Frustrating the Machine

Jesus, in Luke 6, says in the Sermon on the Plain, “Blessed be ye poor: for yours is the kingdom of God.”  He then describes very many other bad things which, when happening to the faithful, ought to be a source of great joy.  Since these occasions of great joy ought not to be accompanied by swelling of pride, and since enduring such perhaps-not-so-joyous occasions might be best accomplished by adopting a distanced view of one’s own experiences, it would only make sense to understand Jesus’ prescriptions in the light of the extinction of self.

Moreover, the parallel passage in Matthew 5 says, “Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”  The only poverty like that described here (at least in keeping with the gospels overall) would be poverty in regard to that which animates the individual.  Though the quoted passage is different from that in Luke, a commonality can be construed around the concept of self-extinction.

Both Matthew and Mark follow the Transfiguration with the disciples’ questioning of Jesus about the prophesied appearance of Elijah as the End approaches.  The account in Matthew merely describes the similarity between how Elijah (that is, John the Baptist) was treated and how Jesus (“the Son of man”) would be treated.  Mark’s gospel, on the other hand, has a description less of similarity and more of unity:

“And he answered and told them, Elias verily cometh first, and restoreth all things; and how it is written of the Son of man, that he must suffer many things, and be set at nought; But I say unto you, That Elias is indeed come, and they have done unto him whatsoever they listed, as it is written of him.”

Elijah is understood as shrinking in prominence, and indeed that is the general trend of the gospels’ treatment of John the Baptist.  Both of these Bible heroes—if indeed they are so much as individuals—reconcile themselves to becoming less and less.

And of course, in John, the great theme of the extended final discourses is the diminishment of the selves of the faithful, as they are subsumed into the great Vine tended by God and peopled by disciples who become absorbed as appendages.

And as for Luke?  Here the theme starts to become even more fascinating, as we can see in the story of the Good Thief:

“And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.  And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, To day shalt thou be with me in paradise.”

This story is heartening for the Good Thief, of course, but it accords only roughly with any expectations based on conventional theology.  “Remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom” is stirring language, of course, but it does not relate of necessity any particulars of conventional theological understanding on the part of the Good Thief.  Moreover, it grates against the expectations of those conventions that Jesus could ascribe salvation to a person with a checkered past and who—given the agonies of the story—might have hours’ worth of opportunities for impiety or dark ideations.

Peter, it must be noted, was the recipient of Jesus’ exclamation, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah,” but the echoes of that blessing did not last long.

Certainly, however, “To day shalt thou be with me in paradise” is hopeful.  One might wonder if the continual, graciously-offered chance to return to “paradise” encapsulates a surprising offer to all of us, at any moment.

I still have in mind the notion of self-extinction, of course.  Is that really such a strange notion?  After all, it is the willful assertion of self on the part of Adam that is the best explanation of God’s assessment that “it is not good that the man should be alone.”  God brings the woman to Adam, and the first man exclaims, “This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh.”   Adam’s take on the matter could lead in two directions: either he could identify his interests with that of the woman (extinguishing himself in the service of his loved one’s interest) or he could—as he did—rate the value of her similarity to himself by what the relationship could do for him.

Adam did not celebrate Eve as a person in herself.  Adam did not practice self-extinction in his chance in paradise.  Adam did not hollow himself out, as it were (that is, extinguish himself) in the service of the relationship, and perhaps that might seem too much to ask.  On the other hand, that is exactly what Jesus did for mankind.

Did Jesus grant the Good Thief a guarantee of salvation, or did he grant him another in a replete succession of salvation opportunities throughout his life?  If self-extinction (either grace-mediated or graciously-supplied along with unmerited faith, or what-have-you) is as important as the gospels seem to treat it, then any occasion leading to such self-extinction should be celebrated (paradoxically celebrated, but celebrated nonetheless.)

I am reminded of the words of “comfort” (if they might be so called) that Jesus bestows on the “Daughters of Jerusalem” as they witness his path to the Crucifixion:

“. . . weep not for me, but weep for yourselves, and for your children; For, behold, the days are coming, in the which they shall say, Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bare, and the paps which never gave suck. Then shall they begin to say to the mountains, Fall on us; and to the hills, Cover us.”

This, I contend, is a description of the operation of the Machine.  Life grinds up and spits out the people who travel through it.  Salvation does not reside in conceits about living an “abundant life” by any recognizable personal measure, and salvation does not reside in any notion of riding blissfully above life’s struggles.  Salvation frustrates the operation of the Machine by refusing to provide grist for its mill.  Salvation resides in the process (or better yet, the attempt) of casting self aside in the service of God.