Look, Listen, and Remember

I have always accepted the reality that human beings are the only creatures on earth endowed with the gift of imagination and memory. Because of that gift, the past, present, and the future are not compartmentalizations or separated dimensions of being, but rather coexist in the same continuum of our existence. We are the only species on earth bestowed with a consciousness of the irrepressible and chronological march of time, with a sense of eternity, and an imagination of the future – A soul, as it were. Said another way, not only do we have the capacity to remember the past, but our experience in the present is informed and shaped by what we have previously felt, tasted, learned; and our memory of the past, and our experience of the present, come together through time to give us a vision of the future not yet realized but only imagined in our spirit and soul.

Each of us is a living story – a product of a complex amalgamation of experiences and encounters, strung through a grand strand of beads stretching across history from the time of our birth. Without the consciousness of that story, we will not have roots; and if we do not have roots, we will be living lives devoid of identity and purpose. Our story is the power that sustains our spirituality, and it is so important for the vitality of our faith for today, more than ever, that it is nourished by the memory of our roots.

At the heart of our faith’s liturgical life is the Lord’s Supper. it is grounded in remembering our fellowship with the messiah, a fellowship that inevitably crowns and at the same time crucifies us. It is where Jesus clearly calls each one of us who participates around the table, as often as we do it, to do so “in remembrance of me.”  And so the faithful question that we must ask during a time that eschews stories, a time of sanitizing and revising histories, is: how do we remember what has come to pass, and in that act of remembering, what do we see? How do we see?”

A few years ago, I remember going to the Philadelphia Art Museum with a handful of close friends with a shared interest in photography, to see the exhibit of the Paul Strand, arguably recognized as the father of modern photography. Through his pioneering vision and skill in using the medium of the photographic film of his time, he gave us, through his photographs, a window through which we can enter and experience what life and the world were like during his time. But while at the museum, I also wandered to adjacent exhibit areas and saw portraits and abstract paintings of the great masters.

Looking at those paintings reminded me of my beloved New Testament professor back in my M.Div. days in seminary, Dr. Robert Guelich – one of the most respected evangelical scholars of the 21st century. One of the most significant contributions of Robert Guelich to New Testament studies is his typologies of the broad spectrum of how gospel studies view the life Jesus, and how they are best depicted in terms of three artistic expressions:

• The snapshot – verbal snapshots of Jesus’ ministry stemming from eyewitness reports
• The portrait – stands as a mediating position between the snapshot and the abstract
• The abstract painting – instead of a record or historical account, the gospels are an abstractions of of Jesus’ ministry painted with the bold brush strokes of the synthesizing community of faith.

Each medium gives its own expression of reality, but each differs from the other in their respective treatment of that reality. In strictly visual terms, one would expect then that we can find a diminishing degree of correspondence to reality in a snapshot, a portrait and an abstract painting. But each of those media has its own standards of reliability by which a final product is evaluated. What determines a good snapshot, portrait, or abstract painting differ greatly from each medium. So, according to Guelich, when we apprehend art, we must first take into consideration the medium and then apply the appropriate criteria for evaluation. 

So how do we see God’s presence in the past? Do we see it as a snapshot, a portrait, or an abstract painting? Regardless of which medium enables us to see, we “see” only by remembering the story of how God became present in the various events and experiences of our life journeys. Our faith is animated by the nourishing waters of vivid experiential memories of God’s providential presence in the ebb and flow of our life. Each of us is a product of a “story”, and that story is grounded in memory. And if we are to live as individuals who are rooted in identity and purpose, we must practice the discipline of remembering our stories. It is there that that we rediscover ourselves being confronted by God. And so we hear the prophet Isaiah declare:

Listen to me, you who pursue righteousness, you who seek the Lord: look to the rock from which you were hewn, and to the quarry from which you were dug. Isaiah 51: 1

The context of Isaiah 51 takes place around the fall of the Babylonian empire on October 29, 529 BC. The tribe of Judah, Israel, had been living in exile for many generations under their Babylonian captors. The prophet saw signs of the impending fall and destruction of their Babylonian captors to Cyrus, the king of Persia. We see in the Isaiah text the prophet exulting in joyful anticipation of exiled Judah’s restoration as a people. In his words to the exiles, the prophet emphasizes the significance of historical events in God’s plan, a plan which extends from creation to redemption, and even beyond. And as he calls the exiles to hope, he also reminds them that sin is blindness to God’s way in history.

God’s word of hope comes to the prophet through the reminder that the evidence of God’s faithfulness is disclosed in what has come to pass. The call to remember that faithfulness is the key to how we chart our future with fierce resolve. In Isaiah’s words, the past is the canvas on which is etched, the brush strokes of evidence of God’s faithfulness in our past experience. The prophet calls the exiles to maintain a vigilant curiosity of previous events, not to ensconce them in the past, but to appeal to memory for the assurance that what God promises, God fulfills. Without that memory, there is no reason to remember. And when we cease to remember, we cede the future to anonymity.

How do we see the presence of Jesus in our lives? Is he a snapshot? A portrait? An abstraction? Or, as a sign of our times – a digitally contrived facsimile of Artificial Intelligence? Or, do we find him when we come to receive the Eucharist, in submission to his presence and lordship? Or, in his own words in Matthew 25: 31-40?