With the news of Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s death last Sunday, I have been reflecting on the witness of his extraordinary life. And as I pondered today’s Gospel lesson, I could think of no better place for inspiration than Archbishop Tutu’s Children of God Storybook Bible.
I have referenced this marvelous book in another sermon. We keep it on the bookshelf in our children’s formation room because sometimes the best way to enter the Biblical stories is through the eyes of a child. Until the day of his death, Archbishop Tutu radiated a childlike character stemming from his profound trust in God’s promises.
It is remarkable that a victim of the sinful horrors of apartheid who received death threats for his protests against that unjust system, and who ostensibly had every reason to be bitter and resentful, actually emblemized the exact opposite. This he showed to the world in his leadership of South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission. The truth must always be told for healing to happen, was his consistent message. But once the truth is told, forgiveness must follow.
The Truth and Reconciliation Commission embodied the heart of the Gospel that we so often forget. The consequences of truth-telling are not punishment and retribution. The fruit of truth-telling is forgiveness. Only such forgiveness can release God’s children from the slavery of sin and death into new life. What a strange dream it seems to us.
It is perhaps no surprise that Tutu’s Children of God Storybook Bible refers over and over again to God’s dream. It is simple yet profound. This dream is something unimaginably good for God’s people. It is the restoration of relationship with God and others. It is freedom. It is a way of living in which God’s people see the goodness for which they were made, to quote another of Archbishop Tutu’s book titles. It is seeing God’s goodness in others, too.
But God’s dream is not just a dream because it heralds something wonderful for humankind. It is a dream because it seems like a fantasy to most of us. We inhabit the place of tension between the stupendous, promised reality of God’s dream and the absence of its fulfillment in this life.
In his children’s storybook Bible, Tutu retells Jesus’ final moments on the cross and has him pray to his heavenly Father to forgive those who have put him to death. In Tutu’s words, Jesus says, “Father, forgive them, for they do not understand your dream.”[1]
Perhaps this should be our prayer, too. Father, forgive us who do not understand your dream. How can we possibly understand God’s dream? We receive occasional glimpses of it, but then the quotidian and often tragic reality of life here below obscures our vision. And God’s promises to us too often seem like dreams that could never happen.
Because of this skepticism, it could be easy to dismiss the numerous dreams in Matthew’s Gospel. For Matthew, dreams are an important vehicle for God’s revelation. With all respect to Dr. Freud, many of us may enjoy our dreams and even derive fun from trying to interpret them, but do we really believe that God might speak to us in dreams? And do we dare imagine that a dream might be something more than fantasy? Do we believe that dreams might reveal something that is true?
It is somewhat difficult to accept Joseph’s unquestioning obedience to his dreams, on not only one occasion, but on three, as he seeks to protect Jesus and Mary from the cruel machinations of Herod. Within Church tradition, Joseph has become a model of exemplary obedience that could only be borne out of a deep trust in God’s faithfulness. In spite of the circumstances, Joseph appears to assume that God has what Desmond Tutu would call a “special plan” for the Holy Family.
But if we fail to understand God’s dream, we look at Joseph’s behavior and call him a fool. Who in their right mind would get up in the middle of the night and journey to Egypt, a place whose history loomed ominously for the Jewish people? Who in their right mind would then get up again and yet again to go to other lands, all because of some dreams?
And this entire story is made even more fantastical by what we do not hear in today’s Gospel passage. We do not hear the horrifying story of the massacre of the holy innocents, which is the tragic episode immediately before the Holy Family’s flight into Egypt. Jesus’ life was spared because of God’s “special plan” for him and his family, and yet the lives of thousands of innocent children were not spared. What do we make of that? And how is there any good news in this dream?
On many days, it’s hard to wake up, look at the news, and imagine there is any “special plan” for us. If you are like me, you are sick and tired of more dreadful news. You are weary of yet more environmental disasters and the prospect of others to come. You are fed up with unnecessary violence, injustice, and the fact that humanity seems utterly incapable of living into God’s dream, much less even realizing that God has a dream for us. Archbishop Tutu’s own description of God’s dream as becoming “one big, happy family sharing everything together” might seem laughable based on what we know. In our jaded moments, it’s the stuff of children’s books, we say. The prospect of hope in the future seems precisely like a pipedream. Our dreams of a different future are tantalizing only as escapist episodes, not as legitimate visions of a real and tangible future.
But in his storybook Bible, Tutu has Jesus utter these words: “Everyone who wants to see God’s dream come true must see with the eyes of a child.”[2] I can’t get away from this admonition. Is this what we’re missing? If anyone had reason not to believe in God’s dream because of tangible hardships and the prevalence of systemic sin, it was Archbishop Tutu. And if anyone could show forth childlike faith, it was he. If anyone could help point to God’s dream, it was also he. God’s dream becomes more than just a dream when it begins to change the present. God’s dream begins to plant its feet on the ground when it summons obedience precisely when the impossible seems possible.
Having been duped by hope in too many instances, do you find it easier to play the role of skeptic? Is vindictiveness more satisfying than forgiveness? Is doubt more emotionally gratifying to you than trust? If so, then maybe we can only offer the prayer that Tutu gives us: “Father, forgive us, for we do not understand your dream.”
The difficulty with Matthew’s description of the wild journeys of the Holy Family is that it all seems so pat and tidy in hindsight. In the midst of infanticide, a “special plan” for one baby hardly seems like a dream. Joseph’s motivation to get up and go based on dreamy angelic revelations might tempt us to doubt the integrity of his faithfulness. He had angelic wisdom to act upon, after all. It’s easy to get up and go when your dreams are divinely inspired. But hindsight is always 20/20. How can we really know how Joseph perceived his dreams? But what we do know is that Joseph acted and lived as if God’s dream were real. Not knowing the future, he nevertheless took his family and ventured into its uncertainty.
And so, with Archbishop Tutu’s help, we offer our prayer. Father, forgive us, for we do not understand your dream. Father, forgive a world that cannot glimpse your dream and venture into an uncertain future. Father, forgive a world that thrives off resentment and cannot extricate itself from that vicious cycle. Father, forgive those who think our trust in a gospel of hope is simply a pipedream. Father, forgive us when we cannot imagine that you are working from within human tragedy and horror. Father, forgive us who call ourselves Christians and can’t find enough good news to share with the world.
Can you imagine a world that dares to believe in God’s dream? Can you imagine a future where forgiveness reigns and resentment falls away? Do you believe that God will fulfill his promises, even if you don’t know how?
In our efforts to believe and dream, we continue to make our prayer. Father, forgive us when we do not understand your dream. Father, help us to act in the present even, and especially, when the future seems like a pipedream. Father, give us the eyes of children. Father, help us always to believe that your dreams for us will one day come true.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Second Sunday after Christmas Day
January 2, 2022
[1] Desmond Tutu, Children of God Storybook Bible (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2010), p. 111.
[2] Children of God Storybook Bible, 78-79.