Beholding Glory
Commentary
There are only a handful of truly great words in the English language, says one scholar. They are the words without synonyms, the words that can’t be explained, the words that sound like what they mean. And one of those words is glory.
Only the hushed whisper of that word can describe what God will do when gathering God’s people from among the nations, says Jeremiah, in today’s Old Testament reading. Only the thundering roar of that term can tell what happens when God passes by, explains Paul to the first century Christians. And only the shout of that cry fits the emotions that erupt in God’s presence, declares John, in the wonder of his experience of the true majesty of his best friend Jesus.
But bright lights can dim eyesight, and the constant bombardment of God’s glory can turn our timid spirits toward the dark places. One person has put it this way. Imagine a family of mice who lived all their lives in a large piano. Music filled their piano-world, swelling all the dark spaces with sound and harmony. At first the mice were impressed by it. They drew comfort and wonder from the thought that there was someone close to them — though invisible to them — who made the music. They loved to think of the great player whom they could not see.
Then one day a daring mouse climbed up part of the piano and returned very thoughtful. He had found out how the music was made. Wires were the secret; tightly stretched wires of graduated lengths that trembled and vibrated. The mice had to revise all their old beliefs: none but the most conservative could any longer believe in the unseen player.
Later, another explorer carried the explanation further. Now the secret was hammers, numbers of hammers dancing and leaping on the wires.
This was a more complicated theory, and it showed that the mice lived in a purely mechanical and mathematical world. The unseen player came to be thought of by the mice as a myth.
But the pianist continued to play. And only those who hear the music still cry, “Glory!”
Jeremiah 31:7-14
Israel’s prophets often appear, at first glance, to be strange creatures. A number of them harangue with incessant tirades (e.g., Amos), making us uncomfortable to spend too much time with such grumpy old men. Some are constant political gadflies (e.g., Jeremiah), always taking positions opposite of those in power. Others veer off into strange visions that are worlds removed from our everyday life (e.g., Zechariah), chafing readers with their oddness. There are even a few who have very compromised personal lives (e.g., Hosea), leading us to suspect more than a little psychologizing in their soap opera-ish theology.
Still, there is an inherent consistency of message and focus among all of these diverse religious ruminations and rantings. First of all, the prophetic sermons are invariably rooted in the web of relationships created by the Sinai covenant. Israel belongs to Yahweh, and her lifestyle must be shaped by the stipulations of that Suzerain-Vassal treaty. Obedience to Yahweh triggers the Blessings of the Sinai covenant, while disobedience is the first reason for Israel’s experiences of its curses: drought, war, famine, enemy occupation, destruction of cities and fields, deportation, etc. For this reason, the prophetic writings are laced with moral diatribes that carry a strong emphasis on social ethics.
This is not to say that Israel was held to a different behavioral standard than would otherwise be expected among the nations of the earth. Rather, through Israel’s lifestyle there was supposed to flow a witness toward its neighbors, revealing the unique splendor of its God. By looking at the people of Yahweh, living in Canaan, other tribes and nations were to gain a sense of the true character of life when it was experienced in harmony with God, the forgotten creator of all. For this reason, the public actions of Israel were crucial to its covenant existence.
Second, the function and message of prophecy were very political. Since Yahweh alone was Israel’s sovereign, for the nation to come under the domination of other political powers was always seen as a divine scourge that resulted from the application of the covenant curses due to Israel’s disobedience. How Israel handled its international relations showed plainly whether she trusted Yahweh, or if she had otherwise become enamored with power and politics rooted in lesser gods. The prophets constantly asked whether Israel was Yahweh’s witnessing people, or if she was merely another nation with no particular mission or divine purpose. Israel’s self-understanding was thus always very religious, and at the same time invariably political.
It is in this light that the typical prophetic litany against the nations surrounding Israel must be read. These other social and political entities were assessed for public moral behavior by Yahweh alongside Israel because Yahweh was the creator of all, and continued to be Lord of the nations. All countries are chided for their own internal social sins as well as for their inappropriate aggressions toward one another, including, and especially, for their treatment of Israel. While they may be used by Yahweh as a temporary tool of chastisement, punishing Israel according to the covenant curses, they might never presume to hold dominance over either Israel or her God. This typical hubris of nations was regularly condemned as idolatrous by the prophets, and any society afflicted by it would receive divine retribution in its own turn.
