Holy Water and Magic Dust
Part 3 of 3
Essay Posted February 19, 2008 by James E. Nelson
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Oddly enough, the simplest way to understand the difference between magic dust and holy water is to turn to a theological tradition that doesn’t even use holy water. The Roman Catholic explanation is married to an Aristotelian world view and is therefore rather hard to swallow if you aren’t Aristotelian. While the Orthodox world view never fell prey to Greek dualistic philosophy like the Roman church, its world view is nearly as foreign to the modern Western mind as Aristotelianism. It is therefore nearly impossible to give an adequate answer that fits into a couple short paragraphs. The Book of Order of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), on the other hand, offers an answer that is deeply rooted in historic Christian thought, but is framed so that modern Westerners can make sense. (Unfortunately, I don’t have a copy of the Book of Order on hand as I write this, so I cannot offer specific citations.)
The problem facing the Presbyterians was to defend their belief and practice of setting aside specific days (Sunday) and places (the church sanctuary) as holy. Reformed theology is very clear that time, place, and matter are all holy because they are created by God. Historic Reformed theology is equally as adamant that Sunday is different than other days and that the church sanctuary is different than an auditorium. How can Sunday be more holy than Monday if all time is holy? How can the sanctuary be more holy than the local auditorium for the performing arts if all places are holy?
In fact, the day nor the place are not more holy than other days or places in any ontological sense. But Sunday is set aside as holy in order that we may both understand all time to be hallowed by God and in turn, learn hallow all time. Similarly, we set aside the sanctuary for the exclusive purpose of the worship of God so that we may both understand that all places are hallowed by God and in turn, learn hallow all places.
In his sermon last Sunday, Fr. Ken, from St. John the Baptist Orthodox Church, reminded us that the church is God’s house. “We often walk into church as if we own the place, forgetting that it is God’s house and that we are guests in this place.” He said this in relation to the Publican (of the story of the Publican and Pharisee). The Pharisee strode into the temple and confidently thanked God for all his divine blessings. The Publican, on the other hand, was so aware that he was out of place in God’s temple, that he wouldn’t even look toward heaven.
This is the same attitude that the Presbyterian Book of Order is talking about. When we approach God’s place (the church) with the proper fear of God, our attitude about place is transformed and we can then begin to recognize other places, and eventually all places as ultimately part of God’s place.
It is this recognition of the proper role God has in our lives (our time, our place, our stuff), and the recognition that more often than not, God has no place in much of our lives that motivates us to bless water and set it aside as holy, and in turn, to use that holy water to bless our homes.
Earlier we observed that Jesus didn’t remove the water (perceived to be wild and in some sense “evil” by the ancients), but when the Holy One entered the water and was baptized, the water was made holy. It was the first volley in the battle against the chaos of natural evil. So our use of holy water is a volley in the battle against the chaos of natural evil. Inviting the priest (the representative of God) into our place and having him bless it with holy water (that is, set it aside for God) is a volley in my battle against the sin that separates me from God.
Temperance Brennan (that is, “Bones” the t.v. anthropologist) could bring all of her scientific expertise to bear and pretty much prove that absolutely nothing changed (other than a few water spots on the wall and wood floor) after the priest blessed a house. There was no magic in this place. But blessings don’t change the house, they change the home. Blessings don’t even change me, they rather change relationships I am in. A blessing brings a concrete connection to the rather ethereal idea that I am in fellowship with God. A blessing creates a barrier between me and the evil that seeks to drag my life down. A blessing can even transform the relationship between me and another person (my spouse, children, or parents, for instance) because in the act of blessing I see more clearly that they are creations of God, creatures of God, and children of God. A house blessing can change my relationship with my neighbors because in that moment I am given new eyes to see that this neighborhood is no Eden while at the same time recognizing that God is using my home to reveal the very presence of heaven.
So Bones is correct, there is no magic in house blessing, and yet, every year we pick up our bottle of holy water blessed at the Feast of Theophany and wait for the priest to arrive and bless our house before the beginning of Lent. But not because it’s a magic talisman. It’s rather because we recognize that while the whole world ought to be holy, we fail to recognize it as so, and so we go through these rituals to make holy our little corner of the world. And in so doing we expand our vision and begin to recognize God’s presence and holiness wherever we look.
Until the day that there is no more sea, we will continue to bless the wild water and use it to reveal the holiness that is present all around us, for those who have eyes to see.
Copyright © 2008 James E. Nelson (Just Another Jim). All Rights Reserved.
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