Advent 37: Promises kept

Watching over my kids' shoulders, I can't believe how many cartoons have an episode where the characters are bailing out Santa to save Christmas. I don't know if it started with Rudolph or somewhere even before that, but it's a tired plot line.

Despite what they might have you believe, Christmas always comes. As sure as the rising sun, December 25th arrives year in and year out. Despite the wait, it finally arrives, always. You can count on it.

That's in part because, despite the wait, the Messiah finally arrived. As sure as I AM, the expected one came. It was a promise kept. You could count on it.

Which means, as sure as Christmas, he will come again. Just as promised. There will be a wait, but he'll arrive. Count on it.

Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

Advent 36: John, the wilderness, the shadow of death, and a sunrise

John seems to get overshadowed at Christmastime. We rush to Luke chapter 2 and miss the first birth that is miraculous and noteworthy in its own right. We read all sorts of fascinating details, and the end result is that Zechariah and Elizabeth's neighbors are struck with the fear of God, all of Judea is talking, and everyone is wondering what will become of this kid. 

Zechariah gives a response: 

"'...And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High...
...the sunrise shall visit us from on high
to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.'

And the child grew and became strong in spirit, and he was in the wilderness until the day of his public appearance to Israel." (Luke 1:76, 78-80)

We'll see later that John is completely confident in his role, and that's because he knows precisely what his role is. It helps to remember that he knew his role because his father knew it from the moment he was born, and announced it with the help of the Holy Spirit. 

Maybe time in the wilderness helped too. Why is it that God seems to send all those he wants to use to the wilderness? The list is frighteningly long. What is it about the wilderness? What is learned there? And why do we resist it so fiercely? Questions to come back to.

John is the Best Man of the bridegroom, and he knows it. He's thus filled with joy to watch the wedding unfold (John 3:29) rather than being mixed up, jealously and selfishly wondering why he can't be the center of attention, why he can't get the bride. He knows it's not his day. And so, he willingly and humbly lets go of his disciples, pointing them to Christ, the one who is infinitely greater and more important.

Zechariah knew about this from day one as well. His prophecy, curiously enough, is just as much about Christ as it is about his own miraculous baby boy. It's as if John would be nothing if it weren't for Jesus. 

Jesus would be a sunrise from on high. He would be a light, finally showing us the way. 

That light is for those of us sitting in the shadow of death. We've been trapped in the shadow of death for a long time. Remember that Good Shepherd we always talk about who leads us through the valley of the shadow of death? Someone brought to my attention not long ago that the shadow of death isn't just bedside vigils, hospice care, and funeral ceremonies, where that psalm is typically read. But rather, all of life is the shadow of death. The fear of inescapable death holds mankind in slavery (Hebrews 2:15). The shadow is always there, always looming.

Yet, in the midst of the shadow of death, the sunrise guides us toward peace. Just as is the theme of Psalm 23, there is hope to be had, and comfort to be found, and joy to be experienced. 

Joy, comfort, hope, and peace in the midst of the shadow of death? How can this be?

Sounds like a lesson to be learned in the wilderness.

Advent 35: More Unconventional Advent Songs

Add these songs to the list of unconventional advent songs.

Because one day we'll all sing like this:
And play our guitars and drums like this:


...in one majestic and glorious crescendo.

And until then we wait with expectation, our souls longing to join in the chorus they were made to sing.

Advent 34: Deliverance

As much as the church needs theologians, preachers, and teachers, we need storytellers. Peope that stretch our imaginations, pull us out of our tunnel vision, and show us the age-old story afresh, from an angle we've never seen it before. Its facets dazzle in new ways, as if we were hearing it for the first time.

That's what happened last night at our Christmas worship service. Our storyteller imagined the band of shepherds and all that happened to them.

Like how old were they when they heard those angels announcing the good news? And how long did they have to wait to see who this baby grew up to be? And where were they then, after all those years? And on the day He was killed, did they still remember the events of that strange night 30-some years prior? The way she painted the scene and their interactions put us right there with them.

But what exactly will this baby deliver us from? they asked themselves.
The Romans? Oppression? Sickness? Sadness?

The older, wiser one in the group answered:
Non, il va nous délivrer de nous-mêmes. 

He'll deliver us from ourselves.

Babble

The girl's franco-american babble comes out sounding like something that resembles more so norwegian than anything else. The things she does with her tongue are strange and impressive.

But when it comes to her favorite word, she has decided on the language to use. It is not "no" but quite clearly and emphatically "non non."

Advent 33: Lighter Loads

This Flower
dispels with glorious splendor the darkness everywhere;
true man, yet very God, from sin and death He saves us,
and lightens every load.

This has always been a favorite Christmas melody. It somehow embodies a weary waiting and a mysterious hope, like a flower slowly growing, undoing the impossible, then brightening rooms, dispelling darkness, lifting spirits, lightening loads.

