The uncanny mercy of God.
Ian Olson on the unsettling relief of the incarnation.
I am always eager to read anything that Ian Olson published for Mockingbird. His essays often possess a unique blend of philosophical insight and theological profundity, a cocktail that leaves an impression on the one who imbibes his words. Case in point, in his latest feature, “The Uncanny and the Gospel,” Ian weaves together an early twentieth-century essay by Sigmund Freud with commentary on those events that are often designated as “uncanny,” that is, those eerie and unreal moments when the supernatural seem to pierce the fabric of our realm. While this category of storytelling is frequently reserved for tales of ghosts or cosmic encounters, what’s truly uncanny is not so far removed from what serves as the crux of the Christian faith — namely, the Word of the Father taking on flesh and dwelling among us. Here’s how Ian puts it:
The incarnation is thus immensely uncanny. This shows itself powerfully in the fear the disciples feel when Jesus calms the storm. They were afraid during the storm, to be sure, but they were terrified when he rebuked the wind and waves. “Who is this?” they asked themselves (Mark 4:41); “What sort of man is this, that even winds and sea obey him?” (Matt. 8:27). The one they knew was much, much more than they knew, far beyond their ken, and thus their love and devotion was mingled with sublime fear.
The cross of Jesus’ crucifixion is itself an uncanny object. It is meant to convey horror and dread to all who behold it, but in the uncanny wisdom of God it is the instrument of humanity’s deliverance from sin and death. Ultimately, however, the greatest instance of the uncanny is on the other side of the cross, in the unjustly executed Jesus who, despite having been killed, is alive, appearing to his disciples still bearing the wounds of his execution. The Roman world’s symbolic order could not contain or constrain the life, death, and resurrection of the Son of God; its very attempt to do so only served his purposes. Our salvation is uncanny, thanks be to God.
What the gospel gives to sinners like you and me is the uncanny mercy of God, which strangely, albeit divinely, is deployed within the strictures of the human experience. He who takes on a body is he who “upholds the universe by the word of his power” (Heb. 1:3). The mystery of the gospel, you see, is the announcement of the uncanny reality of grace, which is embodied in the Christ of God who from out of nowhere comes to bring about the sudden shock of relief from sin and death. In the auspices of his incarnation, what is uncanny isn’t petrifying or unnerving. It is relieving. It is reconciling.
Be sure to read Ian’s entire essay. It’s so worthwhile. Grace and peace to you.