The Presentation 2004

*Preached at Grace North Church February 1, 2004.*

I remember that fateful day clearly. My wife Kate and I were living in San Leandro. It was drizzling outside, and I was already feeling a little depressed. "The clock is ticking," Kate told me. "I want to have kids, and it has to be soon." It felt like someone had clubbed me in the back of the head with a nine-iron.

Now, Kate and I were stupid. We never really discussed children before we got married. I have never wanted to have children, and I just assumed that she didn't either, since we never talked about it. She always wanted children, and just assumed that when the time was right, I would, too. We were both horribly mistaken.

This conversation led, as you might imagine, to a knock-down, drag them out fight, in which we both came face to face with our illusions, our incongruence, and eventually, the sad portent that day would become. That day began the dissolution of our marriage. I don't necessarily see that as a bad thing, just unfortunate in that with a little more foresight and better communication, we might have avoided it.

My mother has stopped asking when I am going to have children. This is probably wise, since I'm sure she would not want children born into the unstable relationships that have been my lot most of my adult life. And my sister has been a real trooper and taken up the slack in a big way: she now has four boys, and moved up to Alaska with her family to be near my parents.

My folks certainly struggled with my sister in her teens, but I am certain they are very glad now, in spite of all the trouble. A visit to Alaska is all about the boys, and it is heartening to see my sister and my parents so happy.

Yet, I believe that now and then I detect a note of sadness in my mom in that I, the only child of her body, did not give her any grandchildren. I am grateful that she does not mention this anymore, but still, the echoes of it haunt me now and then when I visit.

What my mother, I think, fails to appreciate, is that I am no less a generative person than my sister. I am constantly giving birth-to songs, to stories, to sermons, to friendships, to classes, to the endless creative possibilities my rich environment affords me. And although my birth-giving is not of the conventional variety, it is nonetheless very fulfilling for me.

These two ways of giving birth are far from mutually exclusive. Certainly, I could have a child, though I shudder to think of the scarred result that might emerge after twenty years. And my sister-well, my sister doesn't have an artistic bone in her body-but her children are many, and healthy, and strong, and good. But others, I hear tell, are lucky enough to do both, and this, for most of us, I am sure, is truly the best of both worlds.

In the book of Genesis we are told that humankind is made in the image of God. Much speculation has been made over just what that means, and I will not be telling you anything new this morning. But in my humble opinion, I believe that just as God is God because God creates, we are made in God's image because we do the same.

Everyone does this differently, of course, which is what the story of my sister and myself tells me. You have your own stories, your own methods of generativity, but you surely have them, and I hope that you know them. Whatever it is that you produce, whether it is children, music, art, poetry, prose, care or comfort, you are here to DO something, to create something in your wake that was not here before. This is your birthright, it is what it means to be human, to be made in God's image. And whether this fruit comes from your loins, your imagination, or your hands, it is a holy thing, and worthy of veneration.

But I have also known people who do not produce, and I have to admit a certain degree of judgment, for I do not understand them. In Whitehead's Process Theology, to fail to be creative is the only real sin, for more than anything else, what God craves is novelty.

Jesus may share this judgment, as in the Gospel of Thomas he tells us, "If you bring forth that which is within you, that which you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth that which is in you, that which you fail to bring forth will condemn you." Being a creator is not an optional endeavor. Certainly we can choose not to do it. We have free will and we can, if we choose to, frustrate the generative impulse that is the image of God within us. But if we are to be faithful to that image, if we care about living into our potential, or about fulfilling God's will for us, we will not damn this river.

I have heard people say that they are embarrassed to put themselves "out there," and complain that it takes a big ego to be an artist. Like all excuses, this to me does not ring true. Yes, it takes courage to create, just as it takes courage to take our first toddling steps, or to get married, or to do anything else that is worth doing.

In fact, however, I believe that being creative involves as much humility as it does ego. JRR Tolkien refused to speak of himself as the creator of Middle Earth. Instead, he called himself its "pro-creator" acknowledging that it was God who formed it within him, he was simply faithful enough to bring it forth. This is not the arrogance of the artist who believes that he is God's gift to the world. God's gift to the world is that which forms within us, and we can choose whether to bring it forth for our own salvation, or sit on it to our own shame.

And this is key: we do not bring it forth merely for ourselves. Yes, we do bring it forth to save ourselves, but this faithfulness has something larger in mind. Sex is fun, but the child which results is not merely for us alone.

When Mary and Joseph took their newborn to the temple, they did so out of faithfulness to their tradition. Jewish law says that every firstborn son is the property of God, and must be bought back for the price of two doves. The child is always God's, but if the offering is made, the child may return home.

When Simeon sees the Christ-child, he is ecstatic. This child is the glory of his people, and will be a light unto all the nations. I wondered in another sermon on this text many years ago whether perhaps Simeon pronounced this same blessing upon every child, for indeed each and every child is the glory of his or her people and a light unto all the world. And if we treated each child in this way, I believe such a self-fulfilling prophesy would truly change the world.

But notice what Simeon's blessing and Jewish law together reinforce for Jesus' parents. This child does not belong to you, they are told. This child is for the world.

It is the same for all of us. We seem to forget this very simple truth-all is the Lord's. Our lives are not ours, our houses, our clothes, our spouses, our churches, and especially our offspring, human or artistic-none of these belong to us. They are only loaned to us for an undisclosed period of time. None of the things which you label, "mine" actually are. The earth is the Lord's, the Psalmist tells us, and all that lies therein.

To be faithful, we must not only bring forth what is within us, but we must also present it at the temple. We must offer this fruit to God and to the world. It must be shared. It is important for us to be reminded that we are only dust, we are temporary, only the project of the world-God's project-endures, and all is in service to this great endeavor, or it is all for naught.

An amazing thing happens when we do this. When you offer your creativity to God, God gives it back to you, but it's different-it's yours and it's not yours. More specifically, it is FROM you, but it is not FOR you. It is for the world. It is for the healing, the edification, the enrichment of the cosmos.

This, then, is your sacred duty: to be true to the image of God that is within you, and to claim your heritage as a pro-creator in whatever way is proper to you. Second, you must, for your own salvation, your own self-actualization, bring forth the Word of God which is within you. And finally, you must lay that Word, that seed, that child at the altar of God for the enrichment of all peoples, and yes, for the enrichment of God's own self. For your creativity is God's own food. If you do not introduce novelty into the world, how will God be nourished?

"Do not hide your light under a bushel," Jesus tells us. It is not yours to hide. It belongs to God, indeed, it belongs to all of us. Will you bring forth that which is within you? I am certainly hoping that you will, for my salvation may depend upon it. Indeed, the salvation of the world may depend upon it. Surely, the salvation of God depends upon it.

Let us pray

Now the green blade riseth, from the buried grain.
Wheat that in the dark earth many days has lain.
Love lives again, that with the dead has been.
Love is come again like wheat that springeth green.

When our hearts are wintry, grieving, or in pain,
Thy touch can call us back to life again.
Fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been
Love is come again like wheat that springeth green.