Begats

One of the most often neglected texts during the Advent season is Matthew 1:1-17, the seventeen verse genealogy of Jesus.  Filled with four syllable names (verse 12 alone contains "Johoiachin, Shealtiel, and Zerubbabel") and back stories that would make most of us blush, these verses are more than often skipped during Advent sermon series...

However, as we prepare our Christmas Eve musical (Andrew Peterson's "Behold the Lamb of God"), believe it or not there is a song that goes through the entire genealogy.  That got me started looking back through the list.  Then, in the Advent devotional I'm reading this year ("Watch for the Light," referenced in Advent Meditations) today's reading was based on Matthew's genealogy.  Reading through this dense list of names once a year is enough of a chore--twice is an incredible oddity!

The list is remarkable for a number of reasons.  Some of the most righteous and faith-filled men in history can be found on the list--men like Abraham, Boaz, and Josiah.  There are also some dudes in there that, at best, have a checkered past... men like David the murderer, Solomon and his hundreds of wives, and Jacob the schemer and deceiver.  And there are lots of folks that we know next to nothing about--in fact, the last third of the list is effectively full of the names of the "no-names" in the line of the great King David.

However, most remarkable to me are the women.  In a list like this, particularly at the time, there would be no need to list women.  Mothers were unimportant in the telling of the family history (having only carried the children, birthed them, and raised them--you know, no big deal), so the presence of women on the list is already odd.  But the ones that Matthew chooses to include... even more odd...

• Tamar.  She was the daughter-in-law who posed as a prostitute in order to get her dead husband's father Judah to get her pregnant.  Classy on all sides.
• Rahab.  She actually was a full-fledged prostitute. "Nuff said.
• Ruth.  A poor and helpless Moabite widow, who became a symbol for grace as she was mercifully invited into the family line by the much older Boaz.
• Bathsheba.  The wife of Uriah, one of King David's best friends, whom he had murdered after Bathsheba became pregnant with David's child and Uriah was too righteous, even after the king had gotten him drunk, to sleep with his own wife while his fellow warriors were in battle.  This is so wrong on so many levels that it's hard to even figure out how to comment on it...
• And Mary.  The righteous virgin that no one in her whole town except her future husband believed was either.  Despite that fact that she actually was both righteous and a virgin, her life was certainly shrouded in controversy.

So Matthew didn't just name a few women--he brought the skeletons out of the closet.  These folks put the "fun" in dysfunctional!  Why in the world would he pull out these women?  What about righteous Sarah or beautiful Rebekah?  Certainly Mary, who was Jesus' only human parent anyway, is a natural for the list, but the other four?  Wouldn't their husbands, who have enough issues of their own (reference Judah and David above), suffice?

Then I remembered the obvious reality: Matthew wrote this gospel several years after the ascension of Jesus.  While it's the beginning of the gospel to us as readers, he's looking back on the life of Jesus as he begins to recount the story.  Could it be that as Matthew lists these women, he also thinks of the woman caught in adultery, the Samaritan woman at the well at noon, and Mary Magdelene and all of her demons, and he sees some incredible similarities?  Could it be that Matthew is writing about Jesus while he thinks of Isaiah's prophecy: "Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows"?  Jesus didn't come into a sterilized world and didn't live a sterilized life--perfect, for sure, but not sterile.  And so, Matthew finds no need to sterilize his family tree.  In fact, he goes out of his way to remind us just how messed up Jesus' ancestors were... so we will be readily reminded of how messed up those who Jesus ministered to were... so we will realize just how messed up we are.

It's hard for me to realize that all of these messed up people are listed, in part, so that I would feel right at home in Jesus' family.  He didn't come to avoid the suffering of this world--He came to engage it.  

Maybe Matthew 1 calls for yet another reading this Christmas after all...

Wrestling

There are times that I find myself wrestling with God.

I'm not really much given to melancholy or depression, but there are times I find myself... frustrated.  Not so much down or "blue", but more feeling as though life just hasn't happened the way that I thought it should have.  And, of course, life should always happen just as I think it should.  My preferences are, quite obviously, the highest good, which is why I operate best as my own lord.  Oh, wait...

