
This morning’s topic is shadows and cymbals, and it’s a bit of a rambler, so you might need coffee. (I’m still on my first cup, but it’s going fast.)
Yesterday, my neighbor and I were chatting about this and that, when Facebook came up—specifically, how mean people can be to each other when they feel anonymous or at least shielded by a computer screen. It reminded her of an experiment she read about in psychology class, where participants were instructed to put on masks and then say things to each other they would never ordinarily say—which they freely did until they were instructed to remove their masks. Then all of a sudden, they couldn’t say those things any more.
Cyberspace is one big mask, but it’s not the only one. We hide behind all kinds of things, from text messages to job titles. (I remember a magazine quote by a physician who said she could make anybody do what she said just by using her “doctor voice.”)
All the talk about masks took me back to Hebrews, which I realize I write about a lot, but that’s because I think it’s one of the most fascinating books in the Bible. So please forgive the repetition.
Hebrews has a lot to say about shadows and patterns—how we’re only seeing shadows of what’s to come, and that’s why it’s so important to follow the pattern God provides. We don’t really know what we’re looking at, so we need a divine guide.
Here’s how Hebrews describes the priesthood of Jesus:
If he were on earth, he would not be a priest,
for there are already priests who offer the gifts
prescribed by the law.
They serve at a sanctuary
that is a copy and shadow of what is in heaven.
This is why Moses was warned
when he was about to build the tabernacle:
“See to it that you make everything
according to the pattern shown you on the mountain.”
But in fact the ministry Jesus has received
is as superior to theirs as the covenant
of which he is mediator is superior to the old one,
since the new covenant
is established on better promises.
Hebrews 8:4-6 (NIV)
“Better promises”—it’s no longer about earthly sacrifice and the law; it’s about divine sacrifice and grace. Grace through Christ is the source of our confidence in a world of shadows. And even when things are at their worst, when we’re weary of masks and meaningless noise and wondering what to hold onto, we have a constant:
If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels,
but do not have love,
I am only a resounding gong
or a clanging cymbal.
If I have the gift of prophecy
and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge,
and if I have a faith that can move mountains,
but do not have love, I am nothing.
If I give all I possess to the poor
and give over my body to hardship
that I may boast,
but do not have love,
I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking,
it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts,
always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.
But where there are prophecies, they will cease;
where there are tongues, they will be stilled;
where there is knowledge, it will pass away.
For we know in part and we prophesy in part,
but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears.
When I was a child, I talked like a child,
I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child.
When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.
For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror;
then we shall see face to face.
Now I know in part; then I shall know fully,
even as I am fully known.
And now these three remain:
faith, hope and love.
But the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:1-13 (NIV)