Echo and Narcissus

Scripture: Third Sunday of Advent, A.D. 2014 B

Sermon:

In the Name of the Father and of the +Son and of the Holy Spirit. AMEN.

The ancient Greeks have passed down to us the remarkable story of a young man named Narcissus and a nymph called Echo.

Narcissus, we are told, was a remarkably handsome young man. No, more than that, he was beautiful, astonishing, gorgeous to behold. He hadn’t done anything to earn his beauty. It simply came to him naturally. But he was monstrously proud nonetheless.

Everywhere he went, women swooned left and right, falling over themselves in vain attempts to gain the attention of this latter-day Adonis. And though he fairly bathed in the praises that they lavished upon him, he would return none of their affections, for he was too full of himself. No woman was as beautiful as he, none good enough for so fine a specimen of manhood.

He was so irresistibly attractive, in fact, that he soon garnered otherworldly attention in the form of an oread—a mountain nymph—named Echo. The poor thing found herself quite smitten. Echo, mind you, was about as perfect as any woman could hope to be. We would think of her as a fairy, something of a godlet. Yet not even the flawless, ethereal beauty of the elven realm, not even a love that bordered upon the divine, could manage to seduce Narcissus away from himself.

And so, bereft with grief, Echo slowly, inexorably wasted away, the victim of an unrequited love that proved preternaturally strong. Pining night and day, her vitality faded until at last all that was left of this once beautiful creature was but a feeble voice, able only to repeat the last bit of whatever people spoke when they visited her mountains (visited her mountains, her mountains).

The tragic fate of Echo soon came to the attention of Nemesis, the force of divine justice and retribution that even the Greek gods feared. And Nemesis, ever fond of having her punishments fit the crime, caused Narcissus’ gaze to fall upon his own reflection in a pool. It was love at first sight. The young man was enraptured by the illusion of himself in the water. He burned with desire, but alas!—whenever he reached out to touch the object of his affections, the false image would scatter away in the ripples. And there he sat, unable to tear away his gaze, his desires forever unfulfilled, until he too wasted away, pining unto death. In the end, Narcissus became what he loved, a false dead image. And poor Echo remains but an echo.

Christians have long proven fond of this story because it so clearly illustrates for us the tragedy of the human condition. You and I, good people, are indeed beautiful. We have value, we have worth, we have dignity beyond what we can truly fathom. Not because we’ve earned it, not because we’ve worked for it, not because of anything we own or anything we’ve done. But simply because we are human. As such, we are forged in the image of God, and this gives to us a value above and beyond any of the other false worths which we assign to ourselves.

We judge each other, do we not, by accomplishments, by successes, by degrees or incomes or clothes?  We compare our houses, our careers, even our hapless children, trying to judge whether or not we’re successful, we’re winners. What we’re really doing, of course, is trying to convince ourselves, trying to prove to ourselves, that we’re worth something.  But we don’t know that, we can’t know that, until somebody loves us.  Isn’t that right?

We can have all the success in the world, all the most wonderful stories, the most impressive accomplishments, but until we are loved, truly loved, we secretly, deep down, don’t think we’re worth it. Not worth loving, not worth anything. We are like Narcissus, unable to recognize the perfect, flawless, divine Love begging for our attention because we’re all mesmerized by our own reflections, our own false images of who we think we’re supposed to be.

The immortal Echo can see quite clearly the true and natural beauty of Narcissus, sick and broken though he has become. Yet he’s so curved in on himself to the exclusion of all others, to the exclusion even of the divine, that he withers and dies alone. And purely out of love for him so does she.

It’s basically Eden all over again, isn’t it?  God creates Man as the steward and crown of Creation, the servant and king of all. But Man turns from God, turns from Man’s true identity and purpose in God, because we think we can do better on our own. And so Man falls—male and female, we fall—unable, without God, to understand our own beauty and purpose, unable to be truly human anymore. Thus do we die. Yet out of pure divine love for us, even in our broken state, God refuses to leave our side. So God Himself comes down from Heaven to be with us, to be born in a manger and to die on a Cross. Just as Echo died, for a man who didn’t deserve her.

In our Gospel reading this morning, John the Baptist has made quite a stir out in the wilderness, preaching and baptizing and agitating the masses. So the scholars and priests and good, sensible authorities of the day go out to ask this rabblerousing rabbi just who the heck he seems to think that he is. By what authority does John preach out here in the desert? Where did he study Scripture? Does he come from a reputable rabbinic school? They want to know his pedigree, his resume, what wares he seeks to sell. “Who are you, John?” they ask. And John the Baptist replies: “I—am not—the Messiah.”

Not the Messiah?  Well, that’s an interesting marketing strategy. He follows up his ministerial success by playing down the hopes of his followers? Any mega-preacher worth his salt would look out at this crowd and think: Looks like it’s time for a book deal! Time to build a Crystal Cathedral! Time to get on the networks, maybe buy my own cable channel, get a whole line of officially licensed John the Baptist merchandise going! And then start franchising. Self-help DVDs telling people how I pulled myself up by the bootstraps, and if you just work hard enough, pray hard enough, be good enough, you can be just like me!  It’s all about me, people, and if you pay me, emulate me, worship me enough, I’ll tell you how it can be all about you! Just tell me how beautiful I am.

That’s what we expect from our charismatic leaders. That’s what we wait to hear.

But that’s not what John does.  John says, “I am not the Messiah.  Among you stands One Whom you do not know; I am not worthy even to untie the thong of His sandal.” John’s is a message of life and of freedom, a message of love and of joy. John does not call us to become gods but rather to become truly human for the first time in our lives—to truly be brothers and sisters to our neighbors, and to claim our rightful inheritance as happy, healthy children of our God.

The authorities ask who he is, when what they really want to know is what he has done.  But that’s not John; that’s just an image, a reflection, of John. Indeed, the only way that the authorities can truly know the Baptist is to know the One Who sent him.  John understands this; they do not.  And so he remains, to them, a conundrum.

My fellow sinners: Our worth, our identity, is not to be found in our wallets or jobs or travels, not to be found in degrees or appearances or the extracurriculars we can afford for our kids.  Each of us has the same worth as that of the highest king and lowest beggar. Our worth is exactly one. It comes not from our attitudes or our work or our things, but from our Maker.  When we see that—when we see that who we are, really and truly, exists not in the false image of our own reflection but in the passionate love of our God—then we are free! We are alive. We are truly human again, at long, long last.

So rejoice, dear people, for the One Who loves us has never left our side. The myth of Echo and Narcissus finds its happy ending and Christian fulfillment when the Lover rescues Her beloved both from death and from himself. Thus do our eyes turn from our false images, and look now towards Bethlehem’s plain. Thanks be to Christ, the Hebrew God of all our pagan dreams.

In the Name of the Father and of the +Son and of the Holy Spirit.  AMEN.