Because I recognize the Lordship of Jesus, but I also long for things to go the way that I think they should, there are times I'm stuck in the wrestling.  I wrestle to see God's good in the midst of my frustration.  I wrestle to see the extremely cloudy "big picture" when I'm much more captured by the broken pieces I feel like I can see very clearly.  I wrestle with fears, identity, direction, longings... I wrestle with myself, I suppose, even as I wrestle with the God Who is leading me.

But here's the thing I've come upon this Advent season: it's only because God has come near that I wrestle.

It's not necessary for me to wrestle with a distant, transcendent deity who is removed from my everyday life--there's no purpose in it.  If Jesus doesn't understand and purpose my day to day and moment to moment, then I don't need to wrestle with Him in my day to day and moment to moment.  If God remains far off, I can safely do as I please.  In that instance, I might wrestle with disappointment with myself, frustration at a situation, anger at others, or apathy about the future, but I certainly wouldn't be wrestling with God.  I would look inward for a better version of myself--to find the strength that Nietzsche said was within me.  I would seek to orchestrate the details of my life; to control, to manipulate, to organize, but certainly never to surrender.  If God hadn't come near, I would often turn inward, but I would have no need to turn upward.

But God has come near.  In Jesus, God became a baby.  Who grew into a child.  Who learned by trial and error, who was taught obedience, who was tempted in every way, who grew into a man.  A Man, who, at least at one moment in time, on a dark night in a garden, wrestled with God as well.  A Man who was obedient to death, even death on a cross.  A Man who was raised by God, first from the grave, and then to heavens.  A Man who intercedes for me moment by moment, and is involved in the intimate details of my life. Which, of course, is why I wrestle.

So, when I wrestle with God, I'm learning to be thankful that I can.  It's hard sometimes.

But I know He's good.

Only one worshiped...

So, I've been thinking a bunch about the fact that, in the person of Jesus, God came very close to us, and that He calls us to come close to those around us as well. (Check out "Getting Close" from a few days ago...)

One of the great tragedies of Christianity in 21st century North America is the idea of Christian subculture.  What I mean is this: Christianity has, in recent decades, sought to separate itself from culture through categorical divisions rather than through behavioral distinctives.  Simply said, the church is much more comfortable labeling a piece of art, music, literature, or other form of media with a "Christian" label than simply approaching creation in such a way that the end results are tangibly different because of the presence of Christ in us.  This has extended out to the realms of activities and societal functions as well, from "Christian" nights at the bowling alley to church league basketball and softball.  None of these things in and of themselves is inherently wrong: creating art that comes distinctly from a Christian perspective and then labeling it as such is not an inherently evil practice.  Churches playing against one another in a basketball league is not violating a command from Leviticus.  I'm not sure how a night of bowling achieves the status of being truly redemptive, but it's certainly not wrong for redeemed people to congregate together and roll a few frames.

The cumulative effect of all of these things, however, is quite damaging.  I would even venture to say unbiblical.  What has far too often happened is, due to various subcultural activities and creative expressions, paired with extremely busy church schedules and a wide variety of additional "Christian" activities, believers in Christ have found ourselves at a great distance from those to whom Jesus Himself has called us to reach.  It's not unusual in our day and age that every significant relationship the believer in Jesus has is with other believers in Jesus.  Therefore, the followers of the One who came close to us in order to offer a message of hope find themselves unable to speak that same message of hope to others because they are, relationally speaking, so incredibly far away.

Subculture insulates us from culture.  Jesus' prayer in John 17 was that His followers would be "in the world but not of the world."  Subculture puts us "not in the world OR of the world."

In seemingly every generation, then, there is a backlash against the subculture.  Instead of legalism and insulation, there is a reaction that moves some all the way into license and immersion.  Rather than being removed from the culture, this portion of the church is fully engaged in the culture.  Art, music, movies, activities--there seems to be no distinction between these followers of Jesus and the rest of the world, save their Sunday morning activities (at least now and then).  Jesus described His followers as the "light of the world," (Matthew 5) but these followers seem to be quite dim lights at best.  They are so fully immersed in culture that they are basically indistinguishable from those who have no interest in Jesus or even are diametrically opposed to Him.

If we were to categorize this headlong dive into culture according to Jesus' prayer, we might say that they are "in the world AND of the world."