Third, as the epochs of Israel’s political fortunes unfolded, the message of the prophets became increasingly apocalyptic. There was a growing sense that because things had not gone the way they should have, producing heartfelt and ongoing national repentance and covenant restoration, Yahweh will have to intervene directly again, in a manner similar to that which happened during the time of Moses. When Yahweh interrupts human history the next time, however, along with judgments on the wickedness of the nations of the world, Israel will also fall heavily under divine punishment. But because Yahweh is on a mission to restore the fallen world, this next major divine intervention will be paired with a focus on establishing a new world order as well, even while the old is falling away under the conflagration. In this coming messianic age, everything in both society and the natural realm will finally function in the manner God had intended in the beginning. Furthermore, because Yahweh is faithful to promises made, Israel will not be forgotten, and a remnant of God’s servant-nation will be at the center of all this renewal and restoration and great joy.
This increasingly forward-looking thrust of prophecy leads some to think of it as primarily foretelling, a kind of crystal ball gaze into the future. In reality, however, the nature of prophecy in ancient Israel is more forth-telling: declaring again the meaning of the ancient Sinai covenant, explaining the mission of Yahweh (and thus Israel also) as witness to the world, and describing the implications of the morality envisioned by the Suzerain-Vassal treaty stipulations. Included in this forth-telling is the anticipation of how things will look when everything is renewed. This becomes the basis for the “new covenant” of Jeremiah and Ezekiel. This forms the background to the prophecies about the “new heavens and new earth” in Isaiah. This shapes the contours of the messianic age described by Isaiah, Ezekiel, Joel, Micah and Zechariah. It is in this light that today’s prophetic lectionary reading needs to be read and proclaimed, especially in this vibrant season of Christmas.
Ephesians 1:3-14
Paul’s letter to the Ephesians packs a big punch of theology and perspective. First, Paul celebrates the faithfulness of these disciples of Jesus, and also the great majesty and power of the one they serve (chapter 1). Next, Paul declares unequivocally that Jesus has broken down the barrier between God and us (2:1-10) and, in and extension of this great victory, also between Jews and Gentiles (2:11-22), uniting all by grace. Paul then goes on to explain his unique calling as an apostle to the Gentiles (3:1-13), something that surfaces a number of times in his travels (see 1 Corinthians). Then Paul offers a magnificent prayer connecting the Body of Christ to its head (3:14-21). This naturally leads Paul to an extended moral discourse on building up Christ’s body (4:1-16) and living as witnesses of God’s goodness (4:17-5:20), which involves respecting one another in social relationships (5:21-6:9). Paul ends with a call to proactive engagement with the powers of evil, using the spiritual protection and counter attacks found in the “Armor of God” (6:10-20).
Paul’s letter addressed a couple of specific issues — the nature of a relationship between master and slave, for instance, when both were Christians, and a proper response to the false teaching that was being promulgated at Colossae. But mostly these writings paint, in vibrant colors, the character of moral choices in a world that is compromised and broken. Darkness and light are the key metaphors. Evil has wrapped a blanket of pain and harm around all that takes place in the human arena. Jesus is the brilliant light of God, penetrating earth’s atmosphere with grace and reconciliation. Because of Jesus’ physical departure at the ascension, his followers now must step in and become a thousand million points of light, restoring relationships and renewing meaning. Jesus is great, and because of our connection with him, we can be great, too. Not for our own sakes, of course, but as witnesses of the eschatological hope that tomorrow’s amazing future of God is something we already participate in today. That is why Christianity is the religion of the dawn.
John 1:(1-9), 10-18
The fourth gospel’s unique prologue highlights several ideas. First, both Jesus and the message of Christianity are tied to the comprehensive foundational values shaping common philosophic systems of the day. “Logos,” in the Greek mind, was the organizing principle giving meaning and identity to everything else. By using this term to describe Jesus, John portrays him as more than just a fine teacher who said a few nice things on a Palestinian spring afternoon. Jesus is, in fact, according to John, the very creator of all things, and the one who gives meaning to life itself. Apart from Jesus nothing makes sense or has any intrinsic meaning.
