Long Winter's Nap

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house / Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse / The stockings were hung by the chimney with care / In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there / The children were nestled all snug in their beds / While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads / And mamma in her ‘kerchief and I in my cap / Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap …

These famous American verses were originally published in 1823 anonymously as “A Visit from St. Nicholas” (later attributed to Clement Clarke Moore—friend of Washington Irving—also attributed by some to Henry Livingston, Jr.). The poem, now culturally known as “The Night Before Christmas,” is arguably the most well-known American verse of all. But my eyes … my brain … my shoulders … my back … my feet … my entire material and immaterial being gets to lines 7 & 8 and then stops! Mamma and I settling down “for a long winter’s nap.”

Oh yes, the December rush is fully upon us all and it is only the second weekend in the month. Egad! All I want for Christmas is that “long winter’s nap”; a nap which “that lively old elf” actually interrupted in the poem … thanks for nothing, you imp! J I distinctly remember hearing these lines as a child and somehow connecting a long winter’s nap with hibernation somewhat like a bear’s—wow, that’s a long sleep, I used to think. Three decades later I don’t think that “hibernation” seems long in the slightest. It sounds just about right for December.

Astride the profound fatigue that finds the children all “nestled all snug in the beds” in the other room while “mamma in her ‘kerchief and I in my cap” still shuffling around long after bedtime there is a genuine aching for the material and immaterial rest we have in Christ. While “visions of sugar-plums dance” in the children’s dreams, my vision scans the horizon for the Christ who said, “It is finished!”

How can it be finished when there is still so much left to do? Ah yes, that is the creaturely way of looking at it—but the rest of Christ remains accessible through faith all the while. It is an active rest; a mobile rest even a sweaty rest in the middle of laboring with Christ. It is a rest that believes all the work left to be done is being done by God who now moves through His spiritually enabled people—the church. It is already all done and somehow not yet all “tied off.” And so December finds us still cemented to time and space and linear chronology, but the rest of Christ is real and it is here and it is exactly what this “decembered” papa in his night-cap needs to remember.

Resurrection

Falling, falling falling; the leaves are dropping now like rain, like snow covering the grass and my pick-up and the driveway. The branches and boughs must be content somehow to release the weight, responsibility, burden of all of their hundreds of thousands of broad leaves in light of the upcoming “long winter’s nap.” I can almost hear the exhale of relief after 8 months of labor of photosynthesis and hydration and evaporation and oxygenization as the November wind blows more of these gray-brown leaves to their mulch-heaps. But it is not a fatalism that November brings; it is a hope of April … a hope of the resurrection. The trees are just making space for the resurgence of life—new leaves can’t bud unless the old leaves are gone. “That which you sow does not come to life unless it dies” (1 Corinthians 15:36). The trees are banking on resuscitation. They are keeping no leaves in reserve just in case springtime doesn’t show up [old leaves which wouldn’t work anyway in the flipside]. Their “today” is impacted by their tomorrow. Tomorrow’s resurrection directly touches today’s decisions, morality, priorities and endurance.

After a long, exquisite, reasonable and detailed lesson on the necessity of the resurrection in 1 Corinthians 15, Paul adds this encouragement to his readers: “Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your toil is not in vain in the Lord” (15:58). Steadfastness, immovability, endurance—these are a direct result of the firm belief in the resurrection in the Lord. Today’s toil is not what we have to muddle through just killing time until the resurrection. No! We toil today “knowing that [our] toil is not in vain in the Lord” … the same Lord who told Martha earlier in a similar context where the resurrection of the dead was kind of relegated to the hereafter and erroneously divorced from the toil and worry and pain of today. “Jesus said, ‘I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me will live even if he dies. And everyone who lives and believes in Me will never die. Do you believe this?’” (John 11:25-26). Present tense—I am the resurrection and the life. Present tense—Martha, do you believe this, right now in mourning, right here in the graveyard? Tomorrow’s resurrection is arguably the most concrete and reliable piece of our today. The fact of Christ’s resurrection—foretold, accomplished, witnessed, recorded, passed on through preaching (1 Corinthians 15:1-11)—trumps all other “facts” that fill our days. And every day we have the question placed to us: “Do you believe this?”

