Luke’s Winged Ox: Our Offering is Sacrificial (#4 in the Gospel “Tetramorph” series)

Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? (Luke 14:27-28)

A sermon by Siegfried S. Johnson on All Saints Sunday, November 10, 2019 (Volume 03 Number 17) Christ of the Hills UMC, 700 Balearic Drive, Hot Springs Village, Arkansas 71909

We’ve opened our worship services during this series of sermons with a responsive Call to Worship from Revelation 4. I’ve wanted to put in your mind and on your tongue the vision John relates of the four having four different shapes. Each Sunday you have called out those shapes: Man, Lion, Ox, and Eagle. John writes that each had six wings and sang, “Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come.”

Very early in the history of these became associated with the most famous cluster of four in the : Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Depictions of the four gospels as Man, Lion, Ox, and Eagle are known as Tetramorphs, literally, Four Shapes.

Each Sunday of this series I’ve offered a different example of a Tetramorph, guiding you an a virtual tour of museums and churches throughout Europe. We began in Dublin with the famous , an illuminated manuscript of the gospels created by Celtic monks around 800 A. D. and on display at its home at Trinity College. We focused on Matthew as the winged man, noting how Jesus became human, embracing the brokenness of humankind.

We departed Dublin to land in Paris where we viewed an ivory carving Tetramorph produced by Cluniac monks in the 13th century, where we focused on Mark as the winged lion. Apt, since Mark has Jesus pounce out of the gate, the shortest gospel moving fast as Jesus prowl’ back-and- forth responding to ministry opportunities.

Last week was All-Saints Sunday, so we skipped Luke for John’s gospel, leaving Paris and landing in Sicily to see the Seraphim Tetramorph, a beautiful 12th century mosaic. Here we saw the gospel of John as the Eagle, above the other three and spreading its wings heavenward. With the Eagle we reflected how Jesus offers an eternal hope. It’s not enough that we are embrace broken humanity with compassion (as Matthew), nor is it enough that we are busy and multi- directional in ministry (as Mark). “If in this life only we have hope in Christ,” Paul said, “we are of all people most miserable.” Our hope is eternal. If we forget that, we forget the most essential nature of the church. As we called the names last week of those who have in the past year entered the Church Triumphant, John’s Winged Eagle soared to the heavens.

Today we turn back, in two ways. First, we turn around from John and head back to Luke, represented by the Winged Ox. Second, in our tour of museums we turn back west. Leaving Sicily, today we land in Madrid to view a 16th century tapestry Tetramorph created by Pieter van Aelst and residing at the National Museum of Decorative Arts. This tapestry is based on Raphael’s famous painting from 1518 known as God the Father in Glory.

The Tetramorph of gospel figures features Matthew the winged man, to the left of the image and looking directly at God. Beneath Matthew is Mark, the winged lion. To the right of the Matthew is John, the winged eagle, and then - - perhaps the most prominent of the Tetramorph figures – is Luke, the winged ox, located in the lower right of the tapestry.

The ox is perfect for Luke, as it is a symbol of sacrifice and Luke begins with the Zechariah the priest, the father of John the Baptist. The ox reminds us on this Commitment Sunday that Our Offering is Sacrificial.

In addition, the ox is a symbol of strength, derived from being yoked together. I love it that the ox is most prominent in this tapestry, beneath them all and seemingly carrying everything. As I see the tapestry, the ox seems to be the only figure straining, working for all the rest.

On this Veteran’s Day weekend this winged ox reminds me of our veterans, each making an offering of themselves that is sacrificial, and yoked together under authority in a chain of command. As for as national freedoms which we cherish, are they not held up by the sacrifices and strength of our veterans. Christ of the Hills is proud to join our nation this weekend in saying Thank-you to our veterans.

