Advent

flickr photo by matt1125

As the lights twinkle and the songs echo holly jolly sentiments, Blue Christmas resounds in the hearts of many lonely people. In this shared season of celebration, our emotions feel the weight of nostalgia: memories of people and Christmases past.

Before we moved back South, my grandma came and visited us one Christmas. And I still remember recording on a reel-to-reel, “Grandma is Coming to Town.” Right down grandma lane!

She won’t be coming to Christmas this year. My grandparents have been gone for many years.

It is during Christmas that many people remember the pain of lost love ones from the distant past or recent past. Even in the holiday cheer, this loss brings tears and for some despair. The “most wonderful time of the year” doesn’t feel very wonder-filled for some people.

We are surrounded by people who quietly struggle with sadness and loss during the time when they feel pressure to have a merry little Christmas. Instead of bringing holiday cheer, Christmas Carols and Christmas parties leave them with a deeper sense of loneliness and alienation.

While some people grieve the loss of loved ones, others feel the particular pain of broken relationships. Many grope through dark clouds of bad memories from the spirit of Christmas past. While most popular holiday songs stay near the surface of a Winter Wonderland, some break beneath the ice and tap the seasonal sadness that clouds hearts and minds.

As we listen, we discover people who don’t fit the shiny, happy Christmas pattern. There are plenty of sad, drunk and miserable people at Christmas. They agonize under the cold dark winter night absent a bright shining light and angels proclaiming, “Goodwill to men.”

Sufjan Stevens captures this bleak feeling in his song, “That Was The Worst Christmas Ever!” He starts out with images of shoveling snow and sledding down the hillside, but soon the song descends into the father yelling and throwing gifts into the wood stove.

Then he replaces a familiar heartwarming refrain with,
“Silent night, holy night,
Silent night, nothing feels right.”

The holy wondrous awe Christmas is replaced with an awkward, painful silence in a house where nothing feels right.

In another song, Sufjan turns this searching eye upon himself as he sings, “Did I Make You Cry at Christmas?” In one poignant verse, he sings about the aftermath of a Christmas fight,

I stay awake at night
After we have a fight
I’m writing poems about you
And they aren’t very nice
I didn’t mean to yell
I said I couldn’t tell
I only grabbed your wrist
Or would you rather we kissed?

In the final couplet, we see the intertwining and love and pain that is so common in human relationships. We often inflict wounds upon the very people we love with words and actions that divide instead of uniting. Humans are drawn to love and are not capable of loving truly and fully. We hurt and are hurt.

The stresses of Christmas events may increase the likelihood of our conflicts, turning the “Peace on Earth” into holy war. This rhythm of pain and grief echoes across countless homes and hearts every year. This year, we might pause to remember the hurting, afflicted, grieving souls at Christmas.

The church tradition has not ignored this pain. Songs like “Coventry Carol” memorialize the darkest images of Christmas. The simple refrain, “Lullay, Thou little tiny Child.
By, by, lully, lullay.”

Laments the death of innocent children. This medieval hymn rehearses the terrible slaughter of the innocents. Even as the world was rejoicing at Jesus’ birth, mothers wept over the senseless murder of their children by the tyrant Herod.

The more you explore the great songs of Christian tradition, the more you’ll discover a range of songs that explore doubt, the darkness of winter, and even dismay. The popular, “God Rest You Merry, Gentleman” encourages the listener not to dismay. In fact, the song is not addressing “merry gentleman” but simply gentleman, and it blesses them with the greeting, “God rest you merry!”

Joy is not something we manufacture, it is a gift, and deep joy is only fully revealed in the midst of deep suffering. The more we reflect on suffering at Christmas, the more we may agree with Chesterton when he said that, “Any one thinking of the Holy Child as born in December would mean by it exactly what we mean by it; that Christ is not merely a summer sun of the prosperous but a winter fire for the unfortunate.”

He is simply echoing the earliest Christmas hymn of all. Long before “Jingle Bells” and “Winter Wonderland,” way back before “Low How A Rose Ere Blooming” and “In the Bleak Mid-Winter Night,” a song was sung that still resonates in every heart.

In the earliest Christmas carol of all, Mary sang a song of exaltation to the child she was soon to bear. Listen to the words,

“My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant.
For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for he who is mighty has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.
And his mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts;
he has brought down the mighty from their thrones
and exalted those of humble estate;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
in remembrance of his mercy,
as he spoke to our fathers,
to Abraham and to his offspring forever.” (Luke 1:46-55Luke 1:46-55
English: King James Version (1611) - KJV
46 And Mary said, My soul doth magnify the Lord, ⁴⁷ And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour. ⁴⁸ For he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden: for, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed. ⁴⁹ For he that is mighty hath done to me great things; and holy is his name. ⁵⁰ And his mercy is on them that fear him from generation to generation. ⁵¹ He hath shewed strength with his arm; he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. ⁵² He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree. ⁵³ He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he hath sent empty away. ⁵⁴ He hath holpen his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy; ⁵⁵ As he spake to our fathers, to Abraham, and to his seed for ever.  