Do we believe the resurrection in the hospital room, in the courtroom, in the living room, in the bedroom? Do we believe the resurrection in the quiet, in the noise, in the soft, in the hard? Do we believe the resurrection when all human hope is gone, when all bets are lost, when all dreams have become nightmares, when all delights have turned to ash in our experience? Today—especially a “today” that is painful—is exactly the moment where resurrection needs to be remembered. After all, resurrection is the signature miracle of our great God and Savior—bringing life out of death. Are we making space by faith for the resurgence of life?

To See or Be Seen

On a rare "date night" my wife and I headed toward the city to increase our restaurant options. We had a babysitter for the kids, a gift card for the meal, a couple of hours for each other, and about 100,000 motorcyclists with whom we shared the road. It was the annual "Bikes, Blues & BBQ" rally; the interstate was literally clogged to a stand-still. It is apparently one of the largest bike rallies in the country.

We saw Harleys and Hondas, trikes and choppers, ape-hangers and air-brushed flames, campers pulling trailers loaded with bikes and bikes pulling trailers loaded with camping gear. We even saw a couple of 14-year old boys pulling onto Highway 412 squeezing every ounce of power out of their 49cc engines achieving, maybe, 40 mph. Whether it was the various expressions of chrome and leather, red, white and blue wind-resistant accessories, Kevlar bodysuits and suede fringe, rebel and POW-MIA flags or the music exhibitions, the food presentations, the bike demonstrations, and the Miss BB&B beauty competition -- this rally was apparently the place to see and be seen on the first day of October.

It is no surprise that we promptly turned north while the line of traffic crawled southward. We had our hearts set on ... not on seeing and being seen by 100,000+ bikers and bike-admirers, but set on ... knowing and being known by each other after at least a month since our last time together without the children.

Seeing and being seen might entertain us for one weekend a year (but not for us; not this year!), but as humans we were designed by God to know and be known. We are relational beings. Knowing each other and God and being known by others and by God is exactly where the good and eternal life begins.

"And this is eternal life, that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent" (John 17:3).

Glorify

My father sent me a note and a verse along with a prayer. I was fresh out of the hospital and still involuntarily “bent over” from my recent abdominal surgery.

“And there was a woman who for eighteen years had had a sickness caused by a spirit; and she was bent double, and could not straighten up at all. When Jesus saw her, He called her over and said to her, "Woman, you are freed from your sickness." And He laid His hands on her; and immediately she was made erect again and began glorifying God” (Luke 13:11-13).

Everything was a chore while “bent over”—from laying back to sitting up to walking the steps. I guess I expected those, but I didn’t expect to have trouble sneezing and coughing, too. I can’t imagine carrying water or making supper or any of the slightest routines of life in the ancient world with which this real woman must have struggled for eighteen years. I was scantly bothered by eighteen days (and counting).

But my father in his note encouraged me to focus on the end result—“she was made erect again and began glorifying God” (vs. 13). No longer “bent over”—or at least 99% restored (my wife wonders if I have shrunk in stature!)—I am faced with the privilege of glorifying God. I am honored with putting my voice into the chorus of testimonies that calls the world to ascribe the weighty importance due God to God. This is glory. It is all God’s.

So whether it is eighteen years and then healed by one word from Jesus or eighteen (and counting) days and healed by Jesus slowly using doctors, antibiotics, pain medicine, the recuperative qualities of the human body and time—it is my turn and my distinct pleasure to glorify the mysterious God we serve.

