Love For Herbert And Dorothy
Sermon
Sermons On The First Readings
Series I, Cycle C
The miracle that Jesus performed at the wedding at Cana in today's Gospel is recalled in the prayer that begins the Rite of Marriage in the Lutheran Book of Worship:
Eternal God, our creator and redeemer, as you gladdened the wedding at Cana in Galilee by the presence of your Son, so by his presence now bring your joy to this wedding. Look in favor upon __________ and __________ and grant that they, rejoicing in all your gifts, may at length celebrate with Christ the marriage feast which has no end. Amen.
Some might say that we start the Rite of Marriage with a prayer referring to a place where Jesus performed a miracle because Jesus needs to perform another miracle, if this marriage is to survive in this day and age. The institution of marriage is not having an easy time of it in our society today. The divorce statistics are depressing. One in every two marriages ends in divorce. People are so suspicious of entering into marriage that they have their lawyers draft "prenuptial agreements" to safeguard their financial interests. Many couples choose to live together without the benefit of marriage in various kinds of "trial" arrangements because they are afraid to make the commitment. Even when marriages survive, few of them seen to thrive. Many fall far short of the dreams and expectations with which they began.
Let me tell you the story of Herbert and Dorothy. They resemble one of those typical couples of middle-class, suburban America pursuing the American Dream in their typical suburban home with two cars in the garage, two kids in hand, the latest electronic gadgets in the house, and lots of debt. They feel blessed and wouldn't think of missing church to thank God for their blessings. But as is always the case, things are not what they appear to be.
There they are sitting in church, close to the front, all dressed in their Sunday best. Dorothy wouldn't have it any other way. All prim and proper, glancing from one side to another to see who is looking. Dorothy sings the songs with gusto and enthusiasm. In her operatic voice she seems determined to lead the congregation in singing. But the rest of the family is not as enthusiastic. The kids seem to be more interested in fidgeting, poking one another, and coloring their coloring books. And as for Herbert, relieved to have the two kids sitting between him and Dorothy, he seems bored by it all. He dutifully participates in the service, but his voice is barely audible and he lacks enthusiasm. He is doing his duty.
After the service Dorothy seems to know everyone, even their names, greeting everyone with appropriate one-liners. And when they reach the pastor at the sanctuary exit, Dorothy blurts out, "Good morning, Reverend. I loved your sermon. It was so inspiring. Herbert, the kids, and I wouldn't think of missing one of your wonderful sermons. Church is important to our family."
The kids and Herbert almost seem embarrassed by Dorothy's effusive praise. Nervously offering a perfunctory handshake, they can't wait to get out the door, that is, if Dorothy ever decides she has had enough of the latest parish gossip.
Once in the family car, Dorothy can't stop her cackling. That's what Herbert calls it when, with obvious displeasure, he finally interrupts his wife.
"Dorothy, we have all had enough. Please stop your cackling. I frankly don't care about what goes on at church with all your friends. And I certainly don't want to hear about it."
Dorothy was silenced, but only temporarily. In a few minutes her verbal reportage erupted again, but this time it was no longer about the latest events at church but instead about the latest developments in the neighborhood.
"Herbert, did you hear about the new family that moved in that two-story house on the corner? They moved here from Chicago and have two little girls. Did you see that new car they drive? Wow, that is some car! And I hear that they hired a professional designer to decorate the inside of the house. And did you see the way those two little girls dress? Sandy, from down the street told me ..."
Obviously frustrated, Herbert almost shouts, "Dorothy, please be quiet! I don't want to hear about the new neighbors and the latest juicy tidbit from Sandy. I just want to get home to watch the football game."
"But, Herbert, I just want to tell you what's going on. I just want to keep you informed. Herbert, I just want to talk with you. Will you talk to me? Herbert, please talk to me. Herbert, you are my husband. Can't I talk to you?"
