Alabanza Over Everything--July 8, 2021

Alabanza Over Everything--July 8, 2021

"For every high priest is appointed to offer gifts and sacrifices; hence it is necessary for this priest also to have something to offer." [Hebrews 8:3]

What are humans for?

I mean that question seriously: what would you say our purpose is, we humans, in our place in creation?  How would you answer the question, "Why are the humans at all?"

Of course, we've been asking that question in some form or another for as long as we've been around.  And countless philosophers, theologians, prophets, mystics, and navel-gazing college students putting off studying for finals have offered answers.  So while I won't dare to pretend that I can solve this puzzle once and for all, I do want to offer a thought on how we consider an answer.

One of the things that seems distinctive about humanity, compared with say, asparagus ferns or hedgehogs, is our capacity to recognize goodness and beauty and to call attention to it, simply for the sake of that goodness and beauty.  We have the ability to see something lovely, something true, something honorable, and to lift it up, hold it up to the light, and to say to others, "See this thing?  It is good!"  Bees can tell other bees where to find flowers with their impressive, tiny choreography, but that's for the utility of getting pollen so the hive doesn't starve.  A dog can be captivated by a butterfly (or a passing truck, let's be honest here), but it's hard to tell if there's anything more than just curiosity going on it is mind as it cocks its head to the side and watches it float on the breeze. Humans, though, we can name the goodness of things, find joy in them, and even give thanks to the One who made a world that includes flowers, bees, butterflies, and curious dogs.  We can lift them up in acts of praise.  We can offer up the beauty of creation, saying back to God, "We see this good thing you have made; we are learning all about its intricacy and goodness.  And we praise you for having created it."

The late Robert Farrar Capon wrote a book along these lines, called An Offering of Uncles.  And the gist of his premise is that this capacity for lifting up the creation, piece by piece, in praise and joyful celebration with God, is what we humans are made for.  And he notes as well that this is basically what a priest does.  Strip away the different nuances of traditions and sects, and basically a priest lifts up good things in way that says to God, "Thank you for this," or "We praise you for your goodness--here is a sign of that appreciation, from on behalf of all of us."  In a sense, what it is to be a priest is just a picture of what it is to be human: to have the capacity to see the goodness in God's world as a means for communing with the God who made such goodness in the first place.

We would be foolish to pretend that when we offer something to God--whether it's a sheaf of wheat from the harvest, a lamb from the flocks, or a check from your bank account--we are giving something to God that God does not already have.  That's utter nonsense.  It's all God's anyway, and as C.S. Lewis once famously pointed out, a kid who borrows money from their parents to buy the birthday presents hasn't made the parent one cent richer in the transaction, and yet it is good and fitting for the children to want to honor the goodness of the parents with a gift--even if it is always with borrowed resources.

I've been thinking about this human vocation to see and to lift up what is good in God's world, and thereby to celebrate and honor the goodness of creation as well as Creator all at once, especially since once again recently experiencing the musical In the Heights now that it's a movie.  The unofficial grandmother of the neighborhood, Abuela Claudia, is remembered for how she called attention to the beauty of little things that others overlooked--feeding breadcrumbs to birds, glass bottles, and the night sky.  She is remembered for having said of these things, "Alabanza," which, we are told by a helpful translating narrator, means, "To lift this thing to God and say, 'Praise to this'."  In celebrating the goodness of creation, and naming it to God as we lift it up, we cannot help but also give glory to the Creator.  It's a whole theology of human purpose in one word: Alabanza.  Our calling--our place in the universe--is to be beings capable of seeing beauty, truth, and goodness, and lifting them up in celebration for others to see, and to let God know we acknowledge them as well.  It is to speak an "Alabanza" over all God's creation, and in so doing, to speak it to God as well.

We are all priests, then, lifting up everything we find and making of it an offering to the One who made it in the first place.  And in a sense, we are called to give ourselves away in the process of lifting up the goodness of the world around us (especially where that goodness has been denied, stifled, or put down by others), and in praise to the God who creates all things good.  That's the other thing about Abuela Claudia from In the Heights: she spends herself to lift up everyone else around her as an offering of her very life as well.  Without giving away too much plot, it's fair to say that for Claudia, every day is a chance to spend her energy honoring the goodness waiting to be seen in others and to do good for them, whether it is cooking for them, taking in kids who need protection or guidance, or giving away a windfall.  When the characters in the story are brought to a moment to reflect on all that Abuela Claudia has done and been and meant for them, they come back to the word she taught and embodied for them:  "Alabanza."  They sing, "Alabanza, alabanza a Doňa Claudia, Seňor," like a hymn--and indeed, it is a song of praise, which means something like, "Praise, praise, for the honorable Claudia, Lord."  It is both a statement about the woman and the God who made her.  

The writer of Hebrews sees in Jesus something similar--Jesus is the One who, as the true and perfect high priest, does what we human being are all meant to do.  He embodies our humanity and our human purpose more fully than any of the rest of us can.  And ultimately, what Jesus offers is himself.  He spends his very life giving himself away for our sake, in order to create communion between humanity and God.  In that sense, he is what it looks like to be fully and beautifully human, as well as being the fullness of God.

I wonder--how might it change our outlook on this day if we see ourselves and our calling as priests in the world, whose job is not necessarily to "look religious," but rather to lift up every thing, every person, every moment in creation that comes across our path, to name its goodness and to praise its virtue as well as the God who has created it, and to help to bring forth the goodness in all things.  It will mean everything and everywhere you go is holy.  It will mean every moment is ripe with blessing.  It will mean even the smallest and most forgettable details are able to be seen as full of glory, worthy of having the word "Alabanza" all over it.

Alabanza, Lord, indeed.  Alabanza.