So what does it look like to be "in the world, but not of the world?"  From a sociological perspective, the best descriptor is counterculture.  Webster's defines this as "a culture with values and mores that run counter to those of established society."  In other words, they are squarely immersed within the culture, but their values are dramatically different.  They are not setting up their own society with values that they can agree with; rather, they are living according to those values in the midst of a society that is often valuing exactly the opposite.

The book of Acts describes a church that was designed to be a counterculture.  In the midst of an almost overpowering Roman culture, the church quietly and consistently practiced values that ran completely counter to that culture.  They loved the poor, shared their resources, cared for the sick, and valued women, children, and slaves.  They didn't strive after power, but lived with humility.  And they consistently ascribed this incredible behavior to the example and empowerment of Jesus.  And 2000 years later, this same church is still moving forward.

So, back to the Advent story.  Jesus, through the incarnation, models coming close to people in the world around us.  Therefore, we can immediately eliminate subculture as a viable option--we mustn't remain removed.  However, both culture and counterculture are ways to be close, and in Luke's telling of the birth of Jesus, we can see both very clearly.  Luke 2:7 makes the simple observation: "She gave birth to her first child, a son.  She wrapped him snugly in strips of cloth and laid him in a a manger, because there was no room for them in the village inn."  Now, I don't wish to pile onto the poor innkeeper, who is repeatedly villainized this time of year, but the fact remains: at a point in time in history, there was a man who, though very close to the nearly born Savior and His mother and father, did not engage them.  Rather, he sent this poor woman, likely having painful contractions as she progressed through labor, to the barn out back.  Or to a cave.  A stable.  Whatever.  It definitely was not the Hilton.

The innkeeper was close, but his values didn't allow him to truly worship this One who was coming.

The next verse in Luke, however, introduces another set of folks who were also pretty close.  Luke 2:8 records: "That night some shepherds were in the fields outside the village, guarding their flocks of sheep."  You know the story--angels appeared, songs were sung, and incredible proclamations were made to these simple men.  How did they respond?  Luke 2:15-17: "The shepherds said to each other, 'Come on, let's go to Bethlehem!  Let's see this wonderful thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.'  They ran to the village and found Mary and Joseph.  And there was the baby lying in the manger.  Then the shepherds told everyone what had happened..."  They left the flocks., and with them, more than likely their jobs.  They risked reputation.  They risked being called foolish.  They declared the Truth in a town that more than likely didn't care enough to truly respond; at least there's no record of anyone doing anything other than being astonished.  Yet, the shepherds worshiped anyway.  The culture was flowing one direction.  They were flowing another.

Both the innkeeper AND the shepherds came close to the incarnate God.  But only one worshiped.

What about you and I?  Have we been willing to come close?  And has our proximity led us to worship?

Waiting for Love

Advent is a time of waiting.  The "Christmas season" is full of activity: lists to be completed, events to be attended, chores to be accomplished.  Christmas is hustle and bustle, perpetual motion slowed only by the arrival of the day itself, and even then only for a moment.  It's loud and busy and outward.  Advent, however, is different.  It's patient.  It's expectant.  It's inward.

Advent and Christmas don't need to be seen as an "either/or" proposition.  Advent can happen right in the middle of the craziness of Christmas, because as outward as Christmas is, Advent is really an inward attitude of the heart.  It's an expectant waiting and hope that God will come among His people.  It's having eyes that are wide open and ready to see Him.  Advent is not helped by our full to-do lists, but neither is it negated by them.  We can't check "expectant waiting" off our chore list; but it requires intentionality all the same.  Advent is not an event to be observed and completed, although calendars will be opened and church services attended whether our hearts are engaged or not.  In fact, the heart of Advent is one that doesn't expire at the end of a season, but rather, it's a attitude that remains year-round, simply to be refocused during this season of waiting each year.

In Luke's gospel, a cast of characters is listed: Zechariah, Elizabeth, Mary, Joseph, Simeon, Anna... All of them were waiting.  They are representative of a remnant of Israel that was still waiting in faith that someday God would move.  It's important to note that not all of the nation waited.  Many had given up hope--at least real hope--and were simply going through the motions of worship in the temple.  But a few, represented by these characters in the opening chapters of Luke's gospel, faithfully waited on God to move among His people.  These hearts became the stage on which the drama of God's redemptive plan would unfold.  In the "fullness of time," Paul says... The drama began first in the hearts and then in the lives of those who waited.