But Herbert has nothing to say, hands on the steering wheel, intent on getting home as quickly and as efficiently as possible. Finally he mutters, "I just want to get home. The game starts in five minutes."
When they finally pull into the driveway, the kids scramble out of the car, relieved to escape the obvious tension. Herbert methodically gets out of the car and walks into the garage, when he stops, turns, and with guilt in his voice speaks rather matter of factly, "Dorothy, are you coming?"
"Yes, Herbert, just give me a couple of minutes."
Herbert disappears into the house. Dorothy sits alone in the car, staring into the future, tears beginning to cascade down her cheeks, wondering what went wrong. It wasn't supposed to be this way. She thought she had everything: a house in the suburbs, two beautiful children, and husband. But Herbert never seems to want to talk with her. He never seems to have time to interact with her. His mind and attention are always some place else.
They have been married for fifteen years. She has made a nice home for the family. They hardly miss a Sunday at church. And she always has so many things to tell Herbert. But he never wants to listen. Maybe he will this time. She thinks to herself, "Maybe if I talk to him about the football game, maybe then Herbert will talk with me."
So, with a new sense of determination, she enters the house calling out, "Herbert, who is playing today? Tell me about it, Herbert. Herbert, who do you think will win? Herbert, do you have a favorite team?"
"Dorothy, please be quiet. I can't hear the play-by-play announcers. This is the biggest game of the season. I don't have time to talk now."
Dorothy and Herbert seemed to have everything. They seemed to be the ideal family. They had all the trappings of the perfect marriage. They even went to church together. But the truth of their marriage was very different from the trappings. The truth of the matter was that, even though they were married, they were living a divorce. The kids knew it. Herbert knew it. Anyone who knew them knew it. Except for Dorothy. She was living in denial. And her endless chattering and filling the air with the white noise of perpetual talk helped her to avoid the long silences that separated her and Herbert, the long silences that betrayed the truth: they were husband and wife in name only. They no longer loved one another. They were going through the motions.
The brutal truth is that Herbert and Dorothy, like so many married couples, struggle to keep up the semblance of a happy marriage but in fact are lonely, desolate, devastated, disappointed, and afraid to admit it. They strive to look good. They make their contrived visits to church on Sundays, pretending to be the happily married couple and the smiling, happy family when in fact they are living a lie.
Because of the disappointing history of so many marriages, because marriage has often been filled with as much disappointment as blessing, it is surprising that it is such a frequently used image to describe the relationship between God and his people in both the Old and New Testaments. In the New Testament, Paul occasionally refers to Jesus as the groom and the church as his bride. In the Old Testament, the prophets often refer to the covenant that God made with the Israelites as the equivalent of a marriage.
The image of marriage is also at the center of today's First Lesson. The prophet speaks to Israel in the midst of the crisis of the Babylonian exile in the sixth century B.C.E. The exiles have begun to trickle back from Babylon. When they finally saw the rubble of Jerusalem, they were once again confronted with the brutal reality of their fate. Everything that had been the concrete evidence of their chosen status as the people of God had been destroyed. The city, the Temple, and the monarchy had crumbled into ashes. They had once been proud to be called the Children of Israel. But that was no longer a name of which to be proud. Instead they were derided, ridiculed, and called "Forsaken" and "Desolate." They were the laughingstock of the ancient world. Any pretensions to grandeur now seemed a joke. They were a two-bit bunch of has-beens. They had been pushed all over the landscape of the Middle East, humiliated by the mighty Babylon, and now were free only because another nation, Persia, had crushed Babylon. In order to humiliate the conquered foe Babylon further, Persia decided to let prisoners such as Israel go home.
To add further insult to injury, the prophets insisted that Israel had brought this fate on itself. Israel was not simply the innocent victim. This suffering had been self-inflicted, brought upon them because they had turned their back on the God who loved them. Like Herbert and Dorothy, their marriage was sick, dysfunctional, not just in need of some therapy but of a resurrection. Like Herbert and Dorothy, their future seemed hopeless. Like Herbert and Dorothy, they were powerless to extricate themselves from this predicament.
