Reading the newspaper this week, a short opinion piece by Tim Lott caught my eye. The writer was trying to answer his 8-year-old daughter's question "What's the point?"
Having quickly rejected "be good", "be happy" and "serve God" as possible answers, he concluded that he just didn't know. Muddle through and hope for the best. Try to do as much good and as little harm as possible but sadly we must acknowledge at the end of it all that:
"Life has no purpose, any more than a tree or symphony has a purpose."
Do we believe this rather sad statement? Or do we listen gladly to symphonies knowing that both the composer and the players intended to bring us joy and move our hearts with music? I gaze out of the train window every morning gazing at trees in full autumn splendour or wintry bareness and thank God that he made these trees to declare his glory. How can we say we have no purpose when God delights in even the rocks under our feet, laid down and shaped by geological processes over millennia long before we were born?
But knowing we are God's creation and that everything exists to bring him glory doesn't entirely solve the problem. For one thing, many people interpret this as just a comforting thought when things are difficult ("at least God loves me!") Others think their purpose is to overcome the problems of life by trying harder, with heaven as their reward if they somehow manage it (trying to ignore the nagging sense that we might never be good enough, which Tim Lott rightly points out is often a path to guilt or pride).
But as we approach Christmas, we have a different story to tell: a story about a God who not only made the world but grieves over the way humans have messed it up in generation after generation of greed, violence and selfishness. The first act of Holy Boy recounts the story of the people of Israel from their greatest king David to the prophets, and moves towards our grand first act finale: God's promise of Emmanuel, God-with-us. Though we start the song by questioning:
But knowing we are God's creation and that everything exists to bring him glory doesn't entirely solve the problem. For one thing, many people interpret this as just a comforting thought when things are difficult ("at least God loves me!") Others think their purpose is to overcome the problems of life by trying harder, with heaven as their reward if they somehow manage it (trying to ignore the nagging sense that we might never be good enough, which Tim Lott rightly points out is often a path to guilt or pride).
But as we approach Christmas, we have a different story to tell: a story about a God who not only made the world but grieves over the way humans have messed it up in generation after generation of greed, violence and selfishness. The first act of Holy Boy recounts the story of the people of Israel from their greatest king David to the prophets, and moves towards our grand first act finale: God's promise of Emmanuel, God-with-us. Though we start the song by questioning:
"When oh when is he coming, the redeemer?
Come, oh come from your Kingdom up there and help us!"
We finish the song on a note of triumph: despite our tendency to mess things up, we are not left to muddle through on our own but Emmanuel has actually come! God has pitched up in the most unlikely of places. In the midst of poverty and Roman occupation (as Holy Boy reminds us, this was only the latest indignity for the Israelites after their exploitation and exile under the Assyrians, Babylonians and the rest), God "became flesh and blood and moved into the neighbourhood".
So we have a God who is passionately committed to redeeming his creation and our purpose is bound up in a great hope: that we will be part of his plan to make all things new. This is the theme I want to explore during Advent.
The next Advent Reflection is available here.
See also:
The next Advent Reflection is available here.
See also:
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