Second, “light” and “darkness” explain everything. Right up front, John helps us think through life and values and purpose in a stark dualism that is engaged in a tug-of-war for everything and everybody. Nicodemus will come to Jesus in the darkness of night (chapter 3), only to be serenaded by Jesus’ fine teachings about walking in the light. The blind man of chapter 9 is actually the only one who can truly see, according to Jesus, because all of the sighted people have darkened hearts and eyes. Judas will enter the room of the Last Supper basking in the light of the glory that surrounds Jesus (chapter 13), but when he leaves to do his dastardly deed of betrayal, the voice of the narrator ominously intones “and it was night.” Evening falls as Jesus dies (chapter 19), but the floodlights of dawn rise around those who understand the power of his resurrection (chapter 20). Even in the extra story added as chapter 21, the disciples in the nighttime fishing boat are bereft of their netting talents until Jesus shows up at the crack of dawn, tells them where to find a great catch, and is recognized by them in the growing light of day and spiritual insight. Darkness, in the gospel of John, means sin and evil and blindness and the malady of a world trying to make it on its own apart from its creator. Light, on the other hand, symbolizes the return of life and faith and goodness and health and salvation and hope and the presence of God.
Third, as a corollary to these ideas, John shows us that salvation itself is a kind of re-creation. Using a deliberate word play to bind the opening of the gospel to the sentences that start Genesis, John communicates that the world once made lively by the Creator has now fallen under the deadly pall of evil, and needs to be delivered. The only way that this renewal can happen is if God re-injects planet Earth with a personal and concentrated dose of the original light by which all things were made. Although many still wander in blindness or shrink back from the light like cockroaches or rodents who have become accustomed to the inner darkness of a rotting garbage dump, those to whom sight is restored are enabled to live as children of God once again.
This leads to a fourth theme of the prologue, namely that the New Testament era is merely the Old Testament mission of God revived in a new form. Jesus, the Logos, comes to earth and “Tabernacles” among us (verse 14), just as the Creator had done when covenanting with Israel, and commissioning her to become a witness to the nations. Furthermore, those who truly recognize Jesus for who he is, see in him the “glory” of the father. This is a direct link to the Shekinah glory light of God that filled the Tabernacle and the Temple, announcing the divine presence. The mission of God continues, but it will now be experienced through the radiance that glows in all who are close to Jesus. The “Tabernacle” that houses the glory of the divine presence is on the move in the world through this “only begotten son of God” (1:14) and all who become “children of God” (1:12) with and through him.
Application
Once King George and Queen Elizabeth went to a London theater to see a Noel Coward/Gertrude Lawrence production. As they entered the royal box, the whole audience rose to its feet to honor them. Standing in the wings, Gertrude Lawrence said, “What an entrance!”
Noel Coward added, “What a part!”
Today’s lectionary readings are offstage witnesses to the central part that God has to play in our world. What a drama God enacts in the unfolding of time and space! Says Joan of Arc in the first installment of Shakespeare’s King Henry VI: “Glory is like a circle in the water, which never ceaseth to enlarge itself ” (I.ii). For human rulers, she pointed out, that was disastrous. Eventually the reach would exceed the substance.
But what a part for God! Paul draws the ever-expanding circles of God’s glory in Ephesians 1, and marvels at the way in which each successive wave grows more majestic. Every element of creation, from the star-spangled skies to the thumb-sucking baby, stands and shouts at God’s entrance.
One ring, though, among the circles of expanding glory, heaves a mixed applause toward heaven. It’s the circle of humanity, as John notes in his Gospel prologue. Elizabeth Barrett Browning put it this way:
Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.
Some would say that “he who sees,” sees God. May that be so through our proclamations and lives today.
Alternative Application (John 1:(1-9), 10-18)
Only a vision of God’s glory can reset our understanding of reality, according to John. That is the strength of Jesus’ incredible dual presence among us. He is the least of all, attractive to none. And yet, at the same time, when we truly see him, he is the pulsating, throbbing, effervescent emanation of divine glory.
The only way to defeat human pride and spiritual lethargy is to make it irrelevant. Once, when conductor Arturo Toscanini was preparing an orchestra and chorus for a performance, he was forced to work with a rather temperamental soprano soloist. His every suggestion was turned aside by her haughty opinions.
At one point she loudly proclaimed: “I am the star of this performance!” Toscanini looked at her with quiet pity. “Madam,” he said, “in this performance there are no stars.”
In that moment her pride became irrelevant. It was swallowed up in the larger glory of the music. Personal arrogance was like a third left shoe. Who needs it?
