24 July 2010
Blood Brother
The Devil hated God. But to attack God is like clawing at a great sphere of polished granite: no chink in that perfection, no place to leave a mark. So the Devil had no outlet for his wrath.
Then God made humankind. And the Devil saw the Image of God burning bright in human flesh and laughed. Only a fool would stamp the Image on something so soft and weak. “Now I can scratch at your face,” he said, “Now I can claw out your eyes. I will wound them with loneliness. I will wound them with fear of the darkness, fear of each other, fear of you. I will wound them with sickness and death. With all the fury I could not expend on you I will mar the Image in them beyond all recognition.”
But God had a plan. “Watch, Devil,” he said, “I will beat you at your own game. You can only harm the surface. But I, I can wound them more deeply than you know how.” So God struck his children of dust, cut them to the heart and sealed up the wound, unhealed.
And the Devil was confused because he could see that the injury God had inflicted was incurable, and it was a grievous harm. He saw that because of this wound, even in the warmest house they would feel a chill between their shoulder blades. Even in the greatest victory they would feel their feet about to slip. And even in their closest intimacy with each other they would never be satisfied. “What is the meaning of this wound?” he asked.
“The meaning of the wound is this,” said God, “When you wound them with loneliness my wound will be the yearning that drives them to community. When you wound them with grief and loss my wound will speak to them of a home they have never seen. And when you wound them with fear my wound will drive them to faith. They will bind their wounded hands together and share their blood; their common wound will make them true blood brothers and sisters, and together they will find strength to stand.”
“Now you are doubly a fool,” said the Devil, “I threatened to harm their bodies and you injured their souls, and now I will utterly destroy them.” And humanity yearned, and reached out for God, and God was like a great sphere of polished stone, with no place to hold onto, and with slipping, scrabbling fingers they tumbled down. And it seemed like the Devil had won.
And God still had a plan. God and brother Jesus, they had a plan. But the Devil laughed the day he heard the news, that God had become flesh and dwelt among them. He laughed like he did the day he first saw humankind, first saw the image of God made vulnerable. This was even better; now, he could strike not just the mirror, but the face.
But he didn’t laugh when Jesus began to heal. He didn’t laugh wounds that he had spent a lifetime infecting closed up and left fresh skin like an infant’s. But he bided his time. This was only Galilee, but the world was the Devil’s. Thousands were healed, but millions were dying. He didn’t laugh when he saw his work undone. But he laughed and he danced and he crowed the day that they nailed God to a tree, the day the Son died and the great seamless heart of the Creator cracked in two.
Gloating, he met Jesus on his way down to the dead, to the multitude: death had undone so many. “Triple fool,” said the Devil, “You wanted to be with them. Now you can join them even here. Do you want to see how many I have killed?”
“Show me,” said Jesus, and they walked among the throng, side by side: the Devil and the defeated Son of God.
They came to one woman, badly disfigured, barely recognizable as human. “I bet you wish you were still alive,” said the Devil, “I bet you wish you could heal her. I know the rules of this place. There is nothing you can do.”
But Jesus knelt anyways, looking intently at the woman. “I know you,” he said, “You were the first ever to suffer harm. But look, now I am wounded too.” And the woman wept, not for her wounds but for his. But Jesus looked more deeply, then reached out, placed the wounded hand of God on the wound of God within her. “Now I am your blood brother,” he said. He spoke quietly, as if sharing a conspiracy, “Now you are my sister. Now we are bound together, sharing blood. You will understand on the third day.”
And Jesus went on to other men and women, always with the same words, and the Devil grew disquieted, and wandered off alone, and sat in confusion and fear while for two long days, the Son walked every inch of that utterly dark place. And on the second night Jesus stood before the Devil again. “You see?” said the Devil, “You have nothing left to offer them, and no way to heal what I have done.”
But Jesus held out his hands, held out his pierced hands. “I have offered them everything. I have offered them my blood. I am in them now, and they are in me. Do you know what you have done by wounding me? Do you see the thread that links me to them, through our common wound?” And the devil smirked, but Jesus said, “I see. You really don’t understand. But no matter. Dawn is here.”
“Dawn never comes in my domain,” said the Devil.
But that day he was wrong. “I am the dawn!” shouted Jesus, and as he spoke his body shone in the darkness of that place, “I am about to rise again, in a form you have never seen or imagined. You have no power anymore to hold me here.”
“So you’re giving up,” said the Devil, “Leaving your work here, knowing you could do no good, returning to life. I was glad for your visit, but I will be glad to see you go.” But then he saw the threads, light radiating out from Jesus into the shadows on every side. And he saw to his horror that Jesus was not the only one ablaze with light. “What is this?” he asked.
“Didn’t I tell you?” said Jesus, “My blood is in their veins. I am in them, and they are in me. And my victory is theirs as well. I am rising to indestructible life, and they are coming with me.”
Most blessed of all nights,
chosen by God to see Christ rising from the dead!
Of this night scripture says:
“The night will be as clear as day:
it will become my light, my joy.”
The power of this holy night dispels all evil,
washes guilt away, restores lost innocence,
brings mourners joy;
it casts out hatred, brings us peace,
and humbles earthly pride.
Night truly blessed when heaven is wedded to earth
and man is reconciled with God!
(from the Exsultet)