But the prophet refuses to accept the inevitable. The prophet sees things differently. Contrary to appearances, he will not allow Israel to wallow in self-pity. Israel may feel like the ugly ducking or the girl who will never get a date or be asked to the dance. Just like Herbert and Dorothy, Israel may seem stuck in its quiet desperation. But the prophet is determined to have the last word.
The prophet announces that not only does he see things differently, so does God. Like a handsome, young beau courting his damsel in distress, God does not see an ugly duckling. Instead God sees a beautiful girl, a princess, a lovely maiden, whom he wants to woo, court, romance, wine, and dine. God does not see "Forsaken" or "Desolate." Instead he sees a beautiful woman who needs a new name more fitting her status as the beloved of God. Bursting with enthusiasm, the prophet announces that from now on Israel will be called Hephzibah, "My delight is in her," and Beulah, "Married." Israel is no longer the abandoned ugly duckling left standing alone at the dance. She is no longer the old maid, forever a spinster. No, she is the star of the ball. She is the love of God's life. She is "married" to the Creator of heaven and earth. She is the Bride of Heaven.
These words of the prophet remind me of one of my daughters' most favorite of the Disney animation films, Beauty and the Beast. They love it so much that they own a video of it and never seem to tire of watching it, even now as maturing, young women. At the center of that story is a beautiful young woman by the name of Belle, the fairest young woman in the whole village, and her love for the Prince, who had been turned by a magical spell into a nasty-looking Beast. When she first tells him of her love for him, the Beast can't believe it. All he can say is, "Who? Me?" He can't believe it because he had so long been rejected and despised by others who were horrified by his ugly appearance. But slowly, as the story unfolds, the Beast is transformed by Belle's love for him. He becomes confident, tender, and caring, so unlike the brutal beast he had become. He changes because he believes Belle and the good word she has for him. She thinks he is beautiful. She tells him. He believes her and it changes him.
See, it is true! Beauty is in the eye of the beholder! Belle sees beauty in the Beast. Believing that what she saw in him was true, he was transformed.
The prophet also believes that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And when the beholder is God, it means everything. When God announces his love for Israel, these are no ordinary words. These words of love have the power to transform Israel. They are the words of a suitor pursuing his bride. They are the words of the lover for the beloved. They are the tender words of courtship as God romantically pursues his people.
The New Testament declares that these tender words of love have come true in Jesus Christ. Christ is the love of God incarnate. Christ is God's word of love with skin on.
I don't think that it is insignificant or accidental that the first miracle that Jesus performs in the Gospel of John, the turning of water into wine, happens at a wedding! The human experience that most closely reflects God's love for the world in Jesus Christ is marital love.
In the Lutheran marriage rite, when the man and woman exchange vows, they pledge to love each other with no strings attached, unconditionally. There is no mention of conditions or requirements to be met. The man does not say to the woman, "I will love you as long as you are pretty." The woman does not say to the man, "I will love you as long as you keep your weight down." On the contrary, the man and woman promise to love until death parts them, just as the prophet declared God's unconditional love for a people returning from exile. In the same way, in Jesus Christ God loved the world unconditionally, without qualification, all the way to the death of the cross. In Christ God gave himself away and suffered for the sake of the beloved, for you and for me. It is not that we were worth living. It is not that we were attractive, handsome, or beautiful. No, it is God's decision to love us that makes us lovable.
The nature of God's love for the world is so stunning and so unique that the New Testament virtually has to invent a new Greek word to describe this love. Unlike our often pedestrian English language, the Greek language has several different words to describe the various kinds of love which human beings can express. There is philos, the love of one friend for another, brotherly love. There is eros, the erotic and sexual love that the sexes have for each other. There is storge, the love one might have for ice cream or a sirloin steak. But most unique of all there is agape, the love of God for the world in Jesus Christ, the love that is so special that this rarely used Greek word for love, agape, becomes one of the most important words in the New Testament.