So too with Jesus, according to John. So too with us. As Isaac Watts put it in his well-known hymn: “When I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of Glory died, My richest gain I count but loss, And pour contempt on all my pride.”
Only the hushed whisper of that word can describe what God will do when gathering God’s people from among the nations, says Jeremiah, in today’s Old Testament reading. Only the thundering roar of that term can tell what happens when God passes by, explains Paul to the first century Christians. And only the shout of that cry fits the emotions that erupt in God’s presence, declares John, in the wonder of his experience of the true majesty of his best friend Jesus.
But bright lights can dim eyesight, and the constant bombardment of God’s glory can turn our timid spirits toward the dark places. One person has put it this way. Imagine a family of mice who lived all their lives in a large piano. Music filled their piano-world, swelling all the dark spaces with sound and harmony. At first the mice were impressed by it. They drew comfort and wonder from the thought that there was someone close to them — though invisible to them — who made the music. They loved to think of the great player whom they could not see.
Then one day a daring mouse climbed up part of the piano and returned very thoughtful. He had found out how the music was made. Wires were the secret; tightly stretched wires of graduated lengths that trembled and vibrated. The mice had to revise all their old beliefs: none but the most conservative could any longer believe in the unseen player.
Later, another explorer carried the explanation further. Now the secret was hammers, numbers of hammers dancing and leaping on the wires.
This was a more complicated theory, and it showed that the mice lived in a purely mechanical and mathematical world. The unseen player came to be thought of by the mice as a myth.
But the pianist continued to play. And only those who hear the music still cry, “Glory!”
Jeremiah 31:7-14
Israel’s prophets often appear, at first glance, to be strange creatures. A number of them harangue with incessant tirades (e.g., Amos), making us uncomfortable to spend too much time with such grumpy old men. Some are constant political gadflies (e.g., Jeremiah), always taking positions opposite of those in power. Others veer off into strange visions that are worlds removed from our everyday life (e.g., Zechariah), chafing readers with their oddness. There are even a few who have very compromised personal lives (e.g., Hosea), leading us to suspect more than a little psychologizing in their soap opera-ish theology.
Still, there is an inherent consistency of message and focus among all of these diverse religious ruminations and rantings. First of all, the prophetic sermons are invariably rooted in the web of relationships created by the Sinai covenant. Israel belongs to Yahweh, and her lifestyle must be shaped by the stipulations of that Suzerain-Vassal treaty. Obedience to Yahweh triggers the Blessings of the Sinai covenant, while disobedience is the first reason for Israel’s experiences of its curses: drought, war, famine, enemy occupation, destruction of cities and fields, deportation, etc. For this reason, the prophetic writings are laced with moral diatribes that carry a strong emphasis on social ethics.
This is not to say that Israel was held to a different behavioral standard than would otherwise be expected among the nations of the earth. Rather, through Israel’s lifestyle there was supposed to flow a witness toward its neighbors, revealing the unique splendor of its God. By looking at the people of Yahweh, living in Canaan, other tribes and nations were to gain a sense of the true character of life when it was experienced in harmony with God, the forgotten creator of all. For this reason, the public actions of Israel were crucial to its covenant existence.
Second, the function and message of prophecy were very political. Since Yahweh alone was Israel’s sovereign, for the nation to come under the domination of other political powers was always seen as a divine scourge that resulted from the application of the covenant curses due to Israel’s disobedience. How Israel handled its international relations showed plainly whether she trusted Yahweh, or if she had otherwise become enamored with power and politics rooted in lesser gods. The prophets constantly asked whether Israel was Yahweh’s witnessing people, or if she was merely another nation with no particular mission or divine purpose. Israel’s self-understanding was thus always very religious, and at the same time invariably political.
It is in this light that the typical prophetic litany against the nations surrounding Israel must be read. These other social and political entities were assessed for public moral behavior by Yahweh alongside Israel because Yahweh was the creator of all, and continued to be Lord of the nations. All countries are chided for their own internal social sins as well as for their inappropriate aggressions toward one another, including, and especially, for their treatment of Israel. While they may be used by Yahweh as a temporary tool of chastisement, punishing Israel according to the covenant curses, they might never presume to hold dominance over either Israel or her God. This typical hubris of nations was regularly condemned as idolatrous by the prophets, and any society afflicted by it would receive divine retribution in its own turn.
