Christmas is over and a new year is soon arriving. This coming week is one in which many traditionally take stock of the past year, making an assessment and setting goals for the new year. I’ve never been very good at that. It’s a process that I find daunting, yet I know there are things I could resolve to do:
I need to eat better and shed some pounds. I need to read my bible daily and pray more throughout the day. I need to say “I love you” more often to those I do. I need to be more generous with my time and talent. I need to be a better witness for the Lord. The list could go on, but I already feel like I will probably fail to follow through with just the ones I've mentioned. Good intentions are not enough.
Truth is no goals are attainable without the power of the Holy Spirit. And no goals should be set without the direction of the Spirit. Too often in the past, I have set goals that were not of God and I failed miserably. It’s not that God was unwilling to help, but he knows me well and has better plans for my well-being than I can come up with. It might just be that he wants me to focus on one thing that is the most needful and to work toward that goal without the distraction of goals that although good, yet are not as urgent as the one thing he wants me to work on.
So, New Year’s number one resolution: seek the Lord for what I need to work on this coming year, a goal that is attainable even if it proves difficult. To prayerfully consider what is the most needful to please God and work out his plan for me. Whatever the goal, the outcome will be the result of a joint collaboration between us; his strength, his grace, his wisdom and my willingness and perseverance.
For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope. Then when you call upon me and come and pray to me, I will hear you. When you search for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me, says the Lord. (Jeremiah 29: 11-14a). A promise for the new year that all can take to heart.
Those words give me hope that his desire is to see his children succeed so they will hear from Jesus the words, Well done my good and faithful servant. I cannot think of a better goal than that.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
The Good News
Two days until Christmas and for once, I am prepared for the festivities of the day. We waited until my son came home to buy a tree and decorate it. It is perfect even if I do have to water daily. I could maybe forgo a real tree, but my son has always wanted to have the real thing, so as long as he comes home for Christmas, we’ll stick with a live tree. I don’t know; perhaps we’ll still have a live tree even after he has moved on. It’s hard to replace that pine aroma. And somehow it does seem to make the day more real, at least in my mind. There is a certain “rusticness” to it that lends itself toward the meanness of the first Christmas in a stable. Nothing artificial there.
This is not a commentary about the merits of live trees versus artificial. I do not intend to slam store bought trees. The convenience is perfectly fine. But I think I choose live trees as a way to resist the season of retail frenzy, the artificial and material observance of a holy day that has become a holiday, sanitized and repackaged by our secular culture to be more acceptable to those who choose not to recognize a King born 2,000 year ago. They have shut their eyes and cannot see the stable, the angels, the Babe in swaddling clothes. The day no longer means anything other than gift giving and a special dinner.
I have sorrow over those who will not see, who will not hear the truth of I AM having come down from heaven to walk among those he formed with his own hands. He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. John 1:10. His humble entry into the world is folly to those who do not believe. It confounds the worldly wise and challenges those who do believe. It demands a choice: embrace or walk away.
This Christmas season, we as Christians celebrate what we do embrace, the beginning of the unfolding of God’s plan for salvation. We have waited patiently through Advent for the coming of the King of kings. His birth draws nigh and our anticipation grows as the day approaches. The challenge to believers is to carry the truth of Christmas to those who have yet to believe. As we welcome the Lordly Baby into our hearts and lives, let us remember the world that so desperately needs to hear the good news; from Darfur and
May your Christmas be rich with the Spirit's presence and joy-filled. The King has come!
Saturday, December 13, 2008
The Christmas Gift
The season has officially arrived. Time to bring out the holiday decorations collected over the years, along with new ones purchased at half price after Christmas last year—the special trappings that announce the season of celebration. Trees are trimmed, candles lit, carols sung, lists made, gifts purchased and wrapped, parties planned, church plays produced, turkeys roasted, and every tradition of every family is carefully observed for the sake of memories.
It would be tempting to write a critique about the increasing secularization of our “holy days” traditions. But the deepening layers of fluff that threaten to obscure Christ are a legitimate concern I’ll save for another essay. Truthfully, the whole season with its traditions can produce a warm feeling in me, a kind of rosy glow that makes me want to stuff cash into the red pots of bell ringers, hug strangers, and maybe even “teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.” That’s a good thing—or is it?
I’ve heard many Christmas sermons over the years, but none has enlightened nor disturbed me more than the words of an unsaved woman I knew some years ago. While helping decorate a hall for a holiday party, she made the off-handed remark, “I just love Christmas. You know, the baby Jesus thing and all that stuff. It gives me a warm feeling.”
I had forgotten that conversation until today. At the time, I didn’t think much about her comment, except that she needed to know baby Jesus grew up and died for her. Maybe I even said that, I really don’t remember. Now I find her words unsettling in a different way. She had expressed sentimental feelings that are uncomfortably close to what I, and probably other Christians feel.
