“Kneeling in 2018?” // Epiphany Sunday Wildwood Mennonite Church // Jan 7, 2018

Joe Heikman

Have you done any kneeling this Christmas? It’s such a mysterious story. Magi from the East, wherever that is. Magicians, astrologers studying the skies. “Wise men,” tradition calls them, seers, sages, teacher. Bearing three gifts, gold and frankincense and myrrh, kingly gifts, so legends grew of three kings and epic journeys. The gospel story doesn’t give us that much detail, though the point of the story is obvious: these foreign emissaries recognized the birth of the Christ child even from a distance, while King Herod of the Jews did not. They came bringing gifts and offering respect, while Herod offered only jealousy and violent protectionism. And so the first to bow to Jesus in Matthew’s gospel are not Jews, but Gentiles--this Messiah does not belong to any one nation or tradition, but to all who recognize him. “We have seen his star in the east and have come to worship him” That word “worship” in the Greek is prosekunesan. Pros meaning towards and kunesan from the Greek word meaning “dog” - to be like a dog towards someone.

And when the Magi finally found Jesus, on entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Same word used in both, proskuneo. To kneel is to fall down in worship.

Many liturgical churches have kneeling benches built into their pews, used to kneel in prayer. Some churches invite people to kneel while taking communion. Some people have individual kneelers that they use in their private devotional times, and many more kneel beside their beds in prayer. We Mennonites don’t kneel all that often, in my experience. I’m not sure about where that got left behind in our tradition, probably quite early as the Anabaptists resisted all things Catholic. Nowadays, I suspect the lack of kneeling is about comfort more than anything else--we are people of the padded chair, amen? ;)

Well, today, in the spirit of the Magi, I’m going to kneel for a bit. And for a totally optional, tactile, visceral experience, I invite you to kneel as well, right where you are. I know that this is not physically possible for some of you, and it might be really awkward depending on your personality or what you’re wearing, so please don’t feel obligated. But if you’d like to get out of your seat and remind your body what it feels like to physically kneel, go ahead and join me. (...continues while kneeling…)

How does that feel? What are some words that describe the experience of kneeling? Strange, Uncomfortable, Humble, Submissive, Vulnerable. I don’t know if people still kneel when they propose, but that was one moment of my life when I definitely recall the awkwardness and vulnerability of kneeling. That vulnerable one is a big one. I think that’s part of the original purpose of why people knelt in the presence of royalty. It puts you at the mercy of the king, quite literally, as your head is right at decapitation level. And it’s a really difficult position from which to defend yourself or to attack. And that piece about being dog-like makes sense. This is a begging position. Kneeling reminds me of the TV series Game of Thrones. It’s set in a fantasy kingdom, dominated by great houses and royal courts. And outside the kingdom, there is a group of people called the Wildlings. Well, that’s what they’re called by the people inside the kingdom. The Wildlings call themselves the “Free Folk” because they don’t have any kings and their leaders are accountable to the people. The Free Folk mock the people of the Kingdom by calling them “kneelers” and joke about how quick they are to bend the knee and give up their freedom.

Which is kind of how we Americans view you Canadians and your monarchy. The “True North Strong and Free,” except that The Crown and The Governor General are still technically in charge of everything… :) Well, apparently the act of kneeling isn’t actually making me any more humble, so I’m going to stand up now. And you’re welcome to take your seats again, too.