Often lost at the end of one of Paul's most beloved chapters, 1 Corinthians 13, is this statement: "There are three things that will endure--faith, hope and love--and the greatest of these is love." (1 Cor. 13:13, NLT)  Faith: the confident assurance that what we hope for is going to happen, even though we can't yet see them. (Hebrews 11:1)  Hope: a yearning, expectation, and desire for something to happen.  Both of these are the raw materials of Advent.  They are virtually bursting out of the early chapters of Luke's gospel, and they are what you and I are called to in the attitude of Advent.  Waiting for the promise to be fulfilled.

How did they wait?  Henri Nouwen makes the observation that Mary went to Elizabeth and they waited together.  Advent is not an attitude that we develop only in solitude, but one that we share with others and encourage through community.  We together remember the promises of God, the reality that's far greater than what we see with our eyes.  We encourage one another to have faith.  To remain in hope.  We remind one another that God is coming and that we are to wait on Him with eager expectation.

And the greatest of these is love.

Why?  Because we wait with expectation for a day when faith will no longer be necessary--all that we long for will be seen with our eyes and experienced with all of our senses.  We wait for the moment when there's nothing left to hope for because all of our hopes are fulfilled in His Kingdom reign.  What, then, will be left?  Simply love.  Love that was embodied in the baby in Bethlehem.  The eternal God, come among His people.  Justice and righteousness kissing at the manger.  The promise of Jesus is that He will come again, and all that is wrong will completely be made right.  The Kingdom that is now in part will be in full.  Every tear will be wiped away.  There will be no need for sun or moon, for He will be our Light.

All that will remain is love.  And so, we wait.

Getting Close

The incarnation, it seems to me, is the central mystery of the Christian faith.  Certainly the atonement and the resurrection are incredibly profound in their implications, but the idea that the God of the Universe, eternally existing in Spirit, chooses to lower Himself to the level of His creation, limiting Himself to the confines of the flesh, subjecting Himself to the race that He had spoken into being... words fail as I think about how unbelievable it all is.  God with skin on--Jesus of Nazareth, the carpenter from down the street.

He came close to us.  Became one of us.  Got dirty right alongside of us.  Breathed our air, smelled our scents, battled our appetites.  He dealt with difficult people just like you and I do--in fact, He was ultimately killed by them.  He grew and developed.  The eternal, all-knowing God of the Universe learned.  I'm not sure that I understand how all of that works, and I don't have to get too far in my series of questions before my theology is shot full of holes and my brain is bordering on combustion.  God... as a man.

In order to reach us, He got close to us.  He became one of us.

He didn't shout from afar.  He didn't send divine shoe boxes from heaven.  He didn't proclaim the good news on the radio.  He didn't write a blog.  All of those things may have their place, but that's not the method the Almighty God of the Universe chose.  Instead, He came close.  He got right next to us, lived alongside of us, and ultimately, He was trusted enough that He only needed whisper the Truth and it was understood and believed.

The question I'm wrestling with is: To whom am I that close?  Is my gospel proclaimed from afar, or am I right there in the middle of everything, living in the midst of those who desperately need to know?  Often, I find myself stating with my words and intellect that I am called to reach a certain person, or certain population of people, or certain kind of person.  However, an honest life evaluation would say that those I'm closest to are exactly like me.  I long to reach people with the gospel, but I'm barely near enough to shout, let alone understand their pain and their joy in order to help them understand and know the Truth.

The apostle Paul said it this way: 

"For though I am free from all, I have made myself a servant to all, that I might win more of them.  To the Jews I became as a Jew, in order to win Jews.  To those under the law I became as one under the law (though not being myself under the law) that I might win those under the law.  To those outside the law I became as one outside the law (not being outside the law of God but under the law of Christ) that I might win those outside the law.  To the weak I became weak, that I might win the weak.  I have become all things to all people, that by all means I might save some.  I do it all for the sake of the gospel, that I may share with them in its blessings." (1 Corinthians 9:19-23)

My testimony, sadly, sounds different:

"Since I'm free, I'm kind of busy with my own stuff right now, that I might enjoy my freedom more.  To the culturally religious I don't become anything--rather, I tend to mock them.  To the hyper-religious, I don't become anything--rather, I tend to mock them, too.  To the pagan, I don't become anything--yep, you guessed it--I tend to mock them too.  I think maybe I have a problem with cynicism.  And sometimes, if I'm honest, I'm a little jealous.  To the weak, downtrodden, suffering, poor and sick, I basically just live in my health and comfort and hope someone does something about their lot in life.  All of this I do for my own sake, because I'm pretty important, at least to me."

