Walking and Waiting

Walking. The idea came to me recently when I heard someone remark how walking has saved them during this pandemic.

Scripture is full of people walking. People journeying from point A to point B. We also refer to the spiritual life with walking motifs. I Googled “Advent and walking” and found countless resources on that theme: Walking Through Advent, Walking to the Manger, How to Organize an Advent Hike, Walking the Road to Bethlehem, and the list goes on.

Advent is a journey we take from Day 1 to Day 25. Each day is a mile marker as we make our own way to see the Christ child in the manger. The characters in the Christmas story encountered literal journeys full of walking as well. Mary probably walked to visit Elizabeth and Zechariah. Mary and Joseph walked from Nazareth to Bethlehem, with their donkey in tow. The shepherds herded their sheep all day, walking throughout the countryside. And the wise men walked the longest distance (or rode camels, either way someone in their party was walking), led by the light of the star.

If you are a walker, you know it is a slow undertaking. It is rarely a race, but a gradual movement towards a destination. Walking reminds us that Advent is like that as well. It is a time to slow down the pace of daily life and focus on the details that make up the journey to Bethlehem. Each step is deliberate, nothing we read or hear is unimportant. All the pieces are intentionally laid out to lead and grow us along the way. Walking involves waiting. And in Advent, we get a crash-course in what it means to wait well.

Evan Welcher, a pastor and poet from Iowa, has written extensively on the topic of Advent, waiting, and grief in his book Advent: a thread in the night. In an article he wrote for The Gospel Coalition, Welcher says,

Advent helps the saints to persevere until he who began a good work in us brings it to fruition (Phil. 1:6). It reminds us that prophets of old looked longingly into the future for the hope of Christ’s coming (1 Pet. 1:10–12). Their hope is the same hope we look back on. And like them, we also look to the future, awaiting his return.

For in the here and now we are sojourners in the valley of the shadow of death, plodding between the two advents of our God and King.

. . . Perhaps you have prayed, in the quiet hours of the night, "O Lord, how much sadness can be poured into one fragile human vessel, composed of little more than dust, before she irreparably shatters?"

Warm waves of resurrection will at long last thaw out and restore your tattered heart. So take heart, beloved. Resurrection day approaches.

Until then, though, we need Advent.

Advent is a walk we need. This year more than ever. As we near the end and approach Christmas day, many of our walks will continue to be characterized by waiting, sorrow, fear, and uncertainty. But as we take each step, let it be a saving force of Hope as well. Just like Paul Harvey’s story of The Man and the Birds (see my post from 2011), we have this assurance:

Jesus has come. And He will show us the way.  

Completing our Joy

My small group has been meeting over Zoom and watching R.C. Sproul’s Dust to Glory video series, a survey of the major themes, events, and people in the Bible. In April, we landed in the Psalms. At the end, we discussed an idea found in C.S. Lewis’ book Reflection on the Psalms. In it he says,

I think we delight to praise what we enjoy because the praise not merely expresses but completes the enjoyment; it is its appointed consummation. . . It is frustrating to have discovered a new author and not to be able to tell anyone how good he is; to come suddenly, at the turn of the road, upon some mountain valley of unexpected grandeur and then to have to keep silent because the people with you care for it no more than for a tin can in the ditch; to hear a good joke and find no one to share it with. . .

Praise completes the joy. This is why I like to share photos of the beauty I see around me on Instagram. It is why I share links for amazing music, articles, and ideas with family and friends. Not only am I celebrating what I enjoy, but I am drawing others into that enjoyment as well.

We see this throughout the Christmas story:

• Mary, upon receiving the message of the Incarnation from Gabriel, could not keep her joy to herself and raced to meet Elizabeth.
• The shepherds, upon hearing the Angel’s heavenly proclamation, ran to see this amazing thing for themselves, and then could not help but spread the word.
• The wise men, upon discovering an extraordinary star in the sky, immediately set out to find the king it symbolized, so they could worship him.
  

We are people made to wonder, made to enjoy. And praise is the completion of that joy.
In an article written for The Cultivating Project, scholar and theologian Junius Johnson explores the idea of wonder and light in Advent. Though he doesn’t mention “enjoyment” or “praise”, I don’t think he is far off from Lewis’ view. He says,

The first work of Advent is not the transformation of the world into the wonderful, magical land of Christmas, but rather the revelation that the world is and has for quite some time been such a place. In our history, at a date and time we can roughly fix and at a place we can visit, God entered history, lived, died, and rose again. This world is therefore the greatest fantasy setting ever imagined.