I say “mysterious” because our God is also glorified a little later in the gospels by letting His friend Lazarus die in his sickness and begin rotting in the family crypt (John 11:4). And equally bizarre, our “mysterious” God tells Peter a small piece of “the kind of death [by which he] would glorify God” (John 21:19). Glory to God is not always obvious and it is not always unto life. Glory to God is often complex and invisible and impossible to comprehend without faith. Glory to God is deep and wide and even the culmination of our greatest fears and our slenderest prayers all converging in a single moment. Yet whatever the concoction of blood, sweat, tears giving glory to God is the whole-person bowing before the sovereignty of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit who not only is in control, but who is thoroughly good—saying along with Job, “Though He slay me, I trust in Him” (13:15).

I guess the real question as I stand more and more “upright” with each passing day, would I have given glory to God without the pain? Only God knows. All I know is that glory is His and I will not hesitate to ascribe to Him the glory due His name.

Goooooool

Goooooool. There is no other word necessary to understand this June. In some unexplained cosmic anomaly, American television won’t show 90% of the World Cup Soccer matches on any of its free stations. Ah, but hope is not completely gone because the all-Spanish-speaking programming of “Univision” has saved the month. The particulars of language become less important than the passion of the “beautiful game.” (For all non-soccer fans, I am sure that the American football season will start soon enough … hang in there!)

So here is the run-down: spanishspanishspanishspanish … ¡Sì! … spanishspanishspanish … ¡No! … spanishspanishspanish … ¡Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool! The encore “highlights” replayed on the Internet or the 10-second spot on the nightly news simply do not capture the magic of a “real time” goal scored in international play during the world’s most popular, most watched, most fanatical sports tournament on the planet. “¡Goooooool!” is the only word we need to know this summer.

How many hours do these players spend on the pitch (a.k.a. the soccer field) training, conditioning, strategizing, dreaming about making or defending against even one of these goals? How many dollars (or pounds or yen or euros or rubles) are spent in coaches, buses, airfare, or marketing—not to mention some of the highest paid athletes in the world?

Yet, when it really matters … far outside a sports tournament and deep inside the issues of humanity and eternity and spirit and truth … do we even a goal for life? Do we invest hours and dollars into an honest-to-God goal for godliness? Or do we merely burn them—hours and dollars both—without a serious thought toward the goal? What do hope to celebrate in those “rocking chair” years (Lord willing)? I can guarantee that if we aim at nothing, we are sure to hit it every time.

“So whether we are at home or away, we make it our ‘¡goooooool!’ to please him. For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each one may receive what is due for what he has done in the body, whether good or evil. Therefore, knowing the fear of the Lord, we persuade others. But what we are is known to God, and I hope it is known also to your conscience” (2Co 5:9-11).

The Elusive Side of Happiness

Sometimes I wonder if happiness is a form of denial. Now that I have your attention(!) let me explain that for a moment.

Since preaching on Psalm 1—“how blessed/happy is the person who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the path of sinners or sit in the seat of scoffers” (vs. 1)—I have been meditating on the part of happiness that seems particularly elusive, if not as downright slippery as a greased pig at the county fair. Sometimes I actually wonder if happiness is the coward’s way out; of chalking up the difficulties of life and the grievousness of sin by medicating myself into a false reality that “don’t worry; be happy” actually works. Biblical happiness is not this way, but I have caught myself thinking that happiness in [you fill in the blank] situation is inappropriate.

Happiness (wrongly) seems trite, like putting a Band-Aid® on the still-hemorrhaging tragedies of our experience. For instance, if I am happy now—just after I blew my top with [you fill in the blank] or just after [you fill the in the blank] really hurt me or just after watching footage of horrible carnage in the [you fill in the blank] part of the world—then I would be out of touch with reality, or treat sin lightly, or settle for far less than holiness in me and in others. Or to put it another way, it seems that somehow I do not deserve to be happy right now because, for instance, my [you fill in the blank] doesn’t want a relationship with me anymore or my dream of [you fill in the blank] must now be buried in the backyard next to last year’s pet gerbils. Happiness seems wrong because if I am happy now when [you fill in the blank] is still raging in the background, then I resign to this horrible heartbreak, capitulate and somehow convey that heartbreak doesn’t matter all that much.