Agape love is unlike any other kind of love. Other kinds of love only love the attractive, the handsome, the beautiful, the pleasing, those that are worth loving, and those that deserve to be loved. But agape love cares for the unlovable and the unattractive, for those who can give you nothing in return, and for those who may even be your enemies. The agape lover loves simply because he wants to, simply because he chooses to love another. That and only that makes the other the beloved.
The prophet expresses agape love when he announces that God doesn't see his people as "Desolated" or "Forsaken." In spite of all the evidence to the contrary, in spite of their desolate and devastated condition, God still chooses to love them. God still chooses to look at the ragtag and broken Israel and see not "Desolated" or "Forsaken" but Hephzibah, "My delight is in her." Agape love no longer sees the defeated and abandoned Israel, the ugly duckling and laughingstock of Middle Eastern nations and declares Beulah, "married." It is agape love that looks at the unfaithful, idolatrous, and adulterous Israel that all too often went "whoring after other gods" and sees not an adulterer, who has been humiliated by exile in Babylon, but a lover who is his wife and the delight of his heart.
It is agape love that moves God to send his Son to suffer and die for a sinful world, even though it has rebuffed his love time and time again, even though it is utterly unlovable. It is agape love that motivates Jesus to embrace sinners relentlessly even though they have played coy and hard to get. It is agape love that costs Jesus his life. But on "the third day" Jesus is raised from the dead. His love cannot be buried. His love cannot be thwarted. His love is alive and through the power of his Spirit it continues to seek out those who are sure they are "Forsaken" and "Desolate" and convince them that they are Hephzibah and Beulah.
It is agape love that moves God to look at the Herberts and Dorothys of this world, at people like us whose marriages more often than not resemble the lie being lived by Herbert and Dorothy, and still love them. Despite our forsakenness and desolation, despite the fact that we don't deserve one bit of it, God pours out his agape love. He looks at us and declares Hephzibah, "My delight is in her (you!)." Even though we are often alone, cut off and isolated, even from those we thought were most dear to us, God's agape love won't be thwarted. We are the love of his life. We are Beulah, "Married!"
This changes everything. When we believe that we are Hephzibah and Beulah, we can't help but be different. In Beauty and the Beast, Belle's love for the Prince/Beast transformed him from an ugly, brutal thug into a gentle giant, even though his external appearance remained repelling.
Can you imagine what such agape would mean for Herbert and Dorothy? Dorothy was miserable in her loneliness and did not have the strength to admit it to anyone or to herself. But what if Dorothy knew that she was not alone, that she would never be abandoned, that she was the "delight" of God? She then might have the strength to admit the truth about her marriage. She then might be able to see Herbert with the same eyes God has seen her. She then might be able to give Herbert the love that he truly needs. Then she might be able to stop talking and truly listen to Herbert. Then Herbert might be able to see that loving and being loved by Dorothy are more important than watching a football game.
Can you imagine what such agape love can do for us in our lives? We might be able to see others with the same eyes that Christ has seen us. We might be able to give to others the agape we have first received from God. We can look at the rival who threatens us and befriend him. We can look at the friend who betrayed us and forgive him. We can look at the enemy who hurt us and instead of "getting back and getting even," we can declare Hephzibah, "My delight is in you!"
And then just like at the wedding at Cana, miracles can happen. Not only is water turned into wine, but hurts are healed, conflicts are resolved, enemies become friends, and, yes, even the Herberts and Dorothys of this world rediscover their marriage. And going to church on Sunday is no longer an excuse to look good and impress the neighbors. And talking together is no longer an inconvenience or an obligation. Instead such actions are genuine expressions of agape love because Herbert and Dorothy have discovered, perhaps for the first time, that there is love for Herbert and Dorothy. It is God's love. And there is no other love quite like it. And God's love makes all the difference in the world. It can help even Herbert and Dorothy learn to love one another again, as husband and wife.