Wonder shines, because wonder is light. All wonder is light, and all light is wonder-full, for every good gift is from above, coming down from the Father of Lights (James 1:17). Fundamentally, then, what we are watching for at Advent is the illumination of the world.

The arrival of the very Light of the World will illuminate all there is to see. As we reflect on the ultimate Gift God sent 2000 years ago, and the good gifts He continues to shine on us through the wonder of His grace, love, and mercy, this is a reminder that our response will influence our joy.

Lewis ends his reflection with this:

The Scotch catechism says that man’s chief end is ‘to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.’ But we shall then know that these are the same thing. Fully to enjoy is to glorify. In commanding us to glorify Him, God is inviting us to enjoy Him.

“Glory to God in the highest!” the Angels sang to the shepherds gathered outside Bethlehem. It was almost a command. Go and see Him: a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

You will find Him. He is worthy of our worship. He is worthy of our praise.

 

Humble Flocks, Strong Shepherd

Marshal your troops now, city of troops,
    for a siege is laid against us.
They will strike Israel’s ruler
    on the cheek with a rod.

“But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah,
    though you are small among the clans of Judah,
out of you will come for me
    one who will be ruler over Israel,
whose origins are from of old,
    from ancient times.”

 Therefore Israel will be abandoned
    until the time when she who is in labor bears a son,
and the rest of his brothers return
    to join the Israelites.

 He will stand and shepherd his flock
    in the strength of the LORD,
    in the majesty of the name of the LORD his God.
And they will live securely, for then his greatness
    will reach to the ends of the earth.

(Micah 5:1-4)

I used to wonder at God’s choice to first vocally announce Jesus’ birth to a group of shepherds. But the longer I return to the Christmas story, the more I see the deep theology in His choosing lowly sheepherders.

Micah’s prophecy helps us unwrap these truths. Up until now, Micah’s message has been about the future and promised restoration of Israel. Now, in chapter five, he speaks of the One who will do the restoring.

When our strength fails, when we are humbled and humiliated, brought low and ashamed. That is when the Redeemer will come. He sees us in our weaknesses. And that is when He acts. That is where He meets us.

All of this is describing Israel, waiting for the Messiah, weak and dejected.

But is also a picture of the shepherds, living out in the Bethlehem fields.

Being a shepherd was not an esteemed career. It was dirty, smelly, and exhausting. The hours are non-stop. A warm, clean home with loved ones was but a distant memory. And all for what? A few sheep that will die of cold, be eaten by a wild animals, be killed for food, or be sacrificed at the temple. Job security wasn’t implied. A humiliating existence, really.

And it is for these that Jesus came.
It is to these that Jesus’ birth was first revealed.

As John Piper has said, “God is not constrained by human worth, achievement, or dignity.” Though He came as a baby, weak by anatomical standards, verse four says, the One to come will “stand and shepherd His flocks in the strength of the LORD.” Later in the Gospels, we hear Jesus called the Good Shepherd. He does not leave us to our own devices, unprotected from peril or death. These were terms they, and any rural dweller, would understand. In addition to being humiliating work, shepherds had to be quick, and strong, brave, and compassionate towards their sheep.

“And they will live securely, for then his greatness
    will reach to the ends of the earth.”

I no longer wonder at God’s choice to use the shepherds. It could have been no one else. A Shepherd announced to shepherds.

Like the shepherds, we all live humble and humiliated. Yet, as God chose them to be messengers that night, He chooses us to spread this Good News.

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. 

(Luke 2:15-18)

 

(Inspired by Edgewater Baptist Church sermon, March 1, 2020)

 

"The First Coming"

There is a well-known poem by Madeleine L'Engle entitled "First Coming." I tend to share it every Advent. This year, as I was reading through Miracle on 10th Street, L'Engle's collection of Christmas writings, I stumbled across a similarly named poem: "The First Coming." This poem was first published in WinterSong, which she wrote with Luci Shaw.

Here is "The First Coming," in its Lineage of Expectation debut:

He came
throwing off glory
like fiery suns,
leaving power behind,
leaving the storms of hydrogen clouds,
the still-forming galaxies,
totally vulnerable
as he emptied himself.

She took him in—
into the deepest part of her being;
she contained the tiny Word,
smaller than the smallest
subatomic particle,
growing slowly
from immortality into mortality,
mother and child
together in the greatest act of love
the Maker could give the made.

Together they created
immortality from mortality
How? His father was Who?

