel song and wandering wise men, a story told by
star-struck shepherds, written by inspired dreamers. It is a
story better told in poetry and song than in facts and
prose.
I suppose Matthew is the Gospel writer
who comes the closest to our Western, twenty-first century
mindset. Maybe Luke as well. He was a doctor, and at the
outset of his Gospel he says he wants to offer an “orderly
account” of all that has happened. But of all the writers,
Matthew probably comes closest to thinking like us. He was a
government civil servant, a tax collector, an IRS
accountant, bean-counter, policy wonk. So he begins his
Gospel, not with mystery and wonder, but with facts and
dates, a long, detailed genealogy including everyone from
Abraham to Azor, Shelhal to Zadok, Manassah to Matthian—names
we don’t even note and people we really don’t care much
about. Details…facts…logic.
Then suddenly, in the midst of the
mundane, a man has a dream, a virgin conceives a child, and
in amazing understatement—only seven verses—Matthew captures
the whole of the Christmas story. And the birth itself is
wrapped up in one simple sentence:
Joseph took Mary as his wife, but he
knew her not until she had borne a son, and he called his
name Jesus.
Then follows chapter two—the mysterious
visit of the mystical Magi, a narrative filled with mystery
and wonder, stars and visions, dreams and journeys of faith.
And it seems even old, logical, bean-counting Matthew gets
caught up in the mysterium tremendum.
This year marked the 300th
anniversary of the birth of Charles Wesley. The Wesleyan
revival spread on the notes of Charles’ music, filled with
song—over nine thousand in all. One of his best known is not
usually thought of as a Christmas carol, but in fact the
first verse tells of the incarnation and the hope of
Advent:
Love divine, all loves excelling,
joy of heaven to earth come down.
Fix in us thy humble dwelling
all thy faithful mercies crown.
Jesus, thou are all compassion,
pure, unbounded love thou art.
Visit us with thy salvation,
enter every trembling heart.
And the song ends with this eloquent
phrase, which expresses the experience of the “holy,” the
mysterium tremendum:
“…we are lost in wonder, love and praise.”
And isn’t that what we are all after in Advent?
An encounter with the holy.
Getting lost in wonder at the beauty of
the gift,
lost in the experience of love,
lost in the angelic praise.
1. This Advent, can we get lost in wonder?
Well, I figure if Judy could talk about
our grandson at Advent by Candlelight, so can I. Our 18-
month-old Ethan brought his mom and dad to visit a couple of
weekends ago. One morning his mom and dad took off for some
time apart in downtown Birmingham and left Ethan with…who
else? Grandma and Grandpa! The three of us sat on the couch
that morning for over an hour, doing nothing but putting a
little Fisher-Price figure in a plastic baggie and zipping
it up, then taking him out, handing him to Grandpa, putting
him back again. For over an hour we were captivated by a
Fisher-Price toy, a plastic bag and my grandson. For that
hour, nothing else in the world mattered. And, of course, it
was wonderful! Wonder-filled! Lost in wonder. Marilyn Brown
Oden writes, “Holiness is that great simplicity, our
elimination of everything that doesn’t really need to be
there.” (Marilyn Brown Oden, Manger and Mystery, page
41)
Lost in
wonder.
2. During this Advent, can we get lost in love?
I met with a couple last week who are
planning to marry. We were working on the details for the
service. They are swamped with the details of the flowers,
the reception, the seating of the guests, ushers and
arrangements. So in the midst of it, I said, “Okay, we’ve
talked about the wedding, now let’s talk about the marriage.
How did you two get together?” And they started to tell me
how they met, their first date, falling in love. They
interrupted each other. They giggled. They both teared up
more than once, and while they were talking, almost
unconsciously, his arm moved around her shoulder, she
snuggled over against him…right there in the Wright Parlor,
no less!! They were lost in love.
Of course, there would be time to talk
about wedding dresses and receiving lines, ring bearers and
flower girls and all the challenges of building a good
marriage. But for that moment, they were simply lost in
love.
I think that’s how Joseph must have felt.
He loved Mary so much, Matthew says, “he was not willing to
embarrass her in her pregnancy;” loved her so much, he was
willing to take her as his wife; loved her so much, he was
with her to help her give birth.
Can we get lost in love for the God who
has loved us with a love divine, a love which excels all
loves, lost in the joy of heaven to earth come down?
3. And this Advent, can we get lost in praise?
“And
they called his name Jesus,” and we have been calling him by
that name ever since:
lost in praise to the God who comes to us
in a baby,
lost in praise to the God whose name is
Emmanuel,
lost in praise to the God who has
redeemed us, God with us.
Lost in
wonder, love and praise.
Maybe it will happen in a song, maybe
even “musak” in Macy’s or an anthem in worship. Maybe you
will hear it in a word that is spoken, which speaks to you
in a way no one else hears. Maybe it will come in the
miracle of new-fallen snow or the silence of a moonlit
night. Or maybe it will come in broken bread and shared cup.
The mystery. The tremendous mystery, mysterium tremendum.
Let it
happen this Advent. |