Advent 32: Silencing Rebel Hearts

....God responds to this deep desire to be known and understood by the one in authority. But it is only one more profound expression of the wideness of his grace.

Because our metaphor of the pauper-befriending prince and the undercover boss only goes so far. History serves to show us that royalty and executives are in fact quite often imperfect, unjust, driven by greed, and prone to exploiting others. They need experiences like the ones mentioned in order to learn, to uncover blind spots, to see that of which they've been ignorant.

This of course is not the case when it comes to the incarnation. God did not send Jesus in order to know us or understand us. The Creator knows his creation, and intimately so. He knows us better than we know ourselves. Though he was a man, the knowledge and understanding of Jesus was no exception: "Jesus knew all people and needed no one to bear witness about man, for he himself knew what was in man." John 2:25

So then let's be honest: though we can't deny the existence of power-hungry authority and the discontentment of such is often merited, there is often something else driving our complaints of those out-of-touch higher-ups. Is it not our spirit of rebellion?

Those complaints around the water-cooler, the cigarette-break gossip, is it not what naturally comes out of our sick and rebel hearts? Insisting the authority does not understand us is easier than submission. Because the last thing a rebel heart wants to do is submit. We will kick, scream, and dig in our heals before voluntarily following the one in charge.

The man who says God is a distant and impersonal force who doesn't know us--or if he does he is cruel and indifferent and couldn't care less about our struggles down here on earth--is a man who doesn't understand our God and ultimately doesn't want to. His rebel heart refuses to know God, because the more you know God, the more you will be accountable to submit to Him.

This is only all the more true when we acknowledge that God cannot be accused of ignorance, greed, exploitation or oppression like so many examples of earthly authority.

"The light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil. For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed." John 3:19-20

Jesus did not come, then, to get to know us in some personal paradigm-shifting enlightenment. He did not come to learn his lesson. He came rather to silence our rebel hearts. He came so that we, who in a spirit of insubordination shook our fists at the sky saying "You don't know us!" would finally be silenced, dropping our hands in surrender, recognizing his the depths of his goodness, compassion, and kindness.

He stoops down to appease our deepest desires founded in rebellion. Where an earthly king would attempt to squelch, silence, and suppress such opposition, Jesus descends in dialogue, gently insisting, "I'm not who you think I am."

He comes not to know us, but to make God known, and in the way we rebels need most.

"No one has ever seen God; Jesus has made him known." John 1:18

And that he caters to rebels is just one more astounding facet of his marvelous grace.

Advent 31: Princes and paupers, Undercover bosses

In Mark Twain's the Prince and the Pauper published in 1882, a prince and a street rat succeed in changing places. The stories that follow are at times funny and others fascinating, but I think the story readers want to hear about most is the prince who learns for the first time about life on the streets. Stereotypes take on new dimensions when we befriend the actual human beings behind them. He sees injustice and discrimination and vows to fix it when he becomes King. The experience changes him.

If 19th century literature isn't your thing (I can't really say it's mine), perhaps reality TV is more up your alley. Twain's story isn't all that different from the series Undercover Boss (now in its sixth season). Again, what we seem to enjoy most is watching the CEO go empty trash cans through the daily grind right next to the average joe. He deserves a dose of reality, after all. Our hope and pleasure, and it is exactly what's pushed in the advertising, is that he'll learn something and change work conditions for the better upon returning to the office.

It reveals a deeply held desire of ours: we want to be known and understood by the guy in authority. This is exactly what drives the success of both Twain's book and the reality series. I'm convinced we're so passionate about it that it becomes almost an issue of justice. If things aren't going well for us, it's because the Big Boss just doesn't get it; he's out of touch, doesn't know or appreciate all the work we do, and all he cares about is the bottom line and his own paycheck. We want the authority to be one of us. If he's not, something's not right, something's not fair.

The examples are many. The presidential candidate visits the factories and grasps at straws to explain his blue collar heritage, or visits the troops and reminds them that he, or maybe it was his uncle, was a war veteran. The school hiring a principal will likely look first among its teachers in the job search. When workers are nervous about the changes coming with the new boss, he reassures them that he won't make any decisions right away, but will take the time to learn and get to know the environment first. And if he doesn't, you can be sure we'll complain about it. We're convinced that in order to be a good leader, you need to know us, you need to know the context.

The desire runs deep. It will fuel our praise or our anger.

And I find it amazing that God responds to it in coming to earth himself. He's not the CEO far removed in his high-rise office of luxury, nor the ignorant royalty spoiled with an easy life of extravagance. Jesus is the prince living among paupers, the undercover boss. He put aside all that was rightfully his and became one of us. We are known and understood, because the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.....