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Mary exclaims the glory of a God who truly is “God with us.” The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob enters human history in His Son, Jesus. He remembers the oppressed, humiliated, hungry and poor people of Israel. He enters the suffering of the Jews, and in doing so, He enters into the suffering of every human heart.

Christmas reveals God’s absolute willingness to identify with us our lowest estate.
“Surely he has borne our griefs
and carried our sorrows.” (Is 53:4Is 53:4
English: King James Version (1611) - KJV
4 Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted.  

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Christmas cheer is not built on an empty artifice of happy thoughts and mythical creatures who magically make the world a better place. Christmas cheer is rooted in the deep darkness of Easter agony. Our God has not forsaken us. He comes to the lowly, the despairing, the grieving and the forgotten.

He who conquered death and the grave, has conquered the haunts of Christmases past. The memories of loss and pain are not outside of His rule. Even in the silent nights where “nothing is right,” He dwells.

I know. I have met in the deepest, darkest pains of my soul. In those places, I discovered His faithful love in a way, I never knew before.

Whether we rejoice or suffer during this season of light, let us join in the songs of hope that resound across the ages. In these rememberings of the baby Jesus, we discover the God whose rule of love cannot be thwarted even by death.

I think back to Sufjan’s “That Was the Worst Christmas Ever,” and am reminded of one line buried in the midst of the wintry mix.

“In time the snow will rise, in time the snow will rise,
In time the Lord will rise, in time the Lord will rise.”

Even now the chill of winter grief melts beneath the burning love of the Resurrected Son.

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Christmas Caroling photo uploaded by me

Today marks a formal shift in the Advent rhythm. Up to this point, Advent centers upon anticipation as we wait for the second coming of the Lord. On December 17, the focus shifts to remembrance as we wait for the first coming of the Lord. In the rhythm of “O Come, O Come Emmanuel,” we enter into the waiting and longing that ancient Israel knew as she looked for the coming Messiah. (If you want to learn more about O Antiphons, visit http://www.catholiceducation.org/articles/religion/re0374.html.)

This year, I tried to enter the rhythm of Advent waiting by meditating upon the shocking interruption of the Incarnation of the Word in Jesus Christ. The drama of God’s breaking into our blindness, our suffering, our neediness brings surprise and hope in His absolute faithfulness.

I use the word rhythm often when speaking of Scripture and the Liturgical year because it might help us to listen from a different perspective. Instead of seeking to reduce all Scripture to a principle or moral, I am inviting to listen before the stories, proverbs, sermons, songs and histories.

As we listen, we begin to hear repetition. We hear about barren wombs that come alive. We hear about those who are lost being found. We hear about gardens and vines and fruit as well as cities and temples and dwelling places.

The more we listen, the more we hear a rhythm of God’s speaking to His people. We hear the rhythm of revelation. We come to the written Word of God listening for the God who created us to speak life into our wounded hearts. We are changed as He speaks through these stories, songs, proverbs and prophecies.

I spent time meditating on the distinct sounding of Incarnation in Jesus Christ and what that might mean for us. There is much more to hear in the wonder of Incarnation. I only scratched the surface. But as Advent shifts focus, I am shifting focus. For the next couple weeks, I am turning to the voices of our parents and grandparents captured in the wealth of Christmas Carols. I hope to write a few things about what I hear in these songs that pass between generations.

I encourage you to listen to these songs afresh. As you travel between work and home, you’ll hear a range of carols sung on the radios. Many songs are new but hopefully you still enjoy a selection of older songs about the wonder of Christmas.

Listen to the words. Listen to the sounds. You should notice some unusual things happening. Some Christmas Carols are sung in minor keys, thereby emphasizing a deep sadness in the midst of deep joy. Some songs like “Away in the Manger” take us back to the baby in the manger. Other songs, like “Bring a Torch Jeanette Isabella” bring the baby Jesus into the present, and it seems as thought Christ has been born just down the street at our neighbor’s house.

There are a variety of songs the explore the dark side of Christmas. “Coventry Carol” sings of Herod’s slaughter of the innocents. “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day” asks why is there no peace on earth.