Sentimentality isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but when it masquerades as spirituality, it satisfies merely at a surface level, distorting love and grace by diminishing them. The deep ocean of God’s love and grace becomes a wading pool. Instead of being immersed in His great love, we slosh around, accepting shallow spirituality and risk missing the awesome waves of His passion that can only be experienced when we venture out into waters over our heads.
The memory of that comment resurfaced today in the form of a question God posed to me: Do you understand the cost of the Incarnation?
Christians are (or should be) familiar with the basic theology of the Incarnation: Christ was born of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary. God became fully human. We recite it in our creeds, we read it in the Bible, and hear it from the pulpit. We proclaim Christ’s divinity and humanity based on the doctrine of the Incarnation. But do we really understand the price the Son of God paid when He became the Son of Man?
I must confess, this morning during my prayer time, it occurred to me I did not. As I prayed, I wondered if indeed it was even possible in this life to fully comprehend the depth of sacrifice Jesus made when He stepped out of eternity and into time.
In The Great Divorce, C. S. Lewis wrote, “… the higher a thing is, the lower it can descend—man can sympathize with a horse but a horse cannot sympathize with a rat.” I believe it was also C. S. Lewis who observed that it is barely within the capacity of humans to understand how amazing an act of condescension it would be for a man to become a lower creature. It is one to thing to have a level of consciousness that enables one to sympathize with a lesser creature, such as a rat, it is entirely another to actually become one and experience all that rats experience, having left the lofty realm of humanness and all that entails.
We can only imagine the possibility, since no man has ever emptied himself of all his natural attributes, retaining only the knowledge that he is still in essence a man, and taken the likeness and consciousness of a lower creature—to be both that lower life form and man. Even though the chasm between man and rat is incredibly broad, the analogy falls short because humans and rats still share a common bond: they are both created beings. The analogy cannot begin to express the magnitude of the condescension of the Creator in becoming the creature.
It is the mystery of the Incarnation: God becoming one of His creatures, yet still being God in essence. What Jesus left behind when He condescended to the level of a dividing cell in Mary’s womb is what I have never fully appreciated, and I say that to my sorrow, because the sacrifice of Jesus on my behalf began long before the cross.
The entire seventeenth chapter of the Gospel of John records the last time Jesus prayed with His disciples before His crucifixion. Next to the anguished prayer in Gethsemane, it is probably the most passionate prayer ever uttered, and He prayed it not only for the small band of men gathered around Him, but also for us:
“And now, O Father, glorify Me together with Yourself, with the glory which I had with You before the world was… Father, I desire that they also whom You gave Me may also be with Me where I am, that they may behold My glory which You have given Me; for You loved Me before the foundation of the world (v. 5, 24).”
The inclusion of that request in His prayer reveals His desire that we understand the level from which He had descended to walk among humanity. He had willingly left the Father’s presence in a place of grandeur and glory beyond human imagining, and emptied Himself of the attributes that made Him God.
In Philippians 2:6-11, Paul attempts to describe the depth Jesus’ sacrifice through the Incarnation:
Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made Himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross! Therefore, God exalted Him to the highest place and gave Him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father.
He made Himself nothing. The All in All, the Alpha and Omega, the Almighty became a creature, a lowly servant, and willingly bore the cross—our cross, our sin, our shame. The question still reverberates: do I understand the cost of the Incarnation?
I will enjoy the Christmas season. I will probably overeat, spend a little too much, and observe all the traditions, sacred and silly. But there will be a silent prayer offered continually from my heart: that I would grow beyond sentimentality and press deeper into the heart of God where emotions are transformed and become holy.
Moses prayed to see God’s glory, and God granted his request, but only gave him a glimpse. He covered Moses’ eyes with His hand as He passed telling him, “you cannot see My face; for no man shall see Me and live.” But Jesus is the face of God, and we are commanded to focus our attention and our hope in Him. The hand of God no longer blocks our view, only our own hands cast up in fear, shame, or ignorance.
It may well be that before “the mortal is clothed with immortality,” my vision will be obscured for countless reasons. But His prayer will ultimately be answered. Until that day, like Paul, I will seek to grasp the width and length and depth and height of His love—to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge, the love that compelled the Incarnation—and to truly understand His incredible Christmas gift.
It would be tempting to write a critique about the increasing secularization of our “holy days” traditions. But the deepening layers of fluff that threaten to obscure Christ are a legitimate concern I’ll save for another essay. Truthfully, the whole season with its traditions can produce a warm feeling in me, a kind of rosy glow that makes me want to stuff cash into the red pots of bell ringers, hug strangers, and maybe even “teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.” That’s a good thing—or is it?