In reality, even in our modern independent Western society, we’re all kneelers. “You gotta serve somebody,” sings Bob Dylan. And to be part of a society, that’s true, we all have to recognize some higher authorities in order to get services, to do business, to be part of a family and a community. When we say that we are free, what we really mean is that we have some choice in who we serve and which authorities we kneel to. So that’s the invitation of this story of the Magi, to consider who we kneel before, and what it looks like to kneel in 2018. I see kneeling as an act with two halves, interior and exterior. Silence by Shusaku Endo is the fictional story of Christian Jesuit missionaries in 17th Century Japan. Japan was fiercely resistant to Western influence at that time, and these missionary priests and anyone who converted to Christianity were threatened with death. To avoid being killed, they had to renounce Christianity and to prove this by stepping on an image of Jesus on the cross. To trample on the sacred Christ was such blasphemy that many Japanese Christians chose to be killed instead. Silence is the story of a priest who is captured and faced with that choice, to cling to his faith or to trample on Christ and save himself and a bunch of Japanese converts. And he’s wrestling with whether he can go through with the outward act of trampling but still maintain that inner faith. It’s a difficult book, and was last year made into a beautiful and painful movie. There’s tension there, the inner will and the outward action. As I read Silence it initially seemed like an easy choice: do the outward thing to save the life, step on the image, it’s just a picture, kneel on the outside and keep the faith on the inside. Those seem like separate things. But there is a connection, and that’s one of the points of the book, that who we are cannot be easily separated from what we do. So these are not two different things, but two sides of the same coin. First, the interior. Kneeling as a condition of the heart, an act of will and emotion. That’s what I usually think of with the word “worship.”

One of the common worship choruses that has made it into our Mennonite songbooks is “Come, Now Is The Time to Worship”

I’ve sung this chorus probably over a hundred times, and never once have I physically knelt while singing it. This confessing and kneeling and choosing is understood to be primarily an interior thing, an acknowledgement of the mind, an openness of the heart, a submission of the will to the God who is greater than I.

Is that what worship is? Is that what we’re doing here this morning? That’s been the focus of the gatherings of the Christian Church for most of its existence. That’s why cathedrals so closely resemble throne rooms, with the high ceilings and columns to draw the gaze upward and forwards, the raised platform and altar at the front, where the vassals come to receive the blessing of their lord. We Anabaptists have traditionally rejected most of those forms and the extravagance that comes with it. But inwardly

I think that’s what a lot of us still imagine worship to be, entering the royal presence of God, bowing our heads and hearts in submission or lifting up our hands in praise to the God who is greater than us, beyond us. I’m not knocking that, there’s a place for awareness of the transcendence of God. At the same time, I wonder: what does it mean to kneel to the God who is not actually “up there” (points to sky) beyond us but actually “in here” (points to heart and to congregation), within and among us?

If, as I’ve been repeating for a while now, to be the Children of God is to be filled with God, what does it mean to worship the God who lives in me? Put the stones down, I didn’t suggest that I should be worshipping myself! There’s a difference there between saying that I am filled with God and saying that I am God. I am not God. That should be painfully obvious to everyone. And yet, God does live in me, in you, in us. And in God we live and move and have our being. And so to worship, to kneel, is not just to bow before the Lord that is greater than us, but it’s also to connect with the God that is present within us. And among us. One of the things on my spiritual bucket list is attending a service at a Quaker Meetinghouse. The Friends General Conference website describes their services: Everyone is always welcome at a Quaker worship. In worship Friends gather into silent, expectant waiting. We hold ourselves open to the Light and reach for the divine center of our being. We know the center to be a place of peace, love, and balance, where we are at one with the universe and with each other.

I’m pretty sure that looks like sitting silently in a circle, waiting and listening. And at some point, someone speaks what they’ve been hearing from that divine center of their being. Maybe a bunch of people speak, or maybe no one at all. Is that worship? Is that what kneeling to the God who lives in us looks like? I really want to go to one sometime, and not just to see what that looks like for parents with young children! :) Apparently there is a Quaker group in Saskatoon that

meets on Saturday mornings, so let me know if you’d like to go with me. My point is that worship doesn’t have to mean grovelling before the Master. Sometimes Christians talk about worship as though our God has an ego that requires us to fawn over him, “we’re not worthy, we’re not worthy.” That’s counter to the gospel message, that we absolutely are worthy, that the love of the Creator lives in us and fills us.