Eternal God, our creator and redeemer, as you gladdened the wedding at Cana in Galilee by the presence of your Son, so by his presence now bring your joy to this wedding. Look in favor upon __________ and __________ and grant that they, rejoicing in all your gifts, may at length celebrate with Christ the marriage feast which has no end. Amen.
Some might say that we start the Rite of Marriage with a prayer referring to a place where Jesus performed a miracle because Jesus needs to perform another miracle, if this marriage is to survive in this day and age. The institution of marriage is not having an easy time of it in our society today. The divorce statistics are depressing. One in every two marriages ends in divorce. People are so suspicious of entering into marriage that they have their lawyers draft "prenuptial agreements" to safeguard their financial interests. Many couples choose to live together without the benefit of marriage in various kinds of "trial" arrangements because they are afraid to make the commitment. Even when marriages survive, few of them seen to thrive. Many fall far short of the dreams and expectations with which they began.
Let me tell you the story of Herbert and Dorothy. They resemble one of those typical couples of middle-class, suburban America pursuing the American Dream in their typical suburban home with two cars in the garage, two kids in hand, the latest electronic gadgets in the house, and lots of debt. They feel blessed and wouldn't think of missing church to thank God for their blessings. But as is always the case, things are not what they appear to be.
There they are sitting in church, close to the front, all dressed in their Sunday best. Dorothy wouldn't have it any other way. All prim and proper, glancing from one side to another to see who is looking. Dorothy sings the songs with gusto and enthusiasm. In her operatic voice she seems determined to lead the congregation in singing. But the rest of the family is not as enthusiastic. The kids seem to be more interested in fidgeting, poking one another, and coloring their coloring books. And as for Herbert, relieved to have the two kids sitting between him and Dorothy, he seems bored by it all. He dutifully participates in the service, but his voice is barely audible and he lacks enthusiasm. He is doing his duty.
After the service Dorothy seems to know everyone, even their names, greeting everyone with appropriate one-liners. And when they reach the pastor at the sanctuary exit, Dorothy blurts out, "Good morning, Reverend. I loved your sermon. It was so inspiring. Herbert, the kids, and I wouldn't think of missing one of your wonderful sermons. Church is important to our family."
The kids and Herbert almost seem embarrassed by Dorothy's effusive praise. Nervously offering a perfunctory handshake, they can't wait to get out the door, that is, if Dorothy ever decides she has had enough of the latest parish gossip.
Once in the family car, Dorothy can't stop her cackling. That's what Herbert calls it when, with obvious displeasure, he finally interrupts his wife.
"Dorothy, we have all had enough. Please stop your cackling. I frankly don't care about what goes on at church with all your friends. And I certainly don't want to hear about it."
Dorothy was silenced, but only temporarily. In a few minutes her verbal reportage erupted again, but this time it was no longer about the latest events at church but instead about the latest developments in the neighborhood.
"Herbert, did you hear about the new family that moved in that two-story house on the corner? They moved here from Chicago and have two little girls. Did you see that new car they drive? Wow, that is some car! And I hear that they hired a professional designer to decorate the inside of the house. And did you see the way those two little girls dress? Sandy, from down the street told me ..."
Obviously frustrated, Herbert almost shouts, "Dorothy, please be quiet! I don't want to hear about the new neighbors and the latest juicy tidbit from Sandy. I just want to get home to watch the football game."
"But, Herbert, I just want to tell you what's going on. I just want to keep you informed. Herbert, I just want to talk with you. Will you talk to me? Herbert, please talk to me. Herbert, you are my husband. Can't I talk to you?"
But Herbert has nothing to say, hands on the steering wheel, intent on getting home as quickly and as efficiently as possible. Finally he mutters, "I just want to get home. The game starts in five minutes."