Third, as the epochs of Israel’s political fortunes unfolded, the message of the prophets became increasingly apocalyptic. There was a growing sense that because things had not gone the way they should have, producing heartfelt and ongoing national repentance and covenant restoration, Yahweh will have to intervene directly again, in a manner similar to that which happened during the time of Moses. When Yahweh interrupts human history the next time, however, along with judgments on the wickedness of the nations of the world, Israel will also fall heavily under divine punishment. But because Yahweh is on a mission to restore the fallen world, this next major divine intervention will be paired with a focus on establishing a new world order as well, even while the old is falling away under the conflagration. In this coming messianic age, everything in both society and the natural realm will finally function in the manner God had intended in the beginning. Furthermore, because Yahweh is faithful to promises made, Israel will not be forgotten, and a remnant of God’s servant-nation will be at the center of all this renewal and restoration and great joy.
This increasingly forward-looking thrust of prophecy leads some to think of it as primarily foretelling, a kind of crystal ball gaze into the future. In reality, however, the nature of prophecy in ancient Israel is more forth-telling: declaring again the meaning of the ancient Sinai covenant, explaining the mission of Yahweh (and thus Israel also) as witness to the world, and describing the implications of the morality envisioned by the Suzerain-Vassal treaty stipulations. Included in this forth-telling is the anticipation of how things will look when everything is renewed. This becomes the basis for the “new covenant” of Jeremiah and Ezekiel. This forms the background to the prophecies about the “new heavens and new earth” in Isaiah. This shapes the contours of the messianic age described by Isaiah, Ezekiel, Joel, Micah and Zechariah. It is in this light that today’s prophetic lectionary reading needs to be read and proclaimed, especially in this vibrant season of Christmas.
Ephesians 1:3-14
Paul’s letter to the Ephesians packs a big punch of theology and perspective. First, Paul celebrates the faithfulness of these disciples of Jesus, and also the great majesty and power of the one they serve (chapter 1). Next, Paul declares unequivocally that Jesus has broken down the barrier between God and us (2:1-10) and, in and extension of this great victory, also between Jews and Gentiles (2:11-22), uniting all by grace. Paul then goes on to explain his unique calling as an apostle to the Gentiles (3:1-13), something that surfaces a number of times in his travels (see 1 Corinthians). Then Paul offers a magnificent prayer connecting the Body of Christ to its head (3:14-21). This naturally leads Paul to an extended moral discourse on building up Christ’s body (4:1-16) and living as witnesses of God’s goodness (4:17-5:20), which involves respecting one another in social relationships (5:21-6:9). Paul ends with a call to proactive engagement with the powers of evil, using the spiritual protection and counter attacks found in the “Armor of God” (6:10-20).
Paul’s letter addressed a couple of specific issues — the nature of a relationship between master and slave, for instance, when both were Christians, and a proper response to the false teaching that was being promulgated at Colossae. But mostly these writings paint, in vibrant colors, the character of moral choices in a world that is compromised and broken. Darkness and light are the key metaphors. Evil has wrapped a blanket of pain and harm around all that takes place in the human arena. Jesus is the brilliant light of God, penetrating earth’s atmosphere with grace and reconciliation. Because of Jesus’ physical departure at the ascension, his followers now must step in and become a thousand million points of light, restoring relationships and renewing meaning. Jesus is great, and because of our connection with him, we can be great, too. Not for our own sakes, of course, but as witnesses of the eschatological hope that tomorrow’s amazing future of God is something we already participate in today. That is why Christianity is the religion of the dawn.
John 1:(1-9), 10-18
The fourth gospel’s unique prologue highlights several ideas. First, both Jesus and the message of Christianity are tied to the comprehensive foundational values shaping common philosophic systems of the day. “Logos,” in the Greek mind, was the organizing principle giving meaning and identity to everything else. By using this term to describe Jesus, John portrays him as more than just a fine teacher who said a few nice things on a Palestinian spring afternoon. Jesus is, in fact, according to John, the very creator of all things, and the one who gives meaning to life itself. Apart from Jesus nothing makes sense or has any intrinsic meaning.