But this is wrong reasoning, because God doesn’t endorse sin with His happiness. Even with the fatal sin of humans and the marring of humanity on a global scale God is still content in Himself; He is blessed/happy/fortunate. God is perfectly happy and His happiness is not a state of denial. He continues to be happy even when things are horribly wrong (humanly speaking). He continues to be happy even when the ones He created for relationship with Him and each other are twisted and mangled and neglected and abused.

While preaching Psalm 1 I wondered out loud and extemporaneously if there were any biblical references to the happiness of God—not thinking there were any. It turns out that there are at least two explicit references to the happiness of God. In the very sentence amid several examples of wrecked lives (1 Timothy 1:9-10) Paul praises God as “the blessed/happy God” (1:11). Again in chapter 6, God is given—as His very name—“the blessed/happy and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone possesses immortality and dwells in unapproachable light, whom no man has seen or can see. To Him be honor and eternal dominion! Amen” (1 Timothy 6:15-16).

So, being happy does not endorse, minimize, or excuse tragedy—it is a derivative of having a relationship with the God whose perfect, self-sufficient bliss is generously shared with us.

The Heart of the Matter

John 21:15-17—Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon, son of John, do you love Me more than these?" He said to Him, "Yes, Lord; You know that I love You." He said to him, "Tend My lambs." He said to him again a second time, "Simon, son of John, do you love Me?" He said to Him, "Yes, Lord; You know that I love You." He said to him, "Shepherd My sheep." He said to him the third time, "Simon, son of John, do you love Me?" Peter was grieved because He said to him the third time, "Do you love Me?" And he said to Him, "Lord, You know all things; You know that I love You." Jesus said to him, "Tend My sheep.”

Do you love Me? That is the question. It is not, “Are you skilled? Are you dynamic, magnetic, energetic, influential, successful?” Praise God the question is not, “Are you sure that you won’t fail Me again?” Hallelujah the question is not: “Do you have any leads on climbing out of recession? Are you quick at making decisions and thinking on your feet? Do others trust you? Are your kids well-behaved? Do you have 1-, 3-, 5-, and 10-year goals? Can you invent a better mousetrap?”

In a nutshell, qualification for service in the stead of Christ and success in serving in the name of Christ is a matter of love not performance. We seem hardwired to operate out of performance. But love is the litmus paper for Christ. But love is sloppy, vague, elusive and vulnerable. Maybe we are better off if we leave our hearts out of it.

Lord, I will give you my sweat, my tears, my calluses, even my money (or lack thereof)—but don’t ask for my heart. I have no competency in the inner world—my heart is such a mixed bag. After all, love for God doesn’t pay the bills. Love for God doesn’t impress the neighbors. Love for God is often misunderstood, pressed down, despised and in some cases … murdered.

Nevertheless, as You wish, Lord. My heart is Yours—whether or not I linger between mere friendliness for You and genuine love for You. You know my heart entirely already—even when I don’t have a clue. You ask for my love not my results. Though I may be confused, a little scared, or downright terrified, “Here’s my heart, Lord, take and seal it … seal it for Thy courts above.”

Trust vs. Entrust

A couple of weeks ago … at “the cabin” at oh-dark-hundred hour on Thursday mornings … one of the men in our rotation of leading discussions asked a simple question, “Is there a difference between trusting and entrusting?” It was a great question; one that I thought I could answer right away. However, sixty minutes later, after a vibrant discussion among the men while we sat around the glowing woodstove sipping on hot coffee I was not so sure that I knew the answer anymore. “Is there a difference between trusting and entrusting?” The launching point was John 2:24-25: “But Jesus, on His part, was not entrusting Himself to them, for He knew all men, and because He did not need anyone to testify concerning man, for He Himself knew what was in man.”