When they finally pull into the driveway, the kids scramble out of the car, relieved to escape the obvious tension. Herbert methodically gets out of the car and walks into the garage, when he stops, turns, and with guilt in his voice speaks rather matter of factly, "Dorothy, are you coming?"
"Yes, Herbert, just give me a couple of minutes."
Herbert disappears into the house. Dorothy sits alone in the car, staring into the future, tears beginning to cascade down her cheeks, wondering what went wrong. It wasn't supposed to be this way. She thought she had everything: a house in the suburbs, two beautiful children, and husband. But Herbert never seems to want to talk with her. He never seems to have time to interact with her. His mind and attention are always some place else.
They have been married for fifteen years. She has made a nice home for the family. They hardly miss a Sunday at church. And she always has so many things to tell Herbert. But he never wants to listen. Maybe he will this time. She thinks to herself, "Maybe if I talk to him about the football game, maybe then Herbert will talk with me."
So, with a new sense of determination, she enters the house calling out, "Herbert, who is playing today? Tell me about it, Herbert. Herbert, who do you think will win? Herbert, do you have a favorite team?"
"Dorothy, please be quiet. I can't hear the play-by-play announcers. This is the biggest game of the season. I don't have time to talk now."
Dorothy and Herbert seemed to have everything. They seemed to be the ideal family. They had all the trappings of the perfect marriage. They even went to church together. But the truth of their marriage was very different from the trappings. The truth of the matter was that, even though they were married, they were living a divorce. The kids knew it. Herbert knew it. Anyone who knew them knew it. Except for Dorothy. She was living in denial. And her endless chattering and filling the air with the white noise of perpetual talk helped her to avoid the long silences that separated her and Herbert, the long silences that betrayed the truth: they were husband and wife in name only. They no longer loved one another. They were going through the motions.
The brutal truth is that Herbert and Dorothy, like so many married couples, struggle to keep up the semblance of a happy marriage but in fact are lonely, desolate, devastated, disappointed, and afraid to admit it. They strive to look good. They make their contrived visits to church on Sundays, pretending to be the happily married couple and the smiling, happy family when in fact they are living a lie.
Because of the disappointing history of so many marriages, because marriage has often been filled with as much disappointment as blessing, it is surprising that it is such a frequently used image to describe the relationship between God and his people in both the Old and New Testaments. In the New Testament, Paul occasionally refers to Jesus as the groom and the church as his bride. In the Old Testament, the prophets often refer to the covenant that God made with the Israelites as the equivalent of a marriage.
The image of marriage is also at the center of today's First Lesson. The prophet speaks to Israel in the midst of the crisis of the Babylonian exile in the sixth century B.C.E. The exiles have begun to trickle back from Babylon. When they finally saw the rubble of Jerusalem, they were once again confronted with the brutal reality of their fate. Everything that had been the concrete evidence of their chosen status as the people of God had been destroyed. The city, the Temple, and the monarchy had crumbled into ashes. They had once been proud to be called the Children of Israel. But that was no longer a name of which to be proud. Instead they were derided, ridiculed, and called "Forsaken" and "Desolate." They were the laughingstock of the ancient world. Any pretensions to grandeur now seemed a joke. They were a two-bit bunch of has-beens. They had been pushed all over the landscape of the Middle East, humiliated by the mighty Babylon, and now were free only because another nation, Persia, had crushed Babylon. In order to humiliate the conquered foe Babylon further, Persia decided to let prisoners such as Israel go home.
To add further insult to injury, the prophets insisted that Israel had brought this fate on itself. Israel was not simply the innocent victim. This suffering had been self-inflicted, brought upon them because they had turned their back on the God who loved them. Like Herbert and Dorothy, their marriage was sick, dysfunctional, not just in need of some therapy but of a resurrection. Like Herbert and Dorothy, their future seemed hopeless. Like Herbert and Dorothy, they were powerless to extricate themselves from this predicament.
