In a number of Greek myths, a god or goddess appears in the final act at the last, possible second and rescues everything and everyone. Sometimes, anyway. Half the time, the gods show up and squabble with each other or turn a human into a tree. Capricious, the Greek gods, definitely not the sort of creatures one wants to associate with too often. They’re petty, jealous, and, more often than not, foolish.
Deus ex machina: Latin. Literally, “god from the machine.” A theatrical device used in Greek tragedy and in several of Euripides’ plays. The god settles onto the stage via a sort of crane in the last scene and solves the main characters’ convoluted problems. Continues Benet’s Reader’s Encyclopedia, “The phrase has come to refer to a playwright’s use of external means to solve the problems of his characters—a practice generally frowned upon.”
Frowned upon, and yet—aren’t God’s actions with mankind a kind of deus ex machina? Jesus arrives in the little town of Bethlehem, and nothing’s ever the same. Rewind: nothing’s ever the same nine months or so prior. Zacharias promised a son and made mute for his unbelief. Gabriel appears to Mary—in person!—and to Joseph in a dream.
The angels and the shepherds. The star and the wise men. Jesus instructing the teachers of the Law in Jerusalem. Who is this kid? How does he know so much?
Or maybe rewind further, back to the garden, before it. God creates the world and puts time and mankind into motion. He walks with Adam and Eve in the garden. He gives them grace even as he metes out justice after they rebel.
Oh, Adam. Oh, Eve. You were so brilliantly fooled by the serpent, weren’t you?
God keeps showing up in this narrative; he’s no “machina.” He intervenes, time and time again, despite sin. The aftereffects, however, can only come from him: nothing’s the same. Everything is wondrous, mysterious, and strange. Abram receives a new name and is promised a son. Moses leads the people out of Egypt. Samson destroys the Philistines. Gideon finds his courage. David fells Goliath. Isaiah has visions. Daniel escapes the lions’ maws.
All these stories of God showing up and doing something only God can do. The New Testament is filled with the same. Jesus turns water into wine. He heals the woman with the hemorrhage. He speaks—speaks!—with a Samaritan woman. He gets Zacchaeus to come down out of a tree.
He dies on a tree, rises again. He brings freedom to the captive and joy to the brokenhearted. He comes, and nothing, nothing is the same. Peter becomes bold. Saul transforms into Paul.
The stories continue today. I, and other believers, live in the “already but not yet.” God has shown up in my life. I’ll never be the same, but I’ll still struggle. My sin nature wrestles with the Spirit. Like Paul, I do what I don’t want to do. I win the fight some days; on others, I fall in defeat.
I have hope, though. Jesus makes me perfect. He’s given me a new identity. I am a slave no longer. I am a child of God because he showed up and decided nothing was going to be the same. We’re in the final scene, he and I, but he isn’t going to strand me on the stage. He’s with me until the curtain closes, and I go home to be with him forever.
Image: Eric Sonstroem (Creative Commons)