Jesus got close to us.  He could understand where we were coming from, because He was coming from there as well.  He got right down next to us... and loved us.  

Seems that I should probably follow His example.

The Problem... And the Solution

My wife's family is always at our place for Thanksgiving, which is a huge blessing in many ways.  We're well over a decade into this routine, which has allowed for a number of traditions to be established over the years.  Several of us punish ourselves on Thanksgiving morning by running the "Turkey Trot." (This year, joined by over 5,000 of our crazy friends and neighbors in a blistering 25 degree heat wave!)  After an hour or so for recovery, at high noon, the "Turkey Bowl" kicks off, which is a once a year neighborhood football game in our local park.  We keep threatening to change the format to full tackle, but with young children, we stuck with "two-handed tap" again this year.  Truth be known, most of us hurt so badly afterwards that it's hard to even imagine tackle--we would probably need to be wheeled to our turkey feast later that afternoon.  The meal, of course, is a highlight of the day, although always taking far longer to prepare than to consume, so a bit of a anti-climax.  For some of us, the meal (and subsequent clean-up) is followed by watching football, playing with the kids, and visiting with the stream of friends and neighbors that drop by through the evening.

For the rest, however, comes the real tradition, the pinnacle, the grand-daddy of the them all... Black Friday preparation.  For years, a half-dozen newspapers papers have been purchased in the early morning hours.  These are casually viewed all day, but by evening, paper is flying everywhere, coupons are being clipped, and preparations are being made for the early morning trek out into the craziness.

That is, until this year.  Now, full disclosure, I already view Black Friday shopping with a significant amount of cynicism, but I recognize that it's a time that members of my family, whom I love dearly, can spend time with one another in the midst of the chaos.  It's not my thing, but then again, they aren't much for joining me for 3 miles of torture every Thanksgiving morning either.  To each his own, I suppose.  But this year, it seems to me that it went a bit too far.  Stores, instead of opening at an insane but respectable 4 AM, determined that it would be best for their holiday sales goals if they would open at 6 PM on Thanksgiving night.  This decision and all of it's ramifications has already been well-tread in the blogosphere, so I don't need to go into lots of detail here.  Suffice it to say this: Our small family tradition of flying papers, coupon cutting, and strategizing was replaced by a mad dash out the door.  Pure logic says that this reality was multiplied by many thousands, as both shoppers but especially store employees cut short their time with family and friends and rushed out the door to feed the consumeristic machine.  There's much I could say about all of that, but none of that is the point of this particular blog.

Here's the point.  All afternoon I found myself repeating this refrain:

"If you leave this house and set one foot in a store tonight, you are part of the problem, not part of the solution."

I'm sure everyone got sick of hearing me say it.  I got sick of hearing me say it.  But the reality is, in the midst of our society gone mad, the only vote that anyone cares about is made with our wallets, and if large numbers of people refuse to leave their family celebrations and head out the door into the mad rush of holiday shopping, stores will no longer be open.  It's simple supply and demand.  However, if, simply because stores are open and there are deals to be had, we all rush out the doors into the madness, the madness will continue.  Each of us has a vote--and by our vote, we are either part of the problem or part of the solution.

What's all of this have to do with Advent?

Despite my love for Advent and fascination with the mystery of the Incarnation, I'm not real big on the Christmas season.  Meaning, of course, all of the mad rush, the shopping, the lust for "more" that's awakened in our hearts by marketers and store owners--things that in no way point us toward the reality of the birth of a baby that would change the universe.  Supposedly in order to put a stop to this madness, every year, there are magnets applied to the rear of cars, signs hung in windows and illuminated in front of businesses, and messages spoken on the airwaves: "Keep Christ in Christmas."

I would like to submit that, unless we are a bit slow and must be reminded ourselves, that's a ridiculous statement to make.

