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The great Jewish theologian Martin Buber was once asked by a group of Christian clergy why Jews did not accept Jesus as messiah. Buber answered in this way:
What is the difference between Jews and Christians? We all await the Messiah. You believe he has already come and gone, while we do not. I propose that we await Him together. And when He appears, we can ask Him: ‘were you here before?’…And I hope in that moment I will be close enough to whisper in his ear, ‘For the love of heaven, don’t answer.’[1]
In both Jewish and Christian tradition, the Messiah is One who comes in the line of David who will make all things right and new. The Messiah is One who is anointed by God to bring well-being to God’s people. This was precisely David’s task. After the failings of the first king of Israel, David was anointed as king by the prophet Samuel. It is said that the Spirit of God rested upon him from that day forward.
By the power of the Spirit, David did bring welfare to Israel. As a guerilla warrior in the wilderness, David defeats many of Israel’s foes. As king, he was able to make peace with his enemies. David united the divided kingdoms of Judah and Israel. He established the capital city of Jerusalem and endeavored to make it a center of worship. God appointed David as anointed to bring peace and prosperity to the people of God. And God promised to make an everlasting kingdom out of David, a kingdom always marked by justice and righteousness.
Even to his last days, David was convicted of God’s presence with him and promises for him. Jews and Christians alike now remember David for his justice and righteousness and wait for one like him. This is striking because Judeo-Christian tradition does not forget David’s sins. We remember that David had an affair with Bathsheba and that he had her husband killed. And it took a prophet to convince David of his crime. Only then did he confess his sins. Even more, when David discovers that his son raped Tamar, he does nothing. So much for David’s sense of justice for Tamar.But David recognizes in his dying days that the arc of justice is long—that God’s spirit would come upon future generations to bring about shalom, the wellbeing of the people.
The prophet Isaiah remembered the promises of God given to David and prophesied of a Messiah especially endowed with the Spirit. This descendant of David, Isaiah proclaimed, would usher in social equity and a peaceable kingdom. From Isaiah on, the Jewish people hoped for such a Messiah to come and make way for God’s good future. When a 1st century Palestinian Jew named Jesus came to the synagogue and took Isaiah’s words on his lips saying, “the Spirit of the Lord is upon me to bring about the good things of God,” the Jews who surrounded him suspected he might just be the Messiah. And so, a difference emerged in the Jewish community.Jesus the Christ has come and will come again, his followers claimed. These early Christians believed that Jesus will return and carry through with the kind of kingdom Isaiah promised. Jews await his coming and Christians await his coming again. Both anticipate the advent of a Messiah in the line of David.
There is wisdom in Martin Buber’s desire to keep a little mystery to the messiah.After all, Jesus himself refused to give the details of his return. He was more concerned with telling his followers that the Spirit of God would rest upon them. For Jesus, the Spirit was no longer the endowment of a righteous king like David—but a gift to the people. Now the people wait for the coming of the Spirit in each other. In a way, we can expect the Messiah to come through each of us. I think this is what Buber was getting those Christian clergy to think about. What kind of community can happen if we wait together?
Let me tell you a story, you may have heard it before:
A monastery has fallen on hard times. It was once part of a great order, which, as a result of religious persecution in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, lost all its branches. It was decimated to the extent that there were only five monks left in the mother house: the Abbot and four others, all of whom were over seventy. Clearly it was a dying order.
Deep in the woods surrounding the monastery was a little hut that the Rabbi from a nearby town occasionally used for a hermitage. One day, it occurred to the Abbot to visit the hermitage to see if the Rabbi could offer any advice that might save the monastery. The Rabbi welcomed the Abbot and commiserated. ‘I know how it is,’ he said, ‘the spirit has gone out of the people. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore.’ So the old Rabbi and the old Abbot wept together, and they read parts of the Torah and spoke quietly of deep things.
The time came when the Abbot had to leave. They embraced. ‘It has been wonderful being with you,’ said the Abbot, ‘but I have failed in my purpose for coming. Have you no piece of advice that might save the monastery?’ ‘No, I am sorry,’ the Rabbi responded, ‘I have no advice to give. The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you.’