Here is Jesus—the embodiment of trust/fidelity—in a moment of great popularity mixed with the seeds of great opposition in the religious leaders in Jerusalem making a decision NOT to entrust Himself to “them.” Who comprises the group called, “them”? From the paragraph, “them” is a varied assortment of those who saw Jesus overturn the moneychangers’ tables (vs. 15), those who heard the religious leaders ask for a “sign…as [a token of the] authority for doing these things” (vs. 18), those who heard Jesus reply, “Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up” (vs. 19), those who heard the religious leaders balk at the audacity of Jesus to challenge them in public (vs. 20), and those who “believed in His name” (vs. 23). But Jesus decides not to entrust His full identity as the Messiah to “them” at this time. He trusts the Father in all things and in all ways, but He does not “entrust Himself to them” (vs. 24). So the question remains—is there a difference between trusting and entrusting?

I thought that it would be a matter of vocabulary—perhaps Jesus is just using a different word. Nope. Upon further study I noticed that there is nothing unique about the word—pisteuo: “to believe, to trust, to have faith.” If it was a separate word altogether then the difference between trusting and entrusting would have been easier to differentiate, I suppose. Rats! So, I dug a little deeper … but digging took me unavoidably to grammar. Rrrrats!

Deep in the recesses of my [repressed] memories of grammar lessons I remember that there are such things as transitive verbs and intransitive verbs. Transitive verbs convey an action upon someone or something else (a.k.a. direct object … answers “who/what”?). For instance, “He threw the ball,” or “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition” (Monty Python). Intransitive verbs convey an action (often, but not always, internal to the subject’s thought or feelings or intentions) but cannot rightly take a direct object. For instance, “The butter melted,” or “In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight” (The Tokens ©1952). And, just for the sake of confusion, there are some verbs that can be transitive OR intransitive depending on the way they are used in the sentence. Yes, you guessed it—trust is one of those pesky words that can go either way! For instance, “He trusts” works well alone; but the verb trust also works with a direct object, “He trusts them.”

Need a break? Can you withstand one more grammatical twist? Sometimes there is a second object of the action in the same sentence (a.k.a. the indirect object … answers the question “to whom/to what?”). Consider the verse at hand. “He was not entrusting (transitive verb) Himself (direct object) to them (functioning as indirect object in this sentence … technically it is a prepositional phrase, but let’s not go down another rabbit trail!).”

So, where are we in our “simple” question? Is there a difference between trusting and entrusting? Yes. Internally, Jesus is—and we should be—trusting. It is a characteristic of the Savior. Externally, Jesus is—and we should be—wise. It is a life-skill of the Savior to have a practical wisdom. There are times when He entrusts precious things or ideas to others based on the knowledge He has of His audience … but there are times when He decides not to entrust precious things or ideas because he “knew what was in man” (vs. 25) (compare “do not throw your pearls before swine” (Matthew 7:6). This has led some commentators to speculate that Jesus was unsure about His Messianic identity—but what is really going on is that He is careful in telling His identity to others. He seems to prefer to let them work it out without His direct revelation—“blessed are you Simon Barjona, because flesh and blood did not reveal [My identity] to you, but My Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 16:18). Finally then, can we draw an application from dry grammar? You bet! We trust God and, when wise, we trust others. But there are times to keep precious things away from unsafe recipients. And further still, we “entrust our very souls to our faithful Creator in doing what is right” (1 Peter 4:19). With God we can and should trust and entrust everything.

Our Inescapable Need

For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received, that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, and that He was buried, and that He was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that He appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve (1 Corinthians 15:3-5). We have—“delivered to [us] as of first importance”—the gospel. We possess the glorious good news of the one and only Christ who died for our sins…who was buried…who was raised…who appeared to many. We possess this grand treasure—unique to all religions that God assumed the burden of reconciliation Himself at great price yet offers it freely to all who will believe it exclusively—but does it possess us? We share it with those who still need to hear it; those who still need to hear it, yet again. We rally around it, sloganize it, write songs about it, preach sermons about it, protect its orthodoxy in a current of heterodoxy. We march to its cadence, throw money to its furthering, dissect its nuances and debate its veracity. We have the gospel but have we forgotten that we still need the gospel we have?

