One of the flaws in our thinking is that we see ourselves as needing to be condemned by the one who wouldn’t.
Hildegard of Bingen
John 3:16–21
I’m not sure I’d like to imagine being a tenth child, the tithe to be given. I’m quite fond of being one of two. Even as the younger, I would ultimately receive no less than a third of my parents’ love. The elder, of course, gets a double portion as a birthright.
I genuinely marvel at large families. Of course, that’s not really what struck me as much as the idea that Hildegard didn’t really get a family. That seems far worse a burden.
We don’t do that anymore. And for that I’m grateful. I can’t imagine what our church would do with children tithed to it.
How unusual this idea sounds to us, though. Of giving one’s own child as an offering to God. I don’t have any correlation for this in my own thinking. The only thing that really comes to mind is the baby offered for the magic spinning in Rumpelstiltzken, That being a terrifying image, of course. Of having one’s child ripped from them.
Or perhaps the dehumanizing character of chattel slavery. A circumstance in which a child has a bartering value, and as a possession, can be given. Even given as an offering.
The correlation in this transaction is not just the tithe from one’s income, but also from one’s livestock and harvest. And not just the scraps or the stuff you’re not going to use. The good stuff. The best calf or the tastiest crops. That’s what is offered.
Not only giving something, but your child, a person, part of you. You will miss her and long for her. That is the epitome of sacrifice.
This line of thinking is alien to us. And more than a little creepy. This is no quaint custom from a distant past. It is completely unrelatable.
But the rest of her story is entirely relatable. Even as her stature was incomparable to women of her time. Her achievement in expression was peerless. This makes Hildegard a fascinating figure. Her restrictions in life were well below our expectations and her success far exceeds them.
Her life and work confound us. Just like Jesus.
Perhaps then, we turn to our gospel. With that familiar description of the extent of God’s love. That God loves the world so much that God is willing to sacrifice a child. A strange image, still. But God didn’t send the Son for condemnation, but redemption.
Centuries after Hildegard, the Great Reformers will struggle with this message anew. Struggle with Jesus’s description of humanity saying that “people loved darkness rather than light” and will so eagerly condemn our terrible nature. Giving the territory of reconciling the lost solely to God.
Nothing of us, in fact, to glorify.
How unlike Jesus’s message here. A striking contrast from the purpose of such a sacrifice.
The unsettling character of Hildegard’s work strikes me as Christlike. For the point is to unsettle, not condemn. As Jesus says, it is not to our condemnation that we sin, but to our attraction to the destructive. It is our love of darkness that pulls us away from the work of light.
And then Jesus says that those who do evil, avoid the light because they don’t want to get caught. But those who do good are eager to be seen.
It should be noted that this teaching comes in the midst of a conversation with Nicodemus, who has come to Jesus at night so that he won’t be seen. Clearly he’s not into the good stuff because he’s hiding himself. But when do we see him again? After the crucifixion, when he helps take the body of Jesus in broad daylight to prepare him for burial.
Evil is hidden. One of our favorite hiding spots for evil is bureaucracy. It’s also why we struggle to be open. Because it risks the condemnation. Which is crazy because God didn’t come to condemn, but reconcile. Out in the open.
We constantly struggle to know what to do. And this moment if full of people trying to make the right decisions. I don’t think any of us thinks we’re the ones who love darkness. Or intend to do evil. Even our eagerness to condemn each other (or all of humanity) for negligence or arrogance comes from sincere belief.
But we follow a rabbi who taught ways that don’t align with our culture’s priorities of accumulating wealth and imperialistic dominance. Who teaches in parables that confound us and sends students out into the fields before they feel ready. Jesus is an artist and we are his creations. And Jesus’s style of art is weird and often unsettling.
But only when we hide from it. Refuse to face the truth. That we are made for good things. We have gifts to share. We are art. Beautiful. Confounding. Weird. Brilliant. And we are an offering to God for the reconciliation of the world.