He looked like any child
from the vulnerable top
of his tiny skull
to the little curling toes.

The whispered Word made
the sun and stars,
wind and water,
planets and moons, and all of us.
But he left this joy
to be

God With Us!
understanding lowly shepherds
and two old people in the Temple.
Later, three Wise Men—
one from each human race—
came, pondering,
Most of the powerful people
were skeptical at best
God become Son of Man? Nonsense.

Christ will come,
expected or unexpected,
when God is ready,
even while we are loudly demanding
signs and proofs
which close our hearts and minds
to the Wildness of Love.

Word of Love,
enter our hearts
as you entered the virgin’s womb.
Come, Lord Jesus!

 

 

At Our Height

Today we light the third candle of Advent. It is traditionally the Gaudete candle, the candle of Joy. I have named this the candle of Proclamation, marking the night that the arrival of embodied Joy was proclaimed.

The birth of Jesus could have been accompanied by global fanfare and festivities. Instead, the awaited Messiah’s arrival was rather unassuming. Two unknown people and a baby in a small, over-crowded town, with only a star to light their dirty dwelling, and only smelly shepherds to spread the word.

But God is the business of turning expectations upside down. And the birth of his Son was no exception.

Hannah Brencher writes about this in her essay, “Finally with Us”:

I always wonder why. Why so anonymous? Why far out from the crowds? Why in a secret place?

Because that’s the way our God moves a lot of the time.

Author Alicia Britt Chole writes, “The Father’s work in us does not sleep-- though in spiritual winters he retracts all advertisement. And when he does so, he is purifying our faith, strengthening our character, conserving our energy, and preparing us for the future.”

Though in spiritual winters he retracts all advertisement.
 
That line gets me every time I read over it.

I believe this is what was happening as Mary and Joseph prepared to give birth to their baby. God was doing something big. Actually, the biggest thing he’d ever done. But it didn’t come into the world looking how we expect the “big things” to look.
 
It came simply. It came unassumingly. It came out of a lowly place, an environment no one would think to enter into looking for a king.

Simple and unassuming. The opposite of what Christmas has unfortunately become for so many. But is in that lowly place, where the sparkle and noise can settle, that we are able to quiet our hearts and really hear the proclamation: Immanuel is born!

In the early 1970s, as his TV show was becoming a hit, Mr. Rogers was asked to help decorate Hallmark’s Christmas window in midtown Manhattan. After scoping out the location, he agreed. But his design was not what they were expecting. A recent article in the Washington Post records the story this way:

His [Mr. Rogers’] window display would be this: A Norfolk Island pine tree, the height of a three- or four-foot-tall child. No ornaments or decorations, just a simple green tree, planted in a clear glass Lucite cube so that onlookers could see the roots of the tree. And in front of it there was to be a plaque that simply said: “I like you just the way you are.”

. . . At first blush it seems beautiful, because it is: centered on a child, a tree just their height, reinforcing the message Rogers most desperately wanted his young neighbors to hear. Working to combat shame, isolation, trauma; working to help build resilience in the lives of kids he could never hope to reach one by one.

“In the middle of all the tinsel and lights, there was that little tree, all alone.”

Sounds like another tree I know, created by another famous individual dedicated to imparting truth for children young and old.

If you’ve read this blog before, you know that A Charlie Brown Christmas holds a dear spot in my family’s heart. The TV classic centers on Charlie Brown and his friends as they try to pull together a Christmas play. But the stage will not be complete without a Christmas tree. So, Charlie Brown and Linus go trudging to the tree lot, in search of the perfect tree. Everything they find is too shiny or too tinny. And then they see it: a small, unassuming little tree. Not the tree Lucy would have chosen, for sure. But Charlie Brown thinks it’s perfect.

It mirrors Mr. Rogers’ tree in so many ways. The message of Christmas is not about consumerism or busyness. The wonder of Christmas can be found with child-like faith. All we need to do is kneel down beside the shepherds and see the humble arrival of the King of Kings. He has given us the gifts of imagination and hope to thread all the pieces together into a beautiful, full picture—worthy of any greeting card or stain-glass window. But it starts by drawing close.

Brencher concludes her essay with this:

We cannot discount what God is doing when it feels like nothing is happening. . . What we need to do is draw close. What we need to do is trust that, even when we cannot see the full story emerging, God is there. He is with us. Immanuel. He is totally and completely with us for the steps ahead.

I imagine that is what Mr. Rogers was picturing when he decorated his scene. A God who loves us so much that He entered human space at our height, in a way that we could understand. That is worthy of glorious proclamation.


