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? 

Something's Missing

I'm noticing a disturbing trend.

Not so much that it's new, but I guess that within my circles and influences, I've probably been a bit insulated from it.  In fact, I've heard lots of others cry out in their distress over it, but I haven't really experienced it on my own.  Until this week.

As a pastor and preacher, I listen to a lot of preaching.  I think one of the best ways to grow as a communicator is to listen to other communicators, so I try to do that somewhat broadly and somewhat regularly.  I'm encouraged by many great teachers who point me to back to Truth again and again, and I hope that their influence on me can be seen each week as I seek to communicate Truth.

But I've been missing something lately.  Not everywhere and with every message, but enough.  In fact, alarmingly enough.  Somewhat painfully enough.  What's missing?

Nothing less than the gospel.

I was listening to a well known preacher from a well known and very large church expound on Acts 2:42-47 this week, the very passage that I'll be covering on Sunday.  The passage reads like this:

"And they devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. And awe came upon every soul, and many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need. And day by day, attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, they received their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord added to their number day by day those who were being saved."

The speaker had done some excellent exegetical work in unpacking the intricacies of culture and language, and since he was a very engaging speaker, I was right with him.  However, as he went on and on, I realized something.  He had listed a series of Old Testament texts that showed that this way of living was really an embodiment of the law as God first intended.  Then, he had listed a series of sociological proofs as to why this was really the best way to live.  Finally, he gave a personal example of why he and his family are blessed to live according to these principles.  He also noted that "being saved" was most likely related to being saved from hunger and poverty and brokenness, and warned us against defining salvation so narrowly that we only see it as spiritual.  And then, he said that we should go out and get to work doing all this, so that people will be saved... from their hunger, I presume.

Recap: the law says do it.  It makes sense to do it.  I'm doing it.  People's biggest problem is that they don't have as much as you have, so, give your stuff away.  And if you're struggling with that, try harder.

But what about if I try to do it but find that I can't?

But what if I try to do it, succeed, and then get so full of myself that no one ever wants to be around me?

But what if I feed the hungry people around me and find that their just as broken, but now they're full?

But what about the reason (that pesky "sin" thing) that has created so much inequity in the first place?

What about the fact that I actually want to have a bigger house, a better car, more comfort, and great luxury, and if I'm totally honest, despite the sociological facts, I do believe that these will make me happy?

Why, even when I succeed in doing everything that I'm supposed to do, do I still not have any joy?

I finished the sermon, and found myself stuck.  I don't like the fact that I want every ounce of what I have and still want more.  I'm not proud of the fact that the apostle's teaching and prayer are very rarely the first things on my mind when I get up in the morning.  I know that I should be thrilled with the breaking of bread together, not looking for the slicing of a fine steak with a few less brothers and sisters around to take my well-deserved pieces.  Of course the work of God that I'm privileged to witness should create awe... and I'm sorry that I'm sometimes more impressed with the NBA playoffs, but frankly, sometimes I am.  I feel badly that I don't want to have everything in common; unless, of course, that means that I get to own everything and you can come and use my stuff.  Once I have everything I could possibly need, I do tend to become more generous.

Sadly, the biggest problem that you and I and the people we rub shoulders with each day isn't that we're hungry or don't have enough money to get up to speed with technological devices.  Income disparity, poverty, oppression, and injustice are all incredibly real things--I don't want to downplay their reality.  However, if the greatest problem the world had was the disparity between the rich and the poor, it would be quite a bit easier to solve.  In fact, some good education and legal enforcement would solve most of it.

And it certainly wouldn't require the death of the Son of God.

However, here's the truth: We're not able to try harder and get better.  We don't have it in us to fix the world.  We don't even have it in us to fix our own lives.  We're messed up to the greatest extent--because it's not just our outsides that are messed up (our behaviors and actions), but our insides (our hearts and motivations) as well.

Therefore, any message that says we just need to try harder, work move effectively, take responsibility for our own problems, and be better people will never solve anything.  We simply don't have it in us.

Trying harder to produce apples will never work for an orange tree, no matter how well-intentioned.

We need a change at the essence.  We need Jesus to transform our values, our actions, and our hearts.  And as He does, only then will we find that the world around us is transformed as well.

And I'm not talking about being saved to a higher income bracket.  If my own heart is any indication, there are far bigger issues we have to deal with.