Why?  Certainly someone like me who is longing to live and experience the core message of Christmas can appreciate the idea.  Shouldn't we proclaim it loudly and proudly?

There are two logical problems.  The first one is most evident: Christmas, despite all of the madness and chaos, is inherently about Christ.  We might forget, we might get distracted, and there may be many that see the celebration as one of legend, not a celebration of fact pointing to an actual time in history, but the reality is that Christmas IS about Christ.  No bumper magnet or marketing campaign will change that.  Sure, as we rush from place to place we can remind one another, but Christ cannot be removed from the season that bears His Name and points back to Him.  As another trite slogan proclaims, "He's the reason for the season."

The second problem is far more subtle, and I think far more important.  Henry Blackaby, the pastor and writer, once made this statement:  "If society as a whole seems to be getting darker and darker, it is not the problem of the darkness; the darkness is just acting like its nature.  But it is that the light no longer dispels the darkness... It is time for the light to say, 'if things are darker, the problem is with us'" (Foundation of Revival, pg. 72).  Here's the point: If Christ seems to no longer be the center of the Christmas season, pointing to those who don't desire to pursue Him and yelling at them to keep our priorities straight will do neither us nor them any good.  If Christ seems to be absent from Christmas, the problem is with those who bear His Name, not with society at large.

As one witty pundit said about the battle to remove prayer from the public schools: "As long as there are pop quizzes, there will be prayer in schools."  Whether formal or informal, prayer is the heart response of those who trust in a God who is actively involved in their lives.  We shouldn't be spending time and energy fighting against a system that doesn't desire that involvement, but rather, living out our belief in front of the watching world.

We're either a part of the problem, or we're a part of the solution.

Is the season too chaotic?  Then we personally need to slow down.  Has the season become too materialistic?  Then we personally need to simplify.  Have we wandered too far from the core meaning of the Christmas season?  Then we personally need to renew our devotion and sharpen our focus.  Each one of us is either part of the problem or part of the solution.

The message of the gospel is that Jesus is enough.  In the midst of a world that always clamors for "more" and "better," the incarnation, cross, and empty tomb proclaim in glorious harmony that we've already been given all that we could ever need.  However, if those of us who follow Him live as unsatisfied people in a world full of unsatisfied people, we have no message to tell.  If we ourselves can't break away from the grip of materialism and commercialism to remember the point of it all, why do we expect that the culture as a whole will do it for us?  The darkness will only ever act like the darkness.  If it's too dark in here, the problem isn't with the darkness--the problem is with the light.

So I ask myself: Am I part of the problem, or am I part of the solution?  This season, I've stopped looking for a solution and am seeking to become the solution.

How about you?

The Vital Characters of Advent

Father Alfred Delp was a Jesuit priest in Germany during the 1930's and 40's.  He was condemned as a traitor by the Nazis for his opposition to Hitler, and was ultimately hung in 1945.  In late 1944 he wrote a short piece titled "The Shaking Reality of Advent" that has captured me, not only with it's content, but with the stunning parallels to our current point in history.

I don't have the language capabilities to effectively summarize the entirety of his work (it can be found in the "Watch for the Light" devotional I mentioned yesterday), but I've been particularly taken by his description of what he believed to be the three vital characters of the Advent season.  They were necessary 2000 years ago, becoming a vital part of the unfolding drama.  They were necessary in that jail cell in Nazi Germany in 1945.  They are necessary today.

The premise of Delp's work is that Advent should "shake" us from our slumber, awakening in us the true realities that are unfolding around us.  God breaking into the world shows us in no uncertain terms that we are lost and in need of being found; broken, in need of being restored; hopelessly dying, in need of being saved.  "There is perhaps nothing we modern people need more," Delp writes, "than to be genuinely shaken up... We have stood on this earth in false pathos, in false security; in our spiritual insanity we really believed we could, with the power of our own hand and arm, bring the stars down from heaven and kindle flames of eternity in the world."  The reality of God breaking into earth should shake us.  In the midst of our shaking, Delp calls us to heed three Advent characters: The Angel of Annunciation, the Blessed Woman, and the Crier in the Wilderness.  I would add that we mustn't simply heed them--we must become them.