 

Welcome to Advent

Dear friends (and those who may have stumbled upon this blog), 

If you've joined me for any of the past eleven years, then you are probably familiar with Advent. If you are a new reader, this will serve as an introduction:

In latin the word "adventus" means "coming." Within the context of western Christianity, Advent is the season of four weeks leading up to Christmas—the celebration of Christ's birth. It is a time of joyful expectation and preparation. The four weeks are marked by the four Sundays, on which the candles of the Advent wreath are lit.

The first candle is traditionally the candle of Hope, followed by Peace, Love, and Joy. However, with so many church traditions comes a variety of names for each candle. Usually they are organized around characters or themes as a way to unfold the story and direct attention to the celebrations and worship in the season. So, the sequence might be Prophets, Bethlehem, Shepherds, Angels; Expectation, Annunciation, Proclamation, Fulfillment; or Prophets, John the Baptist, Mary, the Magi.

Last year I used children’s picture books to help introduce the characters and themes of the Nativity. This year, I’m going back to my original format and have chosen to reflect on the themes of Longing, Preparation, Proclamation, and Joy.

For four short weeks every year, we stop and see—with amazing clarity—God’s miraculous hand shaping the trajectory of human history. I have a hard time seeing this kind of perspective in daily life. Even with God’s sustaining grace, I am so often numb to the repercussions of Christ’s advent in my own life. This blog is an attempt to peel back the layers of those truths and meditate on the everlasting love God showed humanity when he sent forth His son. And as we do that together, may our hearts be directed towards the greater Advent still to come.

Let us enter this season with expectation, ever blessed by those who have paved the way. I’m glad you have chosen to join me on the journey!

 

Prepare the Way of the Lord

Let’s take a look at John the Baptist.

Now when the Gospel of Luke begins, John is not yet born, not yet a fetus in his mother’s womb. Yet the shape of the narrative indicates that this child to be born to Zechariah and Elizabeth, in their old, will be someone special. They had waited a long time for a child. Just as Israel was waiting long and hard for the Messiah. 

There is plenty of waiting to go around in this story. And I’m 100% certain that it was all intentional and purposeful. Hindsight almost always carries such certainty. But I resonate deeply with Elizabeth and Zechariah’s long experience of expectation. As I write these words and read their story, I sit in a long season of wondering, is my waiting intentional and purposeful?

I think the next chunk of John's story might shed some light:

John’s first interaction with Jesus is when a pregnant Mary goes to visit Elizabeth, whom the Angel Gabriel says is carrying a child herself:

And when Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit, and she exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me? For behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy.  And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord.” (Luke 1:41-45)

After his birth, we don’t see John again for 33 years. That’s a long time to wait for one’s job to begin. But I don’t think his waiting was passive. John would have grown up seeing little Jesus on occasion. His parents would have constantly kept him mindful of his miraculous beginning. John’s waiting was all about preparation. So that at the right time, he could come out of the wilderness and proclaim the words of the prophets:

“Prepare the way of the Lord,
    make his paths straight.  Every valley shall be filled,
    and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall become straight,
    and the rough places shall become level ways,  and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.” (Luke 3:4b-6)

The remaining three Gospels show John the Baptist’s second recorded interaction with Jesus. In John 1:29-31, he says,

 “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world! This is he of whom I said, ‘After me comes a man who ranks before me, because he was before me.’ I myself did not know him, but for this purpose I came baptizing with water, that he might be revealed to Israel.”

Why do I bring this all up? As Advent comes to a close, and Christmas quickly approaches, I always experience a pang of sadness. I’ve loved celebrating this season so much, and then it all comes to an abrupt end. Sure, we see the secular vestiges of the season around for a few more weeks, but what of this holy expectation for Jesus’ birth?

Can you see the paralleled joy John the Baptist demonstrated, both as an fetus and a grown man? He knows something big is happening. And through all of this, John shows us that Christmas is just the beginning. Jesus didn’t come just for Christmas Day. He came for the day after, and all the days to come. But most specifically, He came for that fateful Good Friday on the cross.

So what would it look like to keep Advent in our hearts all year long? Living in holy expectation of God’s power to be made known each new day, just like that glorious first Christmas morn? It might make the waiting a little easier.

Fear Not

Today we light the third candle—the candle of Proclamation. Traditionally it is the candle of Joy, and it distinguish from the others with a rosey hue.

