two letters in advent

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1.

I began the day by musing with God on His presence with me.

You are here now, as I write with a too-big marker and drink lukewarm coffee. You are near as this candle flickers – do You smell it? Do You like this smell? I love it.

You are with me as I try to breathe more deeply, as the sky lightens. You are keeping the world rotating so that the sun would rise today. You are right here, seeing me in my many failures and in Your image nonetheless. You are my greatest gift, everyone’s greatest gift.

With me as my body aches a little, as I still feel tired and not quite all awake. And what’s more, You know that feeling. You know the cheer a flame brings. And the sunrise – all these embodied things – because You came in a body. You went through human developmental stages for me. You felt physical pain. Did You get headaches? Did You lose anyone to Alzheimer’s? I can’t know, but I know that to be in a body is both wonderful and painful. You did it to save me.

You have not only saved my body from near death many times; You have brought back my soul from its dead, hardened state. So now even my body has hope to be made new one day. That day feel so far away, and truly I don’t know how soon or far it is. But because You came the once, I have hope for the second.

Because You took on flesh and died to redeem me and rose to crush the head of death, I have hope You will fulfill Your promise: to return in glory, to dwell with us once and for all, to wipe away every tear. You have justified me, You are making me anew, You will be the final, righteous Judge and create again. What a mystery this is. How far beyond my understanding.

2.

This is what I think it means for you and me and all of us…

And to think, the middle act of this neverending, cosmic epic began with the almighty, uncreated God of the infinite universe humbling Himself to be born. He did not spare Himself from anything but entered into bodily form in the messiest, lowliest way. And the first people to hear of it and adore Him were not kings, nor anyone powerful, but laborers working the night shift with livestock. People of no consequence.

The good Shepherd announced Himself to shepherds and identified Himself with them, conferring dignity on them that humans would not. That is what He has done – by creating us and by coming as a baby and by giving His life for ours – He has conferred on us a value so high no one on earth could ever pay for it.

This season of Advent and next of Christmas are monumental. It is hard to remember that, especially if we’re going along with the world’s distracting ways that make this time of year busy, expensive, exhausting, and stressful. I don’t know what’s doing that for you, but I have found myself distracted with plans and gifts – good things. But oh, how Satan can twist good things to draw us away from the Giver of good things.

I encourage you and me to step out of the current and into a slower space for a moment (as long as you possibly can) to soak it in:

The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. (John 1:14)

For us and for our salvation He came down from heaven. (Book of Common Prayer)

Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call His name Immanuel (which means, God with us). (Matthew 1:23)

And behold, I AM with you always, to the end of the age. (Matthew 28:20)

Friend. He. Is. With. You.

In traffic. In crazy stores full of hurrying. In late nights. On the computer, the phone. In deadlines. In bank accounts close to empty. On the side of the road with your flat tire. In the joy of the morning sky clearing to blue. In the loss of one you love. In ecstasy. In your anger. With all your friends together. Alone. In disappointment. When you receive the diagnosis. When your biopsy is clear. When your child is born. When your relationship ends. While you drink your coffee. When you cry. When you sleep. When your alarm goes off too early. When you mess up big time – again. When someone hurts you. When you sin. When you succeed. As you cook. As you fold clothes. While you wash your face. Every time you laugh.

There is not a moment He is absent. The psalmist asks God why He has forsaken him, why so far from saving (Psalm 22:1). This is often a real cry of our hearts (and of Jesus’ heart once). What does God say?

Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you. (Deuteronomy 31:6)

Just as I was with Moses, so I will be with you. I will not leave you or forsake you. (Joshua 1:5)

Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for He has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Hebrews 13:5)

Even in the next Psalm (23), we see: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want….Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me…”

There is nowhere you are that the Shepherd is not.

Where shall I go from Your Spirit?
    Or where shall I flee from Your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, You are there!
    If I make my bed in Sheol, You are there!
If I take the wings of the morning
    and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there Your hand shall lead me,
    and Your right hand shall hold me. (Psalm 139:7-10)

When I hear God’s answer – that He is indeed here and is mighty to save – I want to respond like Job did.

I know that You can do all things,
    and that no purpose of Yours can be thwarted.
‘Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?’
Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand,
    things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.
‘Hear, and I will speak;
    I will question you, and you make it known to Me.’
I had heard of You by the hearing of the ear,
    but now my eye sees You;
therefore I despise myself,
    and repent in dust and ashes. (Job 42:1-6)

Advent is a season for repenting and preparing. Christmas is exciting, magical even. Yet Christ did come so He could die. And He died because we were enemies of God who deserved to die. This is too wonderful for me –

This mercy.

This care.

This love.

In this last week before Christmas, let us confess our sin that our Lord came to overcome. Let us humble ourselves in awe of the majesty our humble King left behind to be like one of us. And let us place all our hope in Him for our salvation and new life.

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

soon. not yet.

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40 days after Christ’s resurrection, He met His followers one last time.

So when they had come together, they asked him, “Lord, will you at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?” He said to them, “It is not for you to know times or seasons that the Father has fixed by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.” And when he had said these things, as they were looking on, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight.

(Acts 1:6-9)

Jesus’ ascension must have been confounding. After all His disciples had seen Him do, surely restoring Israel to her former glory and freedom would have been easy and swift. Instead, He left them with the promise of His presence and the massive undertaking of what we call the Great Commission. Like them, we are told to be faithful and ready… and to wait in the incompletion, in the middle of the story. While Christ’s work on the cross is finished, not everything is yet renewed or whole. 

