Novissimus

By William Blaine-Wallace

I am drawn, again, to a painting, by 15th century German artist Albrect Altdorfer, entitled The Birth of Christ .

Mary and Joseph, the infant Jesus, three angels, a cow and a donkey are holed up in the basement of an abandoned, gutted-out building. The sandstone structure has a ghostly resemblance to a bombed out building in Fallujah. Only part of the façade remains.

Mary and Joseph, the infant Jesus, three angels, a cow and a donkey are holed up in the basement of an abandoned, gutted-out building. The sandstone structure has a ghostly resemblance to a bombed out building in Fallujah. Only part of the façade remains. The ground underneath the holy family and friends is barren save weeds creeping up and around splintered timbers tentatively holding up a very uncertain ceiling. A quick glance leaves the viewer with an enduring chill.

Upon closer examination, the chills go away. The three angels are frolicking, looking as if they are playing peek-a-boo with the baby Jesus. And, above the ravaged ruins, two more jolly angels are snuggled together in mid-air like big, fat, yellow bumblebees in springtime, gleefully peering down on the scene below.

What do the angels know that we do not? Sure, the birth of a child brings deep joy; and, God's child, deepest joy. But aren't the greatest joys governed by a world no less broken today than two millennia ago? The spirit of Baghdad now and Bethlehem then isn't that different.

Nearer home. If the grandchild I am to have come April were to be born in something like a tool shed behind a decayed art deco motor court up old US-1, north of Boston, abandoned at the birth of Route 128 and I-95, now inhabited by sex workers, drug dealers and a few furloughed infantry soldiers the same age as our daughter Sarah-Frances, my enchantment would be well considered.

Aren't the angels a little too naïve, their merriment too unmeasured, their bliss out of proportion, their delight disconnected? Don't these cherubs have more than one chamber in their hearts? What are these seraphs suggesting?

I'm not sure. I do know that their attitude evokes something 13th century Dominican mystic Meister Eckhart said. God is novissimus , the youngest thing there is, younger today than yesterday.

If that's so, the angels aren't out of context; they have a different context. These angels have time backwards. Or, possibly we are the ones who have time backwards. The angels see history through a particularly sacred lens, heading back to rather than away from Eden. That would explain spirits that are lighter rather than heavier at each tick of the second hand.

Let's see. Novissimus would make Jesus, on the day of his birth, as old as he would ever be. No wonder the angels were having a heyday amidst a very heavy world, during a very hard time.

I imagine each of us will need to scratch our heads for a while in regard to such a novel idea. Christmas morning, I asked our son, Julian, who is studying engineering at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, about the physics of novissimus . He said, and I quote, “Wow, that's bigger than physics. That's, uh, metaphysics.”

We are not going to pray through the metaphysics of novissimus over coffee or a couple of beers. Novissimus sounds more like a daily prayer over a lifetime of prayer.

God is not going to give out before we do. . . There is no way to wear out or wear down the One who stands with us in our deepest pain, our greatest helplessness, our strongest fears, our most harmful transgressions, our most blatant inadequacies.

In the meantime, there is at least one characteristic of novissimus we can readily deduct for daily living: God is not going to give out before we do. The burdens Divine Love desires to shoulder for us get lighter by the moment, no matter what hardships we face, whatever losses we experience, regardless of the failures we make. We can hand them over without concern for or guilt about the weight of it all. There is no way to wear out or wear down the One who stands with us in our deepest pain, our greatest helplessness, our strongest fears, our most harmful transgressions, our most blatant inadequacies. The One who walks with us along our weary journeys breathes easier each step of the way.

What a spanking new way to look not only at our lives but to pray the pains of the world. The lives and resources, not to mention the future, we are flushing down the toilet of America's big bully war breaks heaven's heart, but will not exhaust it. The Diocese of Massachusetts' decision not to embrace and participate in last Eastertide's miracle of justice for gay and lesbian people may be the straw that breaks the back of queer tolerance for church, but heaven's endurance of institutional religion is stronger this Christmas than last.

The most we have to worry about at Christmas, concerning God, is where we are going to get the energy to keep up with Her. When we walk through the front door after an exhausting, 14-hour day of Iraq, credit card bills, news of a distraught child or diagnosed parent, another episode of religion's irrelevance into relational air that is not as fresh as we desire or as clean as we need, Eternity is jumping up and down with a ball and two gloves.

The Rev. William Blaine-Wallace is rector of Emmanuel Episcopal Church in Boston, Mass. He may be reached by email at bb-w@emmanuel-boston.org .