As you listen to these songs hopefully you be refreshed, surprised, possibly confused, maybe challenged and even convicted. Listen deeply. Not simply humming along in merry delight, but listen for the rhythms of God’s Word that may beat within the song.

Listen and you might be changed. Listen and you might encounter the Lord afresh in the songs of His people.

I’ll share some of what I am hearing, but I hope you are hearing as well. Even if you don’t share with me, I hope you share with someone. And maybe together you might encounter the Incarnate Word of God afresh during this season of Advent and Christmas.

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Adoration of the Magi by Leonaert Btramer (1620)

I’ve heard people say that we can remain silent and appear to be wise. I did that once. But usually my mouth exposes the illusion of the silent sage.

One Christmas I had to remain silent. Four months into graduate school, and I lost my job. Scrambling for work in late November landed me a “wise man” gig. I joined a procession of wise men as we circled the manger with Mary, Joseph, shepherds, sheep, and a camel.

The work was easy. We stood there silent, night after night, gazing at the baby Jesus. Our living nativity revealed a contemplative picture of silent adoration. From porcelain figurines to paintings to life models, most all nativities are the very image of quiet resignation.

Leonaert Bramer challenges this contemplative repose in his early 17th century painting, “Adoration of the Magi.” Like several medieval nativities, the only light in the painting bursts out from the babe in the manger, reminding us that we are all in the darkness beholding the Light of the World.

Instead of transcendent calm, Bramer’s Nativity reveals the onlookers visibly agitated, possibly even terrified. One wise man covers his eyes with both hands. Other wise men lift their arms to shield against the blistering light. Joseph’s mouth hangs open in awe and possibly even dread. Even Mary appears somewhat distraught.

The Light of God’s Word breaks into this dark world with piercing exposure like the light of the noonday sun. The babe in the manger lays bare the darkness of our blind eyes.

Paul beholds this blinding light that gives sight, and he never recovers. Even as he stumbles toward Damascus, he beholds the Lord of Glory with new eyes. The same glory that burned on Moses’ face, burns in Paul’s heart, shining ever brighter till the full light of day. Paul encourages all the people of God that we are moving from glory to glory as Christ continues to reveal His Light upon us and within us.

In Bramer’s painting, he captures this wonderful, woeful, glorious Light of God shining upon us through Jesus. He captures the words of John’s Gospel, “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14John 1:14
English: King James Version (1611) - KJV
14 And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.  

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During Advent, we watch for the coming of the Word Made Flesh. We watch for the glory of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. In His light, we see light. Outside of the Incarnation, we would be forever blind to the mercy and grace of God.

We would be the people of the dark eyes who see only darkness. What do I mean by darkness?

In one sense, darkness is a loss of vision. This loss of vision is an inability to perceive light. As a person perceives less and less light, he sees less and less. There may come a point, when he sees only shadows, and eventually he may see nothing.

In this limited description of blindness, we encounter the darkening impact of corruption as depicted in Romans 1. At first, the human vision is closed to the Creator who revealed his eternal power and divine nature in the things that have been made. As humanity turned a blind eye to the truth of God, we worshipped creation rather than the Creator.

Our field of vision closed in upon this world, and our hearts became dark. Once the blinding corruption of dark closed out the Light of God, human vision closed in upon itself. Soon we could no longer see beyond our own personal world. All other people, all creation was seen through the lens of our problems, our desires, our hurts, our needs.

This self-consuming blindness could only result in envy, murder, strife, hatred, deceit, maliciousness, gossip, slander, hatred toward God and man, pride, disobedience, foolishness, faithlessness, heartlessness, and ruthlessness. The evil we notice in the other men and women, corrupts us as well. Outside of God’s grace, all of us face the horror of absolute selfishness.

Unchecked, this selfishness is the most terrifying image in the universe. C.S. Lewis once said that we may grumble so much, we simply become the grumble with nothing left. Losing all openness toward human relation, we would tumble inward, damned in a perverse spiral of unending selfishness.

Into this darkening spiral of blinding selfishness, the Light of God shines. The Word Made Flesh pierces the dark blindness of humanity, revealing the brilliant vision of God’s Love between Father, Son and Spirit.

Bramer’s nativity painting reveals this awesome Light in terrifying wonder. As we behold Jesus Christ the Word Made Flesh, we behold the Light of the World. In the Light of Christ, we see again. In Christ, we are freed from the dread slavery of selfishness. We are freed to the joyous freedom of a love that opens to God and keeps opening to the people and the world around us.

As the Lord of Glory heals our eyes, we begin to behold His wonder all around us. Even in the weak and stumbling people, we might learn to rejoice in the great and wondrous grace of God shining out from people He created for His glory.