Second, “light” and “darkness” explain everything. Right up front, John helps us think through life and values and purpose in a stark dualism that is engaged in a tug-of-war for everything and everybody. Nicodemus will come to Jesus in the darkness of night (chapter 3), only to be serenaded by Jesus’ fine teachings about walking in the light. The blind man of chapter 9 is actually the only one who can truly see, according to Jesus, because all of the sighted people have darkened hearts and eyes. Judas will enter the room of the Last Supper basking in the light of the glory that surrounds Jesus (chapter 13), but when he leaves to do his dastardly deed of betrayal, the voice of the narrator ominously intones “and it was night.” Evening falls as Jesus dies (chapter 19), but the floodlights of dawn rise around those who understand the power of his resurrection (chapter 20). Even in the extra story added as chapter 21, the disciples in the nighttime fishing boat are bereft of their netting talents until Jesus shows up at the crack of dawn, tells them where to find a great catch, and is recognized by them in the growing light of day and spiritual insight. Darkness, in the gospel of John, means sin and evil and blindness and the malady of a world trying to make it on its own apart from its creator. Light, on the other hand, symbolizes the return of life and faith and goodness and health and salvation and hope and the presence of God.
Third, as a corollary to these ideas, John shows us that salvation itself is a kind of re-creation. Using a deliberate word play to bind the opening of the gospel to the sentences that start Genesis, John communicates that the world once made lively by the Creator has now fallen under the deadly pall of evil, and needs to be delivered. The only way that this renewal can happen is if God re-injects planet Earth with a personal and concentrated dose of the original light by which all things were made. Although many still wander in blindness or shrink back from the light like cockroaches or rodents who have become accustomed to the inner darkness of a rotting garbage dump, those to whom sight is restored are enabled to live as children of God once again.
This leads to a fourth theme of the prologue, namely that the New Testament era is merely the Old Testament mission of God revived in a new form. Jesus, the Logos, comes to earth and “Tabernacles” among us (verse 14), just as the Creator had done when covenanting with Israel, and commissioning her to become a witness to the nations. Furthermore, those who truly recognize Jesus for who he is, see in him the “glory” of the father. This is a direct link to the Shekinah glory light of God that filled the Tabernacle and the Temple, announcing the divine presence. The mission of God continues, but it will now be experienced through the radiance that glows in all who are close to Jesus. The “Tabernacle” that houses the glory of the divine presence is on the move in the world through this “only begotten son of God” (1:14) and all who become “children of God” (1:12) with and through him.
Application
Once King George and Queen Elizabeth went to a London theater to see a Noel Coward/Gertrude Lawrence production. As they entered the royal box, the whole audience rose to its feet to honor them. Standing in the wings, Gertrude Lawrence said, “What an entrance!”
Noel Coward added, “What a part!”
Today’s lectionary readings are offstage witnesses to the central part that God has to play in our world. What a drama God enacts in the unfolding of time and space! Says Joan of Arc in the first installment of Shakespeare’s King Henry VI: “Glory is like a circle in the water, which never ceaseth to enlarge itself ” (I.ii). For human rulers, she pointed out, that was disastrous. Eventually the reach would exceed the substance.
But what a part for God! Paul draws the ever-expanding circles of God’s glory in Ephesians 1, and marvels at the way in which each successive wave grows more majestic. Every element of creation, from the star-spangled skies to the thumb-sucking baby, stands and shouts at God’s entrance.
One ring, though, among the circles of expanding glory, heaves a mixed applause toward heaven. It’s the circle of humanity, as John notes in his Gospel prologue. Elizabeth Barrett Browning put it this way:
Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.
Some would say that “he who sees,” sees God. May that be so through our proclamations and lives today.
Alternative Application (John 1:(1-9), 10-18)
Only a vision of God’s glory can reset our understanding of reality, according to John. That is the strength of Jesus’ incredible dual presence among us. He is the least of all, attractive to none. And yet, at the same time, when we truly see him, he is the pulsating, throbbing, effervescent emanation of divine glory.
The only way to defeat human pride and spiritual lethargy is to make it irrelevant. Once, when conductor Arturo Toscanini was preparing an orchestra and chorus for a performance, he was forced to work with a rather temperamental soprano soloist. His every suggestion was turned aside by her haughty opinions.
At one point she loudly proclaimed: “I am the star of this performance!” Toscanini looked at her with quiet pity. “Madam,” he said, “in this performance there are no stars.”
In that moment her pride became irrelevant. It was swallowed up in the larger glory of the music. Personal arrogance was like a third left shoe. Who needs it?
So too with Jesus, according to John. So too with us. As Isaac Watts put it in his well-known hymn: “When I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of Glory died, My richest gain I count but loss, And pour contempt on all my pride.”
