recapitulation

recapitulate.

to summarize and restate the main points of something.

recapitulate comes from the latin re "again" and capitulum “chapter”, which comes from the word caput "head." think of recapitulating as putting nice little caps on all the bottles you've opened up. tightening everything up. putting a new cap on it. putting a new head on it.

all throughout scripture, we see christ referenced as “the head” of the body, the church. head over all creation. i would like to invite you to think about this phrase “head”, not in a traditional leadership or structural or heirarchical sense, but in a narrative sense.

when you recapitulate something, you go back and give each section a title. you summarize and restate. you give it structure and meaning and flow. moreover, you give it a flourish, finishing touches. you tighten it up. you bring it together under a new chapter or title. you cap it off.

things start coming together, making sense, taking shape, having meaning when you recapitulate.

and this is what christ does for us.

back to narrative.

think about some of your best stories. they may not be the most special or momentous. they may not be particulary dignified or beautiful or perfect. that family trip that went berserk. the disasterous job. the kooky friend that drove you up the wall. the comedy of errors that was a holiday. think about those stories. they are the ones we tell while breaking bread and sipping wine and laughing with kith and kin. in the moment? not so pretty. maybe even a story we NEVER wanted to tell again. when you are on a camping trip that went awry - the busted tent and rain and fire that wouldn’t start and forgotten socks and rustling of bears - it isn’t necessarily funny. you might just want it to end. dreams and expectations were dashed. tears were shed. ugly words were exchanged. a return trip is out of the question and the mention of the ordeal makes you cringe or rage for months, maybe even years.

but then what happens?

months or years later, you are gathered in safety with loved ones. you start swapping stories. my worst _______ (fill in the blank). and you bring up the bungled camping trip. you add emphasis. you reshape things. you recount the events with perspective and maybe a little exaggeration. you make light. you see the glimmers of hilarity. you season the story with substance. you spotlight the obsurdities and humanity. you add a touch of nostalgia. soon, everyone is roaring. dreams and expectations were rebuilt. tears of laughter were shed. droll words were exchanged. maybe you close with “now THAT was a trip”. and you mean it.

you recapitulated.

you took the story and tightened it up. capped it off. you put a new head on the whole thing. and then, you were able to see the story in a new light. in a true light. now in the moment, it doesn’t help to force that. to manufacture some semblance of meaning in the moment is counterfeit. you are robbing yourself of the true expression that will yield a beautiful work of art in the future. your invitation in any and every moment is to be present to the story that is unfolding and trust that in time, all things will be made beautiful. because, they will.

that is the work of christ.

bringing all things - the disjointed or strange or ugly or hard or confusing or terrible - under a new head. telling the story in a way that shows the beauty and truth and goodness to all who hear the retelling. we trust in that power at work within us and all of creation. you live and move and have your being in christ. and christ shapes the narrative. christ molds all the pieces of clay into a work of art. nothing is wasted. everything is precious. everything belongs. everything will be made new and come together for good. because the author and perfector of our faith has his hands on the whole thing and is shaping something wonderful.

now that’s a story worth telling. that’s gospel.