I have this image in my mind of sitting on a cozy sofa under a blanket, against a window, holding a cup of hot drink, reading a book. To me, this seems like The Best Activity. But when I try to recreate it for myself, it’s always more complicated than that; the way I initially sat down isn’t optimally comfy, my leg itches, I spill on myself, the blanket isn’t over my feet, I suddenly need a tissue, my drink cools quickly. But my mind remembers how it’s supposed to be because it’s clinging to the picture. I end up longing for my ideal rather than engaging contentedly with my present experience.

You’ve seen photos of people at the tops of mountains – glorious views behind them, wide smiles, triumphant postures, satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment. We see these and forget that they’re only halfway done – they will need to descend. And when I hike, I remember acutely the cost of the climb – sweat, effort, stumbles, hard breaths, pain. And often, the descent is trickier, depending on conditions. There’s of course beauty along the way, but the mountaintop photo op doesn’t show the process.

I tend to experience many of these dissonant moments, wherein the tension between the real and the ideal pains me, and my disappointment distracts me from gratitude. And I see this being the case for the Church as well. Dietrich Bonhoeffer notes that if we love our ideal of community, we will kill the real thing.1 Scripture provides us an ideal, but also acknowledges that we will encounter much that falls short of that, including ourselves; and it gives us guidance for moving forward in that reality, knowing that we are being sanctified all the time.

Bonhoeffer also provides insight to reframe our experiences, to redirect our attention. Rather than harping on someone’s sin, remember that you, like her/him, are in need of Christ’s saving grace, and He died for both of you. What a thing to have in common with your brother or sister! So disappointment and frustration can turn to gratitude for the other and for God’s kindness to both of you. And the experience is transformed.

Friend, even on the mountaintop, do we feel really finished? When I’m up there, I still find myself longing for more, wishing I could fully take in the beauty that lies before me. But it feels too big. Every sweet and beautiful moment feels simultaneously like too much goodness tangled with a yearning. And if I listen to the yearning, it’s drawing me toward God. In Whom there is so much more of the beauty, the fullness, the shalom.

Why does some beauty hurt so much? Is any beauty in this world separate from pain? Some beauty emerges from or in spite of pain. But some causes it. It’s like the pain of stretching a little more than you’re used to, like you’re trying to hold what is before you with what is to come. There’s that tension; we’re tearfully grateful and indignantly angry. We think we know how things should be, but it cannot be achieved just yet.

So here’s some stuff I know now.

  • Nothing will be perfect or perfectly just.
  • I cannot ultimately meet anyone’s needs.
  • I will not always succeed.
  • I won’t be quite complete, a finished product, nor will I be as special as I wish.
  • I won’t always understand or know what I want to know.
  • Not everything will be awesome.
  • People will let me down and hurt me.
  • There will not always be peace.

Because this isn’t it. This isn’t the end. This is barely the beginning.

Jesus is in the business of transformation, and one day, the ideal – the fullness of His glory, the perfection of creation – will be the real, and what a wonder that will be. For now, we are in-between. We are redeemed, and we are being renewed. Until then, He has given us to pursue the ideal, but to love the real.

We will never achieve the ideal until Christ Himself does it by making all things new once and for all.

And beloved, He will do it.

Let’s long for Him. Only Him.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Posterity shall serve him;
    it shall be told of the Lord to the coming generation;
they shall come and proclaim his righteousness to a people yet unborn,
    that he has done it.   (Psalm 22:30-31 ESV)

“Do not look sad. We shall meet soon again.”

“Please, Aslan,” said Lucy, “what do you call soon?”

“I call all times soon,” said Aslan; and instantly he was vanished away.

– C. S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

“And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.”

(John 14:3)

1 Life Together

the church, a house

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All our lives crash together in some big ash heap, tossed here by the winds of history and sin.

Or, carried here by the breath of the Spirit.

Or is it each of these.

Ashes, and purpose.

Death, and breath.

We are brought, and we did not do the bringing.

And Jesus reconciles death, and life, and us.

Without Him, there is no us.

Apart from Him there is no home.

Let’s build a house on the dust – or better, let the Lord build it, out of dust.

That’s how He built us.

Let’s all live in a dust house, not made by human hands.

Let’s remember we are dust,

once destined for damnation,

now recalled to life.

Let it hurt.

Let’s crash, and let the friction start a fire that refines as the smoke rises. Let the pressure of the call to holiness squeeze us, press out of us all the darkness, the sludge that does no one good, until

that day, when the living breath bears us to our realest home, and we see all the dust turned to diamonds, and our house of ash, with all us its inhabitants, shows itself to be a right dazzling thing, stronger than the rock of Peter, indestructible, standing in God’s light.

Then we’ll see what we ought to trust now –

that all this crashing

is really just smashing a rock open to find the beauty beneath the crust.

That there is purpose, and the purpose

is death.

And that death is the only path to resurrection.

Come, live and love and fight in this dusty house, our dusty bodies all parts of a broken body.

Come, make peace with God and man.

You were brought, and you did not do the bringing.

You were bought, built, borne, breathed into,

and here is a house for you.

And here is the Lord, broken for you.

There is no other.

Come in, and eat.

…..

[This is a photo of a house in an aspen grove. A single aspen tree is only part of a larger organism. A grove of aspens is considered all one organism, connected by unseen root systems that keep it alive. The individual member does not exist apart from the body.]