So “reaching for the divine center of our being” is worship. Connecting with the Spirit in us through all kinds of spiritual practices--meditation, reading, yoga, creativite expression--that is worship. What do you think those Magi from the East were practicing for their spirituality? It certainly wasn’t Christian prayer and Bible reading! And yet that pagan spirituality led them to an encounter with Christ that most of the orthodox folks missed entirely. Of course those familiar Christian practices are good and worshipful as well--prayer, Bible reading, devotional reading, fasting, pilgrimage--those are worship. And so, too, is finding God beyond ourselves, in nature, in conversation, in service. Whatever connects us to God-with-us, however we can open ourselves up to know and to be known, that is worship. And just like the physical act of kneeling, genuine interior worship should also move us towards vulnerability, humility, a little bit of discomfort, openness to the other. So that’s the interior side of kneeling in 2018. What does kneeling look like on the outside? As many of you will remember, one of the biggest stories in the US last year involved the physical act of kneeling. In 2016, Colin Kaepernick, Eric Reid, and other players in the National Football League began taking a knee instead of standing during the playing of the US National Anthem. The protest began “to raise awareness about police brutality and other systemic injustices, and the fact that those problems disproportionately affect black Americans.”

Kaepernick initially protested by remaining seated during the anthem, but after some conversations with military personnel, he and Reid decided that kneeling would be a more respectful way to protest. Not everyone agreed. Last summer more players joined the protest by kneeling, and then it captured the attention of some hyper-politicized Americans and was mentioned, negatively, in some political campaigns. At that point, it blew up into a huge national story, and over a hundred NFL players joined the protest, and for

about two weeks, everyone in America was talking about what it meant to kneel. (Or so my facebook feed would have had me believe…) Politics, justice and civil rights, non-violent resistance and football--this sits right at the intersection of some pretty significant parts of my personality. I couldn’t look away! One of the interesting things was that very little of the conversation was actually on the point of the protest, police brutality and racism. Most of the attention was on the act of kneeling, whether that was disrespectful to the Anthem and thus all that America stands for (in the minds of whoever was feeling disrespected). In American ideology, does freedom give you the right to protest the symbols of that freedom? Or is your first allegiance “to the flag and to the Republic for which it stands,” and you can only protest in ways that don’t get in the way of that higher devotion? (Not to mention the even higher NFL commitments to money-making and entertainment...) Are you an American first and everything else second? Kneeling vs standing during the anthem came to be seen as a litmus test of priorities. I see the Canadian version of this same test in the controversy over religious symbols and face-coverings in Quebec. Which comes first, your freedom of religion or the demands of the public for “religious neutrality”? Do whatever you want on your own time, but the needs of the public, secular state come first. Wear your niqab if you must, but not at that citizenship ceremony; we need evidence that you’re willing to place national identity above religious identity. That’s what kneeling is about, those questions of allegiance, of priority, of who’s really in charge and when push comes to shove, which side will you be on?

Kneeling is always a political act. And that’s what it’s about in this story as well. We tend to romanticize this story into a personal narrative, individuals on a quest for the Christ-child, bringing the best of their personal wealth, and offering their hearts as true gift that’s fit to give our King. Pa rum pum pum-pum. But really, this story has all the markings of a political transaction. These magi sure look like emissaries, representatives of a foreign country interested in making a

deal to secure a new ally. Israel was on a major trade route between north and south, east and west, and having allies in the region was necessary and extremely valuable. Particularly in you see the present Jewish king on the outs with the Romans, it would be a good investment to get an inside track with one of his rivals. And so when Herod discovered the magi’s intent, his response is swift and brutal.