I am unavoidably aware of the inescapable need I have for the very gospel I teach and preach. I admit that there are pockets when I wrongly think the gospel is more for those who haven’t yet received its healing. But the fact of the matter is that I never stop needing the gospel of grace. And neither do you.

O LORD,

I am a shell full of dust, but animated with an invisible rational soul and made new by an unseen power of grace. Yet I am no rare object of valuable price, but one that has nothing and is nothing, although chosen of thee from eternity, given to Christ, and born again; I am deeply convinced of evil and misery of a sinful state, of vanity of creatures, but also of the sufficiency of Christ.

When thou wouldst guide me I control myself. When thou wouldst be sovereign I rule myself. When thou wouldst take care of me I suffice myself. When I should submit to thy providence I follow my will. When I should study, love, honour, trust thee, I serve myself. I fault and correct thy laws to suit myself. Instead of thee I look to a man’s approbation, and am by nature an idolater.

Lord, it is my chief design to bring my heart back to thee. Convince me that I cannot be my own God, or make myself happy, nor my own Christ to restore my joy, nor my own Spirit to teach, guide, rule me. Help me to see that grace does this by providential affliction, for when my credit it good thou dost cast me lower, when riches are my idol thou dost wing them away, when pleasure is my all thou dost turn it into bitterness.

Take away my roving eye, curious ear, greedy appetite, lustful heart; show me that none of these things can heal a wounded conscience, or support a tottering frame or uphold a departing spirit. Then take me to the cross and leave me there.

“Man A Nothing” pp. 166-67, The Valley of Vision

Twentieth Anniversary

There is an ancient Roman god whose namesake carries the first month of our year. He is called Janus. Perhaps you have seen his depiction before? Janus was the double-faced (sometimes quadruple-faced) “deity” locked in a gaze perpetually and simultaneously looking backward and forward. He was the gatekeeper, the guardian of beginnings and endings, seer of the past and the future. His image was set in doors, portals and archways all over the Roman world, none of which was more prominent than the doors of his temple in the Roman Forum ritually opened in times of war and closed in (rare) times of peace. Janus was thought to govern during times of transition such as at marriage, birth, and death. But there was a nasty side to Janus as well; to be called Janus-faced was to be accused of duplicity and double-dealing as Shakespeare alluded, “Now, by two-headed Janus / Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time” (Merchant of Venice, Act i, Sc.1.)

I always felt “pity” for Janus, in a historical sense—if pity is the right word. He was a slave to his own dominion—locked in a double-existence—unable to relax his stare enough to focus upon or enjoy the present. He was in a prison of discontent looking out though the door’s peep-hole, yet never “being” in the room in which he found himself.

By glorious contrast to the invented deities of man’s religions stands the Lord Jesus Christ—the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End, the same yesterday, today, and forever. He is Lord over time, not subject to time, but amazingly He stepped into time in order to make Himself known to us in a way that we could understand. He is sovereign over happenings, not subject to them or merely gazing at them from a marbly, mute and catatonic state. Jesus is not a gatekeeper merely; He is the Gate, the Door. He is not bound merely to the past and future; He brings the past and the future into the knowable present—full of color and sensation and relationship.

The reason this mute demon called Janus comes to mind this January is fully connected to our beginnings and endings as a church family this January 2010 marked by our 20th anniversary as a local church. Unhesitatingly, it is not the “two-headed Janus” who “frames” our space or time governing over our beginnings and endings here in the 2010th year of our Lord or presiding over our 20th anniversary as Fellowship Bible Church of Siloam Springs. Nor is it some cold doctrine of Fate that steers the flow of time or space. Nor it is we ourselves who guard the threshold of this new year or guide our own transitions. It is our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ who frames, governs, presides, steers, guards, and guides us—not in marble, but in glory—the true and living Head of the church. “Thus far the Lord has helped us” (1 Sam 7:12). Hallelujah!