Seeking and finding, chicken and egg

Two people stand by the window on a winter afternoon, watching the birds coming to the feeders. Though the same birds are dining and negotiating and squabbling, each person sees something very different.
Observer #1 has in truth spent little time watching birds, though they are glad enough that birds are around; they are pro-bird, but bird-ignorant. Consequently, Observer #1 sees large and small, bright and dark, red and blue and grey and brown; and there is pleasure in seeing the lilvely activity.
Observer #2, by contrast, is a habitual observer of birds. This does not only mean that Obs#2 can recognize and name different species of birds (Oh, look! a Short-necked Wrassler! And a Lesser Spotted Throstle-twit!!). It means that Obs#2 has some idea of what might be out there, in this place, and at this time; knows that there will probably be both males and females each according to its kind, but that social relations are different in winter than in Nesting Time; that there are different individuals that may be discernible with enough attention and that over time, personalities will emerge.
These and other expectations will sharpen the eyes of Obs#2, and enable them to place this time spent watching these birds at this feeder into stories, providing meanings and delights not available to Obs#1.

This scenario came to mind as my morning reading brought an unexpected juxtaposition, which I wanted to share with you.

Since I am mostly retired, I have more time at my command; and since most mornings I can’t sleep past 4 a.m., I have some really free time.. So it’s my current practice to read a chapter in the Hebrew scriptures (“Old Testament,” currently in Numbers), a chapter in the  Greek scriptures (“New Testament,” currently Matthew) and then something else, which varies according to whim, leading, or design. Right now, the Something Else is Origen’s Contra Celsum (Against Celsus).

So I happened to read Matthew 23:39:

For I say to you, you won’t see me henceforth until you can say “Blessed is the one coming in the name of the Lord.”

Reading this, I stopped for a while, feeling that I had come to my morning’s meditatio; but I only got a little way along until I turned to my “something else.”   As it happened,  Origen (C.C. II §§65-67) is arguing with well-informed Pagan critic of Christianity, one Celsus.  Celsus has spoken scornfully about the stories of Jesus’ appearances post-resurrection, arguing that if he’d really wanted to gobsmack his enemies, he should have appeared to Pilate or Herod or Caiaphas, rather than to his lowly and credulous followers.

But Origen all along has been arguing that Celsus just has not understood the nature of Jesus’ messiahship.  He is not coming as a conquering hero, who exacts obedience by overwhelming force (even if only the force of personality or numinosity), and thus by a wave of the hand banishes sin and oppression at once and everywhere.  Christ comes as servant, as transformer of hearts — since otherwise, human freedom means nothing, and “allegiance” or even adoration is meaningless and will not endure the “burden and heat of the day.”  To erase sin in this way is to change what it is that humans are, rejecting the Creator’s design.

Origen then points out that in each of Jesus’ appearances after the resurrection, people do not at first recognize him.  This is even true of Mary Magdalene in the garden on Easter morning — but hearing his voice, she instantly recognizes her friend.  On the other hand, Kleopas and his companion do not recognize Jesus all the way along the road to Emmaus, and it is only until he sups with them and gives thanks for the bread that they recognize him, whom they had expected to stir up a revolution and overthrow the Establishment, but instead had been crucified, died, and was buried.  Still, they knew enough of their teacher that they, too, came to recognize his voice in thanksgiving.

But Origen goes further, and says that the risen Christ would not in any case be visible to the Powers that be, and those who see through their eyes, because all they were able to see was a wandering wonder-worker (or trouble-maker) – fascinating or contemptible or exciting, according to the hopes of your heart.  But they could not see the truth of him, even when he was healing the afflicted and teaching in the Temple  or along the roads.  So what they could see of him — the outward body — had died, and so he was invisible.   Only those who were looking for the truth, and had some inkling of what to look for, were able to see him, to accept his table fellowship, and receive the breath of his Spirit.

 For I say to you, you won’t see me henceforth until you can say “Blessed is the one coming in the name of the Lord.”