When the other monks heard the Rabbi’s words, they wondered what possible significance they might have. ‘The Messiah is one of us? One of us, here, at the monastery? Do you suppose he meant the Abbot? Of course—it must be the Abbot, who has been our leader for so long. On the other hand, he might have meant Brother Thomas, who is undoubtedly a holy man. Certainly he couldn’t have meant Brother Elrod—he’s so crotchety. But then Elrod is very wise. Surely, he could not have meant Brother Philip—he’s too passive. But then, magically, he’s always there when you need him. Of course he didn’t mean me—yet supposing he did? Oh Lord, not me! I couldn’t mean that much to you, could I?’
As they contemplated in this manner, the old monks began to treat each other with extraordinary respect, on the off chance that one of them might be the Messiah. And on the off off chance that each monk himself might be the Messiah, they began to treat themselves with extraordinary respect.
Because the forest in which it was situated was beautiful, people occasionally came to visit the monastery, to picnic or to wander along the old paths, most of which led to the dilapidated chapel. They sensed the aura of extraordinary respect that surrounded the five old monks, permeating the atmosphere. They began to come more frequently, bringing their friends, and their friends brought friends. Some of the younger men who came to visit began to engage in conversation with the monks. After a while, one asked if he might join. Then another, and another. Within a few years, the monastery became once again a thriving order, and—thanks to the Rabbi’s gift—a vibrant, authentic community of light and love for the whole realm.[2]
“The Spirit will be in you,” says Jesus. “The Messiah is one of you,” says the Rabbi to the Abbot. What a gift for a community that believed the spirit had left the people! The Rabbi tells a messianic secret to the Abbot: the Messiah comes through you. And the monks take this to mean that the Messiah is in and among them. This message causes the monks to treat each other in a whole new way. The dignity and honor once only given to one like David is given to others. The monks in the story come to see that the Spirit who is said to rest on the Messiah resides in one another. The Rabbi makes the advent of the Messiah mysterious to the monks. And their wonder at each other reforms their community.
Is not this perspective what is truly needed to make our church a more vibrant, authentic community of light and love for the whole world? What if we really wondered if the Messiah was in and among us? What if we really treated each other as if the Messiah were one of us? We would create an aura of extraordinary respect. Because if we were to wait for the messiah to appear in and through oneanother, we would have to hold back our judgments. If Christ comes to each of us, then we cannot afford to dismiss anybody. This may sound a bit “kumbaya” to you. But we have become increasingly impatient with one another. Like the monks in our story, we are quick to call people crotchety, passive, wrong-headed, backwards, crazy, or stupid. And we are slow to recognize the Spirit of Christ who rests in people by virtue of their humanity.The Spirit that rested upon David, the Spirit that promised to be in the Messiah Isaiah proclaimed, the Spirit that was upon Jesus the Messiah—this Spirit resides in us. And God’s presence in every human being commands respect. In a world where disrespect is rewarded, a community of reverence is what we need to be.
But again, what if we really believed the Messiah comes through us? I mean, in you and I. Because if that is true, then we bear the responsibility of bringing about the justice, peace, and joy of God’s reign. It has been believed that the Spirit of the Lord was set upon a benevolent king to bring about the good kingdom. But the Spirit of the Lord resides in us to carry through on God’s desires for this world. We are the ones called to make Isaiah’s vision a reality.Which is the kind of good news that makes us squirm in our seats. Because if you have been reading about Aleppo this week or if you have been following our Advent devotional, then justice, peace, and joy may seem impossible for us. The bad news of profound inequality in our penal system, of astounding violence towards Syrians, or of the immense sadness of those who have suffered loss this year—all this bad news sounds a bit too much for us to handle. But I promise you that it is not. If enough of us really believe that the meek of the earth can experience equality, if enough of us believe that the lamb can live at peace with the wolf, and if enough of us believe that the distraught can be surprised by joy—well, then, these things will happen. Maybe we need a little more faith that the Messiah is in and among us.
The Gospel of Matthew begins with a genealogy of Jesus, the son of David. It is a list of people that bore God’s promises in their lives. Abraham, Rahab, David, Mary, and record goes on. I think that we are meant to add our names to this list. Because like them, the Messiah comes through us. True, he has already come. But he arrives again and again in mysterious ways. So behold the mystery of the Messiah, not only in this Advent season, but throughout the year. For in living by this mystery, we can be a vibrant community of light and love for the world.
[1] This anecdote is found in Walter Brueggemann’s “Reverberations of Faith”
[2] This story is quoted verbatim from Ben and Roz Zander’s “The Art of Possibility”