Now, in speaking of the church, our ministry is sustained by an Offering that is Sacrificial. However, what must come before that is a Vision is Congregational. We yoke ourselves together in our vision. Our church government is such that your leadership -- from Senior Pastor to clergy to staff and lay servant leaders -- doesn’t act unilaterally. Rather, we work through committees -- some mandated by our Book of Discipline and others unique to our church -- of duly nominated and elected members. Visions developed by leadership are then communicated to our congregation, not undertaken until there is an embracing of that vision by the congregation – in everything from our annual budget approved at Church Conference, to major capital expenditures like the new space we dedicated earlier this year. Once embracing the vision as a congregation, we commit ourselves to that vision with an Offering that is Sacrificial.

In 1985 I was the newly hired Administrator at First United Methodist Church of Ann Arbor, Michigan, the job that helped put me through graduate studies in Hebrew. My office window looked across our parking lot to First Baptist Church. When First Baptist celebrated the arrival of their new Senior Pastor, Dr. Morikawa, the local newspaper’s headline goofed. When the Ann Arbor News announced an Installation service for the new pastor the article read, The Insulation of Dr. Morikawa. It was a “Freudian” slip, I think, since we naturally prefer Insulation to Installation.

Two words: Insulation & Installation. There’s a sermon in there somewhere! Thinking about the Ox, let me see if I can find it. A family was worshiping in the sanctuary when the smallest of their children, growing drowsy, laid her head in her father’s lap. Seeing her daughter so gently cushioned, mom leaned over and whispered to dad, “There, there, Henry, isn’t that sweet? You always did want to be a pillar of the church.”

Two more words: Pillow & Pillar. The similarity of sound, despite the dissimilarity of meaning, is precisely analogous to that between Insulation and Installation, the confusion of sound that tripped up the Ann Arbor News headline writer. A pillow is a picture of Insulation, a cushion, a buffer encasing within layers of protective softness. A pillar, on the other hand, is the idea of Installation -- not safely tucked away, but exposed, vital to the infrastructure and, when acting in concert with other pillars, working to hold everything together – like this ox.

Insulation derives from the Latin word insula, which means “alone.” Think of the word insula (“alone”) in our word, pen-insula. What’s a peninsula? A piece of land jutting out into the sea, all alone, buffered on three sides by water. Aloneness is the idea. When the church welcomed Dr. Morikawa, they didn’t intend to Insulate him, but to Install him. Installation is a word which means, literally, “in the stall.”

Ah, now we’ve come to the ox, for sure! The word fits squarely into the domain of domesticated animals, oxen not working alone, but “yoked” together, harnessed together for strength to accomplish a task beyond what any one Ox, acting alone, could.

I love the story of a young couple boarding a horse-drawn carriage for an evening ride through Memphis around the Peabody Hotel. The young lady asked the name of the horse, and the carriage driver told them it was Jim. Moments later, as the carriage jerked to begin its movement, the driver said, “Giddy-up, Jim. Giddy-up, Sue. Giddy-up, Sam. Giddy-up, Joe.”

“Mister,” the young lady laughed, “there’s only one horse.”

“Shhhh! You and I know that,” the driver whispered with a wink, “But if old Jim thought he was the only one pulling this buggy, he’d never budge an inch.”

When Jesus said “Bear my cross,” is that not willingly being yoked to Christ? In fact, Jesus does say, “Take my yoke upon you, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light . . .”

Two images: Take my yoke. Bear my cross. The yoke represents Strength and the cross represents Sacrifice.

Do you sense the vulgarity of this image, wearing a device intended to harness the energies of beasts of burden? When Jesus says “Take my yoke upon you,” he’s saying to a fashion-conscious world, “Do you look good wearing wood?” I feel that strength of yoked unity every time I put on the stole, a yoke-like garment. It rests, in this moment, on me alone, yet it links me to a community of clergy through space and through time.

As a local church, we willingly yoke ourselves together to fashion a vision wisely, counting the cost, as Jesus urged in our text. Following that, we commit to support that vision with an offering that is sacrificial.

Thanks you for your generous commitments to sustain the mission and ministry of Christ of the Hills United Methodist Church in 2020!