Last week was the candle Annunciation. What makes annunciation different from proclamation? Well, according to Merriam-Webster, to proclaim is to declare publicly and openly.  Once again, it was an angel (rather, a choir of heavenly host) who proclaimed Christ’s birth. Their public audience? The lowly shepherds abiding in the Bethlehem fields. Not who you’d expect to be the first ones receiving the good news. But God’s kingdom is continually flipping the expected on its head.

Not only were these shepherds social outcasts and most-likely very poorly groomed, but they weren’t even the ones waiting hopefully for the Messiah. Generations upon generations of prophets and scribes held that occupation. And yet, this is whom the Lord chose. And I am so glad He did, for His choice teaches us a powerful message about both fear and joy.

Growing up, my family and I were hard-core fans of the Charlie Brown Christmas. Long before YouTube, we would wait for it to air on TV, and even attempt to record it on much-used VHS tapes. This year, after watching the special online, I read an article by Jason Soroski about the cartoon special which about knocked my socks off. As most of us know, Charlie Brown shouts out to his friends, “Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?” Linus gingerly walks to the middle of the stage and says, “Sure, Charlie Brown, I can tell you what Christmas is all about.” Cue the lights, and he begins to recite the famous passage from Luke 2:8-14:

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, 'Fear not: for behold, I bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.' And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.'

The article pointed out that right after Linus says, “Fear not”—right in the middle of the passage—he drops his ever-present security blanket!

How had we not noticed that before? It’s a game changer. For it speaks volumes to a greater purpose in the angels’ Proclamation. The angels weren’t just commanding the shepherds to not fear their bright, other-worldly appearance. They were the very messengers of God, saying to a broken, weary, and trodden-upon world, “FEAR NOT!” Not only, “don’t have fear,” but instead, take this JOY I am sending you this day, and make it your own.

When God opened the sky and sent down His angels to proclaim Christ’s advent to earth, He was doing more than giving a glorious birth announcement, He was giving us the One with the power to perfectly cast out all fear.

Joy is the fruit of the spirit I often have the most trouble attaining. And maybe there’s a reason for that. It is not mine to attain; it is the Spirit’s to be given. When my fears get in the way, I am unintentionally stifling God’s gift.

Soroski ends his article with these words:

- The birth of Jesus separates us from our fears.

- The birth of Jesus frees us from the habits we are unable (or unwilling) to break ourselves.

- The birth of Jesus allows us to simply drop the false security we have been grasping so tightly, and learn to trust and cling to him instead.

So this is the challenge to myself, and to you:

Let go of your blanket.

And see what the Lord has done for you. 

Muting our Memory

This week, well-known theologian, author, and pastor, R.C. Sproul passed away. So it seems fitting that I include one of his quotes. At the very beginning of Advent, a friend posted these words on Instagram. They speak to the already/not yet quandary we often find ourselves in as we walk this earth by faith:

“The Advent season is that time when we seek to, in a manner of speaking, mute our memory of what has already happened, that we might brighten our joy that it happened. We leave the already of His advent to taste the bitter of the not yet. We, in short, go back, that we might look forward to His coming.”

This is not quite about starting over . . . but I wonder if that mindset would help us embrace Advent more fully. Advent stops us in our track and forces us to assess what we had, what we have been given, and what we yearn for.

It brings to mind the story of Ruth. My church is going through a short series on Ruth right now. For one reason or another, I haven’t heard all the sermons, but I know the story well. And it is perfectly relevant for Advent because Ruth and Boaz were, in fact, ancestors of Christ—being the grandparents of David, the shepherd boy and king.

Ruth and Naomi, returning to Bethlehem after succumbing to the grief of famine and their husband’s deaths, essentially have to start over. Everything Naomi had brought with her to Moab had been stripped away. But she knew that the Lord was still the God who provides (Ruth 1:6). Even in her sorrow, she must have believed this strongly enough that it rubbed off on Ruth. For when she utters her famous proclamation, Ruth is not only agreeing to walk faithfully with Naomi to Bethlehem, but to mute her memory of what already happened and embrace both the bitterness and joy of the not yet.

Had Ruth not said these words, the lineage of expectation would have looked very different:

“Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me.”
(Ruth 1:16b-17)

But the story doesn’t end there. The loss is remembered, un-muted, and beautifully made right. The story closes with Boaz playing the part of the kinsman redeemer (Ruth 4-1:12). How marvelous an image of Christ’s own final task on the cross! Out of sorrow comes joy. Out of bondage comes redemption. Out of death comes life.