But the prophet refuses to accept the inevitable. The prophet sees things differently. Contrary to appearances, he will not allow Israel to wallow in self-pity. Israel may feel like the ugly ducking or the girl who will never get a date or be asked to the dance. Just like Herbert and Dorothy, Israel may seem stuck in its quiet desperation. But the prophet is determined to have the last word.
The prophet announces that not only does he see things differently, so does God. Like a handsome, young beau courting his damsel in distress, God does not see an ugly duckling. Instead God sees a beautiful girl, a princess, a lovely maiden, whom he wants to woo, court, romance, wine, and dine. God does not see "Forsaken" or "Desolate." Instead he sees a beautiful woman who needs a new name more fitting her status as the beloved of God. Bursting with enthusiasm, the prophet announces that from now on Israel will be called Hephzibah, "My delight is in her," and Beulah, "Married." Israel is no longer the abandoned ugly duckling left standing alone at the dance. She is no longer the old maid, forever a spinster. No, she is the star of the ball. She is the love of God's life. She is "married" to the Creator of heaven and earth. She is the Bride of Heaven.
These words of the prophet remind me of one of my daughters' most favorite of the Disney animation films, Beauty and the Beast. They love it so much that they own a video of it and never seem to tire of watching it, even now as maturing, young women. At the center of that story is a beautiful young woman by the name of Belle, the fairest young woman in the whole village, and her love for the Prince, who had been turned by a magical spell into a nasty-looking Beast. When she first tells him of her love for him, the Beast can't believe it. All he can say is, "Who? Me?" He can't believe it because he had so long been rejected and despised by others who were horrified by his ugly appearance. But slowly, as the story unfolds, the Beast is transformed by Belle's love for him. He becomes confident, tender, and caring, so unlike the brutal beast he had become. He changes because he believes Belle and the good word she has for him. She thinks he is beautiful. She tells him. He believes her and it changes him.
See, it is true! Beauty is in the eye of the beholder! Belle sees beauty in the Beast. Believing that what she saw in him was true, he was transformed.
The prophet also believes that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And when the beholder is God, it means everything. When God announces his love for Israel, these are no ordinary words. These words of love have the power to transform Israel. They are the words of a suitor pursuing his bride. They are the words of the lover for the beloved. They are the tender words of courtship as God romantically pursues his people.
The New Testament declares that these tender words of love have come true in Jesus Christ. Christ is the love of God incarnate. Christ is God's word of love with skin on.
I don't think that it is insignificant or accidental that the first miracle that Jesus performs in the Gospel of John, the turning of water into wine, happens at a wedding! The human experience that most closely reflects God's love for the world in Jesus Christ is marital love.
In the Lutheran marriage rite, when the man and woman exchange vows, they pledge to love each other with no strings attached, unconditionally. There is no mention of conditions or requirements to be met. The man does not say to the woman, "I will love you as long as you are pretty." The woman does not say to the man, "I will love you as long as you keep your weight down." On the contrary, the man and woman promise to love until death parts them, just as the prophet declared God's unconditional love for a people returning from exile. In the same way, in Jesus Christ God loved the world unconditionally, without qualification, all the way to the death of the cross. In Christ God gave himself away and suffered for the sake of the beloved, for you and for me. It is not that we were worth living. It is not that we were attractive, handsome, or beautiful. No, it is God's decision to love us that makes us lovable.
The nature of God's love for the world is so stunning and so unique that the New Testament virtually has to invent a new Greek word to describe this love. Unlike our often pedestrian English language, the Greek language has several different words to describe the various kinds of love which human beings can express. There is philos, the love of one friend for another, brotherly love. There is eros, the erotic and sexual love that the sexes have for each other. There is storge, the love one might have for ice cream or a sirloin steak. But most unique of all there is agape, the love of God for the world in Jesus Christ, the love that is so special that this rarely used Greek word for love, agape, becomes one of the most important words in the New Testament.