I’ve heard many Christmas sermons over the years, but none has enlightened nor disturbed me more than the words of an unsaved woman I knew some years ago. While helping decorate a hall for a holiday party, she made the off-handed remark, “I just love Christmas. You know, the baby Jesus thing and all that stuff. It gives me a warm feeling.”
I had forgotten that conversation until today. At the time, I didn’t think much about her comment, except that she needed to know baby Jesus grew up and died for her. Maybe I even said that, I really don’t remember. Now I find her words unsettling in a different way. She had expressed sentimental feelings that are uncomfortably close to what I, and probably other Christians feel.
Sentimentality isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but when it masquerades as spirituality, it satisfies merely at a surface level, distorting love and grace by diminishing them. The deep ocean of God’s love and grace becomes a wading pool. Instead of being immersed in His great love, we slosh around, accepting shallow spirituality and risk missing the awesome waves of His passion that can only be experienced when we venture out into waters over our heads.
The memory of that comment resurfaced today in the form of a question God posed to me: Do you understand the cost of the Incarnation?
Christians are (or should be) familiar with the basic theology of the Incarnation: Christ was born of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary. God became fully human. We recite it in our creeds, we read it in the Bible, and hear it from the pulpit. We proclaim Christ’s divinity and humanity based on the doctrine of the Incarnation. But do we really understand the price the Son of God paid when He became the Son of Man?
I must confess, this morning during my prayer time, it occurred to me I did not. As I prayed, I wondered if indeed it was even possible in this life to fully comprehend the depth of sacrifice Jesus made when He stepped out of eternity and into time.
In The Great Divorce, C. S. Lewis wrote, “… the higher a thing is, the lower it can descend—man can sympathize with a horse but a horse cannot sympathize with a rat.” I believe it was also C. S. Lewis who observed that it is barely within the capacity of humans to understand how amazing an act of condescension it would be for a man to become a lower creature. It is one to thing to have a level of consciousness that enables one to sympathize with a lesser creature, such as a rat, it is entirely another to actually become one and experience all that rats experience, having left the lofty realm of humanness and all that entails.
We can only imagine the possibility, since no man has ever emptied himself of all his natural attributes, retaining only the knowledge that he is still in essence a man, and taken the likeness and consciousness of a lower creature—to be both that lower life form and man. Even though the chasm between man and rat is incredibly broad, the analogy falls short because humans and rats still share a common bond: they are both created beings. The analogy cannot begin to express the magnitude of the condescension of the Creator in becoming the creature.
It is the mystery of the Incarnation: God becoming one of His creatures, yet still being God in essence. What Jesus left behind when He condescended to the level of a dividing cell in Mary’s womb is what I have never fully appreciated, and I say that to my sorrow, because the sacrifice of Jesus on my behalf began long before the cross.
The entire seventeenth chapter of the Gospel of John records the last time Jesus prayed with His disciples before His crucifixion. Next to the anguished prayer in Gethsemane, it is probably the most passionate prayer ever uttered, and He prayed it not only for the small band of men gathered around Him, but also for us:
“And now, O Father, glorify Me together with Yourself, with the glory which I had with You before the world was… Father, I desire that they also whom You gave Me may also be with Me where I am, that they may behold My glory which You have given Me; for You loved Me before the foundation of the world (v. 5, 24).”
The inclusion of that request in His prayer reveals His desire that we understand the level from which He had descended to walk among humanity. He had willingly left the Father’s presence in a place of grandeur and glory beyond human imagining, and emptied Himself of the attributes that made Him God.
In Philippians 2:6-11, Paul attempts to describe the depth Jesus’ sacrifice through the Incarnation:
Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made Himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross! Therefore, God exalted Him to the highest place and gave Him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father.
He made Himself nothing. The All in All, the Alpha and Omega, the Almighty became a creature, a lowly servant, and willingly bore the cross—our cross, our sin, our shame. The question still reverberates: do I understand the cost of the Incarnation?
I will enjoy the Christmas season. I will probably overeat, spend a little too much, and observe all the traditions, sacred and silly. But there will be a silent prayer offered continually from my heart: that I would grow beyond sentimentality and press deeper into the heart of God where emotions are transformed and become holy.
Moses prayed to see God’s glory, and God granted his request, but only gave him a glimpse. He covered Moses’ eyes with His hand as He passed telling him, “you cannot see My face; for no man shall see Me and live.” But Jesus is the face of God, and we are commanded to focus our attention and our hope in Him. The hand of God no longer blocks our view, only our own hands cast up in fear, shame, or ignorance.
It may well be that before “the mortal is clothed with immortality,” my vision will be obscured for countless reasons. But His prayer will ultimately be answered. Until that day, like Paul, I will seek to grasp the width and length and depth and height of His love—to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge, the love that compelled the Incarnation—and to truly understand His incredible Christmas gift.
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