Might we look to the server in the restaurant and rejoice in the hospitality of God? Might we look to the Police Officer and praise God for His unfailing justice? Might we behold our co-workers and give glory to the Lord who invites us to co-labour in His fields?

Might we follow Jesus as He eats with Zaccheus, offers water to the woman at the well, embraces the little children and kneels alongside the woman caught in adultery? Might we have eyes to see the glory of God all around us?

During this advent, I would pray that we might all play the sage by silencing our tongues that focus on the worst in the other people and the problems all around us. May we simply gather at the nativity with wise men as we circle the manger alongside Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, the sheep, and a camel.

May we behold Light of Glory who breaks into our dark world, healing our blind eyes, our black heart, and our fiery tongues. In beholding, may we come to know the Lord who frees us from prisons of selfishness to behold the wonder of His Glory in the midst of His world, and praise Him from whom all blessings flow.

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uploaded by rick

Everyone is busy. I think we serve the god who is running late. We live in a blur of work, school, family, church, and chores. There is no time for silence. No time for waiting. No time for pause.

Into the midst of our hurried lives, we are blind and deaf to anything, anyone who might cause us to slow down.

Christmas appears as an event with one more set of activities requiring more time, more money. Instead of renewing us, it exhausts all our resources.

Advent is an invitation from our forefathers to stop this rushing. To pause. To wait upon the Lord.

But most of us are simply too busy too pause, too wait, too watch or too even read this meditation. Skim a few lines and then delete. We must hurry on to the next email, the next conversation, the next project, the next appointment.

If you’re worn out from a life absent of rhythm, this email comes as an echo from the silent generations to take a moment to wait, listen, watch. You might learn to hear again. You might begin to see again.

“…be like men who are waiting for their master to come home from the wedding feast, so that they may open the door to him at once when he comes and knocks. Blessed are those servants whom the master finds awake when he comes. Truly, I say to you, he will dress himself for service and have them recline at table, and he will come and serve them.” (Luke 12:36-37Luke 12:36-37
English: King James Version (1611) - KJV
36 And ye yourselves like unto men that wait for their lord, when he will return from the wedding; that when he cometh and knocketh, they may open unto him immediately. ³⁷ Blessed are those servants, whom the lord when he cometh shall find watching: verily I say unto you, that he shall gird himself, and make them to sit down to meat, and will come forth and serve them.  

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Sometimes when we cannot wait, God gives us the gift of waiting. Thrown into prison for his faith, Richard Wurmbrand discovered this unwanted treasure. He writes,

“I am sorry that I was never a good Christian teacher. I had not yet had my time in Arabia. Now I live in complete silence, absolutely alone. The guards have felt-soled shoes. I don’t hear their approach. They give me food without saying a word. Inner voices have also ceased. For long periods not even God speaks to me.”

In the dread silence, Wurmbrand learns to hear the Word of God.

Exiled on the island of Patmos, John knew this kind of silent waiting. Stripped of his active ministry, John sits imprisoned, cut-off from the churches he loves. He endures the tribulation of isolation, awaiting the kingdom of God. As he waits in the loneliness, in the quiet, in the absence, he worships.

On one Lord’s Day, a deafening trumpet blast pierces the silence as the Word of God Speaks. John turns to behold the Voice of the Roaring Waters, and he sees Jesus, the Living Word. Jesus, the One who was dead and is now alive. Jesus, the faithful witness. Jesus, the Son of God. He beholds His dazzling white hair, His fiery eyes, His bronze feet. He beholds the Terror of the Lord shining out like the sun in the midst of the cosmos. He beholds, and falls down like a dead man.

The Word of God is dangerous.

In the terror of His unveiling, the Word of God tells John, “Don’t Fear.” John beholds the Voice Who Is, Who Was, and Who Is Coming Ever So Quickly. The Word is Speaking before John’s first thought. He is speaking after John’s last living thought. He is Speaking.

In the midst of John’s deep silences, He is Speaking.

The Word made Flesh Is Speaking. During Advent, we are reminded to listen. To watch. To wait. The Word of God is Speaking. In His Voice, we discover that we exist because He Summoned Us.

I exist because the Word of God called me into being. My life is a but a response to the One Who Is, Who Was, and Who is Coming Ever So Quickly.

I may choose to live in blind ignorance of this Voice. I may choose to live blind and deaf to His Presence, but He still sustains me with breath to curse and deny him. And He can summon me to His throne at any point.

The Word of God breaks into our world like a trumpet blast, like a rush of waters, like a burning fire. Our words dry and decay, crumbling into dust. Our words wound and