Reverence & Awe - The Rev. Brenda Sol

One of the many, many things I love about our Episcopal tradition is the way we are willing to hold the “both/and”…to embrace paradox. For instance, we know that our Christmas story is both historical—in that a human child named Jesus was born in Israel to a Jewish family—and mythical at the same time. Even though others might say parts of the story couldn’t possibly be true in a factual way, they still contain truth—that God loves us so much God entered into the world in a way that we as humans could more intimately relate to. 

 Our Christmas scripture readings are laced with paradox—strong mountains melt like wax and a tiny baby, born to a non-descript family, is the Savior. When I dive down deep into these passages, what comes forward, for me, is a sense of reverence and awe. 

While we’re here today to welcome the Christ-child into our lives once again, the story is also about the vastness of God—that God is so much bigger than we can even begin to imagine. We can try and put images in place; we can try to separate fact from mythology, but what the Christmas story really does is call us to a place of reverence, so that we can receive God in new ways.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel once wrote: "Faith is not belief, an assent to a proposition; faith is attachment to transcendence, to the meaning beyond the mystery.” So, our Christmas story has us, simultaneously, gazing on the Christ Child, while also beholding a multitude of angels. And we approach like the shepherds. Perhaps first with trepidation, then giving way to reverence and awe, finding before us, not a mighty king on a throne, but a little baby, who is both fully human and fully divine.

The juxtaposition of Jesus’s divinity and humanity is explored beautifully by Julian of Norwich, a 14th century mystic. She’s the one we’re quoting when we say, “All shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” Debbie and I have decided this year’s women’s retreat will focus on Julian’s writings, so I’ve been reading as much as I can by her and about her. 

In a series of revelations, or visions, that she had, Julian explores several aspects of God. Two that I most resonate with are: 1) that God wants us to know God, and be known by God, in a very intimate way. And 2) that God as creator exists in all of creation. Julian’s reverence and awe teach us a lot about learning to look at the world around us with a “both/and” lens. God is intimately personal. And God is everywhere in everything. 

Similar to many mystics, Julian points out that we are completely undeserving of God’s grace and mercy, yet, God loves and forgives us anyway. A related paradox is present in our reading from Titus. As a response to God’s graciousness, we try to live better lives—to be more righteous in our own living—yet, nothing we do, have done, or will do, can put us in better stead with God. If you want, look with me as I read that passage from Titus again:

When the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of any works of righteousness that we had done, but according to his mercy, through the water of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit. This Spirit he poured out on us richly through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that, having been justified by his grace, we might become heirs according to the hope of eternal life.

In those words, maybe you can feel that sense of reverence and awe—that God poured out on us an abundance of grace. And in that richness, we find hope. Some of the theologians and scholars I’ve been reading suggest a method to better ground ourselves in hope is through this perspective of reverence and awe. If we practice looking at the world around us through that lens, we’ll continually be reminded that the beauty of creation, and all God’s creatures, are so much bigger than us, or our problems. 

As we continue to focus on the vastness of God’s love and presence among us, we will begin to see even more that is worthy of our reverence and awe. Which is what this morning’s Psalm is doing. The Psalmist cries out: “let the earth rejoice…the heavens declare [God’s] righteousness, and all the peoples see [God’s] glory…For you are [God], most high over all the earth.”

Mary—Jesus’s mother—engages in her own form of reverence and awe. The passage from Luke describes that in this way: “Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.” Her reverence and awe sound more like what author Victoria Loorz describes as a pace that allows us to experience the natural world and others in a deeper way. She writes: “Reverence is slow and intentional. It allows awe to fill your lungs and bring tears to your eyes, and it floods your bloodstream with extra oxygen and energy.”

Which leads me to the final paradox I want to point out this morning. That is that the practice of looking at all of creation through the lens of reverence and awe, might seem like it’s just about us getting closer to God—about our personal relationship with God. But that’s only part of it. This spiritual practice of seeing God in all things actually ripples out in positive ways into the world around us. Mary didn’t say “Yes” to birthing Jesus for her own good. She consented for the good of the world.  

Julian of Norwich wrote about that as well—that she believed God gave her those revelations not just for her own spiritual growth, but so that she might share her insights with others—that those with whom she spoke, or those who read her writing, would benefit from the wisdom she was given by God. So it is with us. 

As we come near the Christ-child today, aware of his humanity and the personal intimacy available to us, we also come in awe of his divinity and the vastness of God. To stoke the embers of your reverence and awe, I’ll leave you with some excerpts from a poem Simeon shared with us at this week’s staff meeting:

Rejoice, height above the reach of human thought:

Rejoice, depth even beyond the sight of angels!

Rejoice, womb of the divine Incarnation!

Rejoice, through whom creation is renewed;

Rejoice, through whom the Creator becomes a Babe![1]

-AMEN

[1] Excerpts from “Akathistos Hymn of the Theotokos” in A Book of Marian Prayers