Immanuel: “God with us"
Immanuel: “God with us"
by John Morgan
The most amazing mystery of all is that God drew as close to the human scene as the birth of a
small, poor child in the midst of a war ravaged landscape.
After all my theological training, I am reduced to a very outwardly simple proposition: Immanuel,
“God with us.” I don’t know of any more powerful symbol of hope than this one: We are not alone
but parts of a deep mystery that some give the name
“God.” Others refuse any name, understanding that any word we choose points to a great
mystery to which our language only offers directional signals. Never mistake the finger pointing to
what it points to—a very wise Buddhist aphorism.
Some may feel closest to the Holy when they serve others or when they hear majestic music or
when they gaze into the eyes of a loved one. I know these deep feelings, too, but the older I have
become the more tangible and human my needs have grown when it comes to discovering
places where the human and divine meet.
The Celtic Christians have a wonderful way of describing those regions where the veil between
the temporal and the eternal touch; they call such encounters “thin places.” I experienced such a
“thin place” this summer as the daylight broke over the ruins of the Tintern Abbey in Wales. It
was a clear to me then as the morning light that I was standing in a thin place where the eternal
and the temporal touched. This was obviously a wasted abbey from medieval times. But if I stood
quiet and listened and watched I could feel the presence of the Holy as the light from the
heavens chased darkness away.
I think if Jesus had walked up to me that morning, I would have not been surprised. In a way,
maybe he did and still is.
As a universalist, I do not believe that the divine is finally captured in any tradition. The Spirit
blows where it will, sometimes in the disguises only the Holy takes, and sometimes which we only
know when the Spirit has gone--and try as we may we cannot recreate it with our hymns or
words. God has many names—but one Spirit, the spirit of love, which has many forms.
As a disciple of Jesus, however, I have come to find a tangible and human _expression of the
Divine in the teachings and life of this wandering teacher and prophet, a son of God and of
humanity. When I hear the stories about him I am always brought to the thin places of the heart
where the divine and the human touch. When I read or listen to his parables I am brought face to
face with a decision about my own life and to what or whom I am committed.
I cannot rest with the cold abstractions of a dying rationality that dominated the early part of my
life journey. Now I need the touch of a hand, the sharing of a friendship, the words of comfort
from a teacher—each of which I find in Jesus.
But, of course, it’s more than a dead book or prophet. A dynamic faith needs a living presence,
and in a way I would not have expected years ago, I have found this in a small group with whom I
worship on a weekly basis. There we pray for one another, for others, for the world. There we
read scripture and speak about what it means. There we raise the great issues of living and
dying. We then share communion in a simple and direct way, serving one another the bread and
wine of the supper. I am not asked about my theology or past deeds. At this welcome table I am
simply invited in as an equal participant. I am brought into God’s presence in a way I have long
sought.
I am not sure how the Holy and the human connect for any person. I suppose that is part of each
journey. I only know as the night draws near that I take comfort in the Light I have discovered and
hold it close for warmth and illumination. At this season, I can say wholeheartedly and without
reservation or insincerity: Immanuel--“God with us.”
John Morgan is a member of the Herald Board and of the Unitarian Universalist Christian
by John Morgan
The most amazing mystery of all is that God drew as close to the human scene as the birth of a
small, poor child in the midst of a war ravaged landscape.
After all my theological training, I am reduced to a very outwardly simple proposition: Immanuel,
“God with us.” I don’t know of any more powerful symbol of hope than this one: We are not alone
but parts of a deep mystery that some give the name
“God.” Others refuse any name, understanding that any word we choose points to a great
mystery to which our language only offers directional signals. Never mistake the finger pointing to
what it points to—a very wise Buddhist aphorism.
Some may feel closest to the Holy when they serve others or when they hear majestic music or
when they gaze into the eyes of a loved one. I know these deep feelings, too, but the older I have
become the more tangible and human my needs have grown when it comes to discovering
places where the human and divine meet.
The Celtic Christians have a wonderful way of describing those regions where the veil between
the temporal and the eternal touch; they call such encounters “thin places.” I experienced such a
“thin place” this summer as the daylight broke over the ruins of the Tintern Abbey in Wales. It
was a clear to me then as the morning light that I was standing in a thin place where the eternal
and the temporal touched. This was obviously a wasted abbey from medieval times. But if I stood
quiet and listened and watched I could feel the presence of the Holy as the light from the
heavens chased darkness away.
I think if Jesus had walked up to me that morning, I would have not been surprised. In a way,
maybe he did and still is.
As a universalist, I do not believe that the divine is finally captured in any tradition. The Spirit
blows where it will, sometimes in the disguises only the Holy takes, and sometimes which we only
know when the Spirit has gone--and try as we may we cannot recreate it with our hymns or
words. God has many names—but one Spirit, the spirit of love, which has many forms.
As a disciple of Jesus, however, I have come to find a tangible and human _expression of the
Divine in the teachings and life of this wandering teacher and prophet, a son of God and of
humanity. When I hear the stories about him I am always brought to the thin places of the heart
where the divine and the human touch. When I read or listen to his parables I am brought face to
face with a decision about my own life and to what or whom I am committed.
I cannot rest with the cold abstractions of a dying rationality that dominated the early part of my
life journey. Now I need the touch of a hand, the sharing of a friendship, the words of comfort
from a teacher—each of which I find in Jesus.
But, of course, it’s more than a dead book or prophet. A dynamic faith needs a living presence,
and in a way I would not have expected years ago, I have found this in a small group with whom I
worship on a weekly basis. There we pray for one another, for others, for the world. There we
read scripture and speak about what it means. There we raise the great issues of living and
dying. We then share communion in a simple and direct way, serving one another the bread and
wine of the supper. I am not asked about my theology or past deeds. At this welcome table I am
simply invited in as an equal participant. I am brought into God’s presence in a way I have long
sought.
I am not sure how the Holy and the human connect for any person. I suppose that is part of each
journey. I only know as the night draws near that I take comfort in the Light I have discovered and
hold it close for warmth and illumination. At this season, I can say wholeheartedly and without
reservation or insincerity: Immanuel--“God with us.”
John Morgan is a member of the Herald Board and of the Unitarian Universalist Christian
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