Christ, securer of our rest (Nov 10)

Readings, Psalm 127 and Mark 12:38-44
Image, Bed 2, Nemesio Antunez, 1980
 
Macbeth (well, William Shakespeare’s Macbeth) is overwhelmed by worry. Having killed Duncan he fears that his machinations could be exposed by Banquo, and laments to his wife,
Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep
 In the affliction of these terrible dreams
 That shake us nightly. Better be with the dead,
 Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,
 Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave.
 After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well.
 
Later in the play, having now also done in Banquo, Lady Macbeth suffers her own perturbation, made manifest in restless nights, walking hither and thither, active though asleep, hoping to expunge the stain of blood from her hands.
 
This, the play suggests awaits those who build their house on betrayal. There is no rest for the wicked, whose own minds and bodies turn against them in violent agitation. Sleep provides no respite, bed no balm, for here especially they suffer the affliction of their conscious, the futility of their temporary gains, the peril at their gates. Better to be dead, Macbeth notes, at least then you get some sleep.
 
Unless the Lord builds the house, notes the psalmist, those who build it labour in vain. Unless the Lord guards the city, the guard keeps watch in vain. It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil, for God gives sleep to his beloved.
 
Like last week we are drawing on a psalm (and some Shakespeare) to enter deeper into the paradox, mystery, and hope of the confession of Christ the King. Where last week the psalm contrasted the trustworthiness of Divine rule compared to mortal princes, this week sets human labour and energy against the foundation of God. Where, last week, the confession of Christ’s kingship worked as a check against placing all hope in finite, earthly power structures, today it checks against believing that the church can be built and preserved by our efforts. No matter how early we rise, how late we work, how diligently we watch, or how arduously we labour, it is in vain unless it is the Lord who builds, guards, acts. Fundamental to the confession of Christ the King, is Christ the cornerstone and foundation of the church.
 
The Uniting Church’s Basis of Union, the founding document of our church by which three denominations became one movement made this point explicitly. Rather than appealing to what the individual churches might contribute… The Uniting Church acknowledges that the Church is able to live and endure through the changes of history only because its Lord comes, addresses, and deals with people in and through the news of his completed work. Though we are charged to live as witnesses, it is Christ who reaches out to command people's attention and awaken faith; [Christ who] calls people into the fellowship of his sufferings… Christ who, in his own strange way… constitutes, rules and renews them as his Church.
 
Or, in the words of Ephesians, Christ is the cornerstone of the household of God: In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling-place for God. Unless Christ builds the church, we labour in vain.
 
Now, such a lesson could be stressed as a warning – a bulwark against going our own way, leaning too much on human labour, managerialism, or fads. A warning against deferring too much authority to earthly leaders in the church, a reminder that none should be thought above reproach or accountability because they are supposed to be essential to a church’s survival. It reminds us that Christ awakens faith, Christ feeds the church, Christ renews the body on the way to a promised end, and therefore we cannot neglect Christ in prayer, proclamation, and praise should we wish to be the church.
 
But such a lesson can also be read as a consolation, a balm, a hope. As the psalmist sings: God gives rest to the beloved. With Christ as the head and foundation of the church, the one who preserves and renews the church as cornerstone and high priest, we are freed from anxious toil. We can remove the burden of the church’s future from our shoulders. We no longer need to rise early and go late to rest, fitfully tossing and turning through the night our mind awash with all the things we have to do tomorrow. As co-labourers, as disciples, as those Christ calls friends, we give up the bread of anxious toil and eat the bread of life! We celebrate our liberation from the responsibility which belongs rightly to Christ; since what we need Christ to do, is not something we can pull off.
 
To confess Christ’s sovereign headship over the church is to make possible real rest. Our labour is not foundational, it is a joyful response to what Christ has, is and will do in, through, and beyond the church. When our labour is co-labour with Christ, our labour is not in vain.
 
It is this very confession that makes it possible to celebrate the widow’s offering. Because if the church was built and guarded with human hands, what difference really could that widow’s offering make. Let’s be serious, it’s a pittance. Much more pivotal are those loud and showy offerings of the rich. Truly, if the church is built alone by Christians, then we ought to overlook whatever hypocritic, self-serving, motivations they might have for giving. However, if the church lives and endures through the changes of history only because of Christ, then we can rightly celebrate the widow’s offering. Not because her mite will make the difference, but because her witness does. In drawing attention to her giving humbly out of her poverty, Christ awakens our attention and faith.
 
The widow’s offering reminds us that our labour is not in vain when it is meek and mild, when it is small and fragile, when it is humble and insufficient. Our labour is in vain when we believe it mighty, when it parades as the answer, when it takes the responsibility to guard and build. The widow’s offering can never be confused with anything but co-labouring, as anything but an offering which depends upon divine intervention. This is why it is celebrated in the gospel, and through this we learn how to celebrate these kinds of offerings in our church today.
 
For if Christ were not the head of the church, if the church does not endure through history only because of his word and presence, then it would be difficult to celebrate the little acts of generosity, kindness, faithfulness, mercy, and justice that sprinkle about the life of the church today. Because if the value and impact of these acts of prayer, fellowship, and witness were left to the cold calculations of material impact, as if the only thing standing between the church and the gates of hell were our own input, all we would see was how much they came up short, how much more still needed to be done. On our own, our efforts of faithful living might seem like trying to right a sinking ship by scooping out water with a teaspoon. What hope of a good night’s sleep is found in such an understanding of the church?
 
But this is not how we understand the church. We understand the church as a household of God built on the cornerstone of Christ, as a body with Christ as its head, as a people with Christ as their High Priest. And when we understand it this way, then when we lay the smallest stone, twitch the smallest muscle fibre, or offer the quietest prayer, all these small things are not measured on their own. They are part of the cosmic and eternal labour of God. And as such they become witnesses to Christ’s own activity which offers rest to the mind tormented by restless ecstasy with the promise that our labour (celebrated or unnoticed) is not in vain, for we do not labour alone.