The Angel
Nowhere else in the Bible, save the heavenly vision of John's Revelation, do angels play such a prominent and recurring role as they do in the Advent narrative.  Through dreams, visions, appearances, apparitions, and even a sudden, glorious appearance in the night sky, angels seem to be everywhere.  Their message is consistent--despite what you see with your eyes, there is a greater reality at work.  Elizabeth may seem to be barren, but God will give her a son.  Mary's pregnancy may seem illicit and immoral, but God is interrupting history.  Joseph may seem like a fool, but God is making him righteous.  Shepherds may seem to be the bottom of the social ladder, but God is putting them at the place of honor in the greatest celebration in the history of the universe.  What you see is not always what you get.

In the midst of a broken reality, the angel is a consistent messenger of hope.  As Germany disintegrated in the 1940's under the leadership of Hitler and the Nazi party, there are seeds of blessing being sown.  As the world seems to disintegrate around us--hundreds of thousands of babies killed for the sake of convenience, girls exploited and their innocence lost for sake of insatiable lust, workers driven deeper and deeper into poverty and hardship for the sake of the consumeristic machine that drives the economy of the entire world, children dying of hunger and preventable disease for the sake of the comfort and opulence of the minority world--in the midst of all of these realities, there are seeds of blessing being sown.  The Angel is a reminder that what we see with our eyes cannot always be fully trusted.

God is up to something.  We must heed the voice of the angel so that we don't lose hope.  But even more, we must become the voice of the angel.  If you and I, who hear the voice of reality in the midst of a hopeless and broken world, do not proclaim hope--who will?  If we who trust in the work of a God who is not just sovereign but is also good--if we don't live lives marked by joy and contentedness, who do we think will?  If we are not liberally sowing seeds of blessing in the midst of the dirt and weeds of the world around us, how will the fruit of love sprout and grow and be harvested?

The Woman
John tells us that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.  Indeed.  An incredible reality.  But deliverance in the form of a baby necessarily began as hope in the form of an embryo.  The Word made flesh was carried within flesh that, by faith, simply believed the Word.  The woman became a warm and inviting conduit for the grace of God to waiting world.  Mary's story is a constant reminder that God has always and will always use people.  He could have hollowed a tree and preserved the race, but instead, He called Noah.  He might have gathered a people and guided their line, but instead, He appeared to Abram.  He might have turned the nation of Egypt upside-down by divine decree, but instead, as Moses walked in the desert, he saw a bush that was burning but not consumed.  The Word that easily could have boomed from the heavens instead became the still, small voice spoken to Elijah, that he might amplify that voice to the nations.  Isaiah, Jeremiah, Amos, Malachi--they became God's voice to the world, despite the fact that God was perfectly capable of speaking for Himself.

The Word became flesh, contained in a young girl's womb.  The Word that might have simply appeared instead grew through embryonic stages, carried in the warmth of teenage girl.

They were witnesses to the Light; warmly embodying Truth to the waiting world.  We mustn't be any less.

The Crier
He who John's gospel calls "a witness to the Light" had been predicted by Isaiah as "The voice of one crying in the wilderness: 'Prepare the way of the Lord.'"  Throughout history, devastation has come upon any age and any people that have not heeded that voice.  At times, the voice crying in the wilderness has been drowned out by the voices of the age.  At other times, the voice is heard but ignored as a foolish throwback to a lost and primitive age.  The voice, like John's of old, cuts through the milieu of culture and the spirit of the age, hearkening back to the Reality on which all things are built.  The one who cries in the wilderness reminds us that, despite the patterns that we easily fall into, all is not right with the world.

Here's the problem: We look around at the world, and because what we see is normal, we somehow think it's OK.  But it isn't OK.  The values are upside down.  The world has virtually transformed the sin of pride into a virtue to be rewarded.  Mediocrity is praised.  Sin is excused.  Even the church is often built upon the strength and talent of men, with little more than a nod to the power of God, and the lack of the presence of the Holy Spirit is all but forgotten.  Things are not OK, and in every age, it's the Crier that reminds us.  The Crier is one who is grounded in the Word of God, guided by Truth more than culture, with eyes that more readily see the invisible realities of God than the broken but tangible realities of men.

