Nostalgia

          You have not come to a mountain that can be touched and that is burning with fire; to darkness, gloom and storm;  to a trumpet blast or to such a voice speaking words that those who heard it begged that no further word be spoken to them,  because they could not bear what was commanded: “If even an animal touches the mountain, it must be stoned to death.” The sight was so terrifying that Moses said, “I am trembling with fear.”

          But you have come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem. You have come to thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly, to the church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven. You have come to God, the Judge of all, to the spirits of the righteous made perfect to Jesus the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel. (Hebrews 12:18-24)

          For the Jews, the defining moment has always been Mt. Sinai. Yes, the ten plagues and the crossing of the Red Sea on dry ground was part of it, but it culminated in their being given the Law at Mt. Sinai. That suzerain agreement was the actual birth. As spectacular as the rest was, it was just the labor that brought them to that moment. Who can blame them? Thunder, lightning, warnings about not touching the mountain, and hearing God’s voice… it’s all more than a little memorable. If you’re going to establish a covenant, that’s the way to do it (minus the golden calf. “Obey the Law? Of course we’ll obey the Law. Far better to agree to obey the Law than to face that (with a hand swung in the direction of the mountain) as an enemy. Far better to have that on your side.” But before long they were complaining about the menu and waxing nostalgic about how good things had been in Egypt.

           We haven’t come to that. As the author of Hebrews described before, that was just a shadow of the real mountain and the real God. And just as when those who followed Moses out of Egypt, the people to whom the letter was written started out with, “Believe that Of course we’ll believe that.” And when things got tough, they started waxing nostalgic about how good they’d had it when they were Jews. Less governmental oppression. Less societal oppression. Less familial oppression. Everyone loved them….

           I’m not looking down my nose. I’m looking in the mirror. Granted, I became a Christian when I was a kid, so even if I had a nostalgic history to look back on, I don’t remember it. But we can make nostalgia out of our imaginations. Remember, the Jews were daydreaming about when they were slaves. My daydreams tend to be about an equally non-existent world in which someone “values” me or comes to understand the value of my words. Or, perhaps it’s about when I had an identity that was somehow better than the identity, I think I have now. I once had people convinced that I was “The Wicked Witch of the West.” Heaven-forbid they notice “the man behind the curtain” and figure out that the larger-than-life me is a projection, and in reality, I’m just an bitter old woman on a bike, or a carnie confidence man. Seriously, it was hard when the kids they hired no longer believed me.

          We all have identities, and things we get nostalgic about. Usually, they’re lies. You can’t get better than a close relationship with God through Christ. Having one doesn’t mean everything will be “practically perfect in every way” but it’s real, not a rose-colored glasses look at what was, as it never way, or what is, as it is not.