From the very beginning, Jesus’ story is about politics. One of the main thrusts of NT Wright’s scholarship is comparing how the New Testament writers used the language and imagery of the Roman Empire to describe Jesus. Before “Son of God,” “Lord,” and “Saviour” were titles given to Jesus, they were titles used to describe the Emperor Caesar. Celebrating Jesus as God and Lord was religious blasphemy, and also political blasphemy. Wright describes that political motivation as shaping much of the New Testament: “At every point, therefore, we should expect what we in fact find: that for Paul, Jesus is Lord and Caesar is not.” Jesus is Lord, and Canada is not. Jesus is Prime Minister, and Trudeau is not. Jesus is the Commander-in-Chief and our military forces are not. The Way of Jesus is the best way, and democracy is not. The economics of Jesus is supreme, and capitalism is not. Mennonites have said this for a long, long time. But it looks different in each generation. And I’m not entirely sure that we’ve figured out how to do that well here in North America. Jesus is political. Our faith is political. It has to be. That doesn’t mean partisan--no political party has a claim on these priorities of Jesus, no party or country or system is pure in following them. I’m thrilled that the values of the Canadian government, whichever party is in power, include things like justice and equality and health care and reducing poverty. It gets really complicated when we try to work out those values in real life, and I’m genuinely grateful for all those politicians who are working to do that, whatever their faith background. I can’t tell you exactly how to translate your faith into political action, but I’m convinced that’s what we’re called to do. That’s what kneeling before Jesus looks like. There are examples in this story. Of the magi, who risked their lives and perhaps international scandal to passively defy King Herod. Of Mary and Joseph, who made the hard choice to protect their baby by becoming refugees when their nation threatened him. Of the Egyptians who welcomed them. And this story echoes the witnesses of the political actions of the Hebrew tradition. The prophets who publicly denounced political corruption and self-interest. The preachers who called religious people to compassion over profit. And especially the Hebrew midwives in the Exodus story, Shiphrah and Puah, who use all of their resources and wit to save as many babies as they could during a slaughter of innocents much like that of Herod.

Those are examples of kneeling to Jesus as Lord over national and political allegiances. Sometimes today I think that looks like formal political action: voting, writing letters, attending rallies, nonviolent resistance, and yes, kneeling during national anthems in the name of justice. Resisting the claim of nation and empire that nothing matters more than us, in opposition to them. Sometimes that’s about direct engagement with governments and systems, and we need people to devote themselves and the values of Jesus to those actions. Most of the time, though, I think it looks like simple community involvement: getting to know your neighbours. Welcoming newcomers. Visiting offenders in prison. Donating money and especially time and attention to community development organizations. Working diligently in meaningful careers. Promoting the beauty and health of the natural community around us. Any action that values and protects and encourages the Presence of God in our neighbours and our community, that is kneeling before Jesus. Many of you do this extremely well, and I hope that you might share something of what that looks like in the open mic time at the end of the service. Or if you’re too humble to talk about yourself, maybe you can name and encourage someone else that you know who does it well. So that’s what I think kneeling looks like in 2018. It’s an interior posture of worship, of connecting with the Divine Spirit in us and among us. And it’s an exterior posture of engagement, of treating each other as though the Divine Spirit lives in them, too, of working for healthy community in the way of Jesus. Those are absolutely connected, two sides of the same coin. If you do one without the other, it’s just not going to work. I think that’s what Jesus is getting at by connecting two metaphors a little later on in Matthew’s gospel: “You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.” If you lose your identity, if you don’t do that interior work of connecting to the Spirit of God, you’ll lose the “flavour” of God. You won’t have much to offer the community. At the same time, You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. If you never move beyond that interior work, if you don’t let that Spirit in you move you to get involved in the world around you, that light in you is meaningless. It takes both, the interior and the exterior, a breathing in and breathing out. This is how God’s light comes into the world, alive and aware and active. Which is what the mystery of Incarnation is all about, that God’s Light has breath. “In Christ was life, and the life was the light of all people.”

http://heartbeatjourney.org/2016/04/14/prayer-for-light-prayer-john-philip-newell/

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15 - Candles and pre15 - Chairs - extra space in the rows