BLOOD AND GENTLENESS

Today we will serve communion at church, and I’ve been thinking of nuclear bombs. Or, at least, the father of nuclear bombs. Oppenheimer. Fairly recently, a much-acclaimed movie was released and widely received. It told the story of J. Robert Oppenheimer, head of the Los Alamos laboratory of the Manhattan Project, the story of “the father of the atomic bomb.” I just finished the book that inspired the movie. Friday, contemplating our coming Sunday communion, I was thinking of a time in Oppenheimer’s life long before he was famous. Of when he was yet a precocious but troubled student. In those days he developed few friendships, but he made a lifelong one with Isidor Rabi. Rabi was a Jew like Oppenheimer. But Rabi was raised an orthodox Jew, and Oppenheimer was raised on the opposite side of the spectrum as a rationalist, secular, non-observant one. Both were conflicted about their Jewishness. They would discuss Jewishness specifically and the topic to which that inevitably led—religion. Rabi once reflected to Oppenheimer that he found Christianity such a conundrum, such “a combination of blood and gentleness.” Oppenheimer replied that it was those very things—blood and gentleness--that attracted him to Christianity. Although I was getting drowsy reading, I came fully awake when I read that. The book offered no further context. Perhaps, Rabi in what he said, and Oppenheimer in responding to it, were not thinking of the blood of Christ. Perhaps, they meant that Christianity had produced people who were both war-aggressive and gentle. I doubt that. Or, perhaps, the blood references martyrs. I can’t tell. But what I immediately thought of was the blood of Christ. Until recently, Christianity has been known as the religion of blood. People thinking of Christianity thought of the crucifix. And the eucharist. This is what I took those two intellectuals to mean. Taking it as the blood of Christ, I thought: Here was one of the greatest geniuses of all times, one who was a master of quantum mechanics, poetry, music, and languages, one who was raised secular and humanist, and he was attracted to the Blood. Attracted, not as the charge has been falsely made of Christians, to the macabre and gore, not as the vampire-obsessed and fascinated crowd of today would think, but to the blood of the death of Christ. What an irony: This 20th-century genius thought the Blood attractive (if that is what he meant) and yet at the same time a huge segment of liberal and progressive and quickly-headed-that-direction Christianity has relegated the Blood to the primitive, provincial, and arcane. The Blood has been banished as banal. Once, protestant and evangelical churches' songs, sermons, prayers, and praises were replete with the repeated refrain of the Blood. It was not that these believers were fascinated with hemoglobic liquid. It was they realized their forgiveness, salvation, and hope of eternal life were inextricably linked to and made possible by Jesus’ sacrificial death on the Cross. Sacrifices were sacrificed by having their blood spilled. Christ was sacrificed. His blood was spilled. On the cross. For us. From the beginning Christians got this. They understood that the Cross, the Blood, was the power of God to liberate and forgive them. They were attracted to the cross, the Blood. Not all were. Even back in NT times Jews, found the Cross offensive. To them, Christ died like the worst of criminals, a death that was the curse of God. They couldn’t accept Christ as being the Messiah. Not if He’d been crucified. And what of the Greeks, the intellectuals? The Cross was just plain silly. Ludicrous. But, oh, those who have been there! Who’ve knelt at the Cross. To those who had been “washed by that blood,” the Blood was the power and wisdom of God. The Blood was wonderful, glorious, everything to them. Attractive. (“Washed in the Blood,” is a metaphor for how the penalty for their sins had been removed by Jesus’ efficacious death—when they accepted that work by faith, belief, and repentance.) Then and now, every genuine Christian understands that the Blood means something because it is what Jesus shed to die to atone for our sins, save us from hell, deliver us from death, and bring us into fellowship with God. They also understand that the Blood would be no different than any other human spilled blood, had Christ not also been God. And they understand that the Blood would be valueless had Christ not risen from the grave. But, has then been no Blood spilled, there’d be no salvation, forgiveness, or hope of eternal life. Yes, Christians are attracted to the Blood because, as Apostle Peter penned it, they have found it “precious.” (1 Peter 1:19). Precious being something esteemed, valuable, honorable, and dear. Precious because of Who spilled it, Who gave it. Precious because of the great sacrifice made in the spilling of it. Precious because of the love it’s being poured out revealed. Precious because of the reconciliation with God it brought. Precious because of its doing what nothing else could do—give forgiveness from sin and purity within. Precious because of the freedom it purchased. Precious because it was His blood, His life, and He is precious. So, forgive us if we Christians are “attracted” to the Blood. Excuse us as we sing, as we love to do, The Old Rugged Cross, and weep and wonder as we sing, … “Oh, that old rugged cross, so despised by the world, Has a wondrous attraction for me; For the dear Lamb of God left His glory above, To bear it to dark Calvary.” There is no time to speak of the other part of Rabi’s statement except to say Jesus is gentle. He is meek and lowly. And God treats us gently for Christ’s sake. For the Blood’s sake. I think I can concur. What attracts me to Christianity is “the blood and gentleness.” Of Christ. ---Pastor Clifford Hurst