Agape love is unlike any other kind of love. Other kinds of love only love the attractive, the handsome, the beautiful, the pleasing, those that are worth loving, and those that deserve to be loved. But agape love cares for the unlovable and the unattractive, for those who can give you nothing in return, and for those who may even be your enemies. The agape lover loves simply because he wants to, simply because he chooses to love another. That and only that makes the other the beloved.
The prophet expresses agape love when he announces that God doesn't see his people as "Desolated" or "Forsaken." In spite of all the evidence to the contrary, in spite of their desolate and devastated condition, God still chooses to love them. God still chooses to look at the ragtag and broken Israel and see not "Desolated" or "Forsaken" but Hephzibah, "My delight is in her." Agape love no longer sees the defeated and abandoned Israel, the ugly duckling and laughingstock of Middle Eastern nations and declares Beulah, "married." It is agape love that looks at the unfaithful, idolatrous, and adulterous Israel that all too often went "whoring after other gods" and sees not an adulterer, who has been humiliated by exile in Babylon, but a lover who is his wife and the delight of his heart.
It is agape love that moves God to send his Son to suffer and die for a sinful world, even though it has rebuffed his love time and time again, even though it is utterly unlovable. It is agape love that motivates Jesus to embrace sinners relentlessly even though they have played coy and hard to get. It is agape love that costs Jesus his life. But on "the third day" Jesus is raised from the dead. His love cannot be buried. His love cannot be thwarted. His love is alive and through the power of his Spirit it continues to seek out those who are sure they are "Forsaken" and "Desolate" and convince them that they are Hephzibah and Beulah.
It is agape love that moves God to look at the Herberts and Dorothys of this world, at people like us whose marriages more often than not resemble the lie being lived by Herbert and Dorothy, and still love them. Despite our forsakenness and desolation, despite the fact that we don't deserve one bit of it, God pours out his agape love. He looks at us and declares Hephzibah, "My delight is in her (you!)." Even though we are often alone, cut off and isolated, even from those we thought were most dear to us, God's agape love won't be thwarted. We are the love of his life. We are Beulah, "Married!"
This changes everything. When we believe that we are Hephzibah and Beulah, we can't help but be different. In Beauty and the Beast, Belle's love for the Prince/Beast transformed him from an ugly, brutal thug into a gentle giant, even though his external appearance remained repelling.
Can you imagine what such agape would mean for Herbert and Dorothy? Dorothy was miserable in her loneliness and did not have the strength to admit it to anyone or to herself. But what if Dorothy knew that she was not alone, that she would never be abandoned, that she was the "delight" of God? She then might have the strength to admit the truth about her marriage. She then might be able to see Herbert with the same eyes God has seen her. She then might be able to give Herbert the love that he truly needs. Then she might be able to stop talking and truly listen to Herbert. Then Herbert might be able to see that loving and being loved by Dorothy are more important than watching a football game.
Can you imagine what such agape love can do for us in our lives? We might be able to see others with the same eyes that Christ has seen us. We might be able to give to others the agape we have first received from God. We can look at the rival who threatens us and befriend him. We can look at the friend who betrayed us and forgive him. We can look at the enemy who hurt us and instead of "getting back and getting even," we can declare Hephzibah, "My delight is in you!"
And then just like at the wedding at Cana, miracles can happen. Not only is water turned into wine, but hurts are healed, conflicts are resolved, enemies become friends, and, yes, even the Herberts and Dorothys of this world rediscover their marriage. And going to church on Sunday is no longer an excuse to look good and impress the neighbors. And talking together is no longer an inconvenience or an obligation. Instead such actions are genuine expressions of agape love because Herbert and Dorothy have discovered, perhaps for the first time, that there is love for Herbert and Dorothy. It is God's love. And there is no other love quite like it. And God's love makes all the difference in the world. It can help even Herbert and Dorothy learn to love one another again, as husband and wife.