There was a man, sent from God.  His name was John.
He himself was not the Light, but he came as a witness to the Light.
(ref. John 1:6-8)  

You and I are called to the same work.  We are not ourselves the Light, but we bear the Light.  Jesus declares that we are the light of the world.  Light has been given to us that it might shine, transforming the darkness into light, that all might see what is actually True.

Shine on, friends.  Shine on.

Advent Meditations...

One of the hazards of my line of work is that the Advent season tends to rush by in a flurry of activity until Christmas is upon us.  I suppose that's not something that's unique to pastors--if I remember right, it happened to me just as easily before I entered the ministry as well.  The Thanksgiving rush gives way to a flurry of necessary preparations: decorating, cooking, buying, wrapping... not to mention worshiping, performing, observing, and of course, partying.  Pundits are telling us that this is one of the shortest periods of time between Thanksgiving and Christmas on record.  While that might be statistically true, I must practically disagree.  As best I can tell, there were years when there seemed to be about a day and half between the two events.

This year, however, following an incredibly packed fall, the weeks ahead actually don't look that bad.  Of course, that could be just because the last three months of frenzied activity have given me an unreasonable tolerance for busyness.  Very possible.  However, as I look at the next several weeks, I can almost imagine time to... think.  Actually process.  Meditate, if you will.  

To contemplate the reality that two thousand years ago, at a point in time in actual history, God broke into our reality, and in doing so, He changed everything.  

Thousands of years of prophets and promises.  Figures that foreshadowed His coming.  The unfolding of a redemption narrative that has captured the imagination of both the pagan and the devout for the last two millennia.  

At a point in time, the better Isaac was born.  The ultimate Son of the Promise, who would one day become the sacrifice, but this time, none would stay the Father's hand.  

To an actual mom and an adoptive dad, the better Moses was born.  He would become the great Deliverer who would lead His people out of captivity.

The hope of the entire family of God, the better Passover lamb was born.  His blood would be spread, and the wrath of God would be assuaged.

In a cave or stable in a back alley, at a fixed point in geography, the better Joshua was born.  He would lead all who would follow, from every tribe, tongue, and nation, into the Promised Land.

In utter poverty, the better King David was born.  Several years later, royal gifts would be bestowed upon Him, and one day He would rule His people with justice, conquering every foe.

But at the time, no one knew.  The crying, illegitimate baby would never have been confused for the promise of Isaac, the hope of Moses or the Passover lamb.  It would never have been imagined that this dirty and impoverished child would be a great leader, much yet a king.  In fact, the period of waiting had been so long, spreading over so many generations, it's likely the people had given up any real hope.  They had stopped watching and waiting, and had entered into simply living.

That's our danger today, isn't it?  Seasons have passed, year after year, and nothing seems to have really changed.  And so, we rush from Thanksgiving to Christmas, arriving at Christmas Eve flustered, exhausted, and already spent.  We no longer wait--we simply live.  Advent has disappeared into the "Holiday Season," and the watching... the waiting... the anticipation... they have all disappeared along with it.

One of my favorite Advent devotionals is titled "Watch for the Light."  (If you've never read it, I would highly recommend it!  You can purchase it here.  While you're on Amazon, you can also purchase my book here, which would make great a Christmas present for everyone on your list, and thereby save you some precious time for meditation during Advent!  Shameless promotion, I know... back to the point...)  This is intended to be a season of watching.  Of waiting.  Watching for Jesus to be present in our midst, and waiting for opportunities to make Him present in our world.  But all of that requires hope.  A belief, by faith, that the Kingdom will someday come fully, and that it will continually come more fully in us.  A hope that the power of God in our midst can unify, empower, transform, and propel us to look more like Jesus ourselves, becoming the message of the gospel to those around us.  To love as He loved, to give as He gave, and to live contented, joyful lives in a world that is rushing after the next great thing.

All of that to say that this season, I'd like to meditate on the fact that He has come, and that He is coming again.  My best intentions are to use this space to make those meditations tangible.  If you desire, bookmark this page and check it out a few times each week.  I'd love to promise a specific schedule, but pastoring a church and helping my wonderful wife homeschool four children precludes such promises.  Besides, I've broken those promises so many times before that no one would believe me anyway.  I'm simply hoping for regularity and consistency during this season.  Maybe we can, together, take a journey toward Bethlehem, watching and waiting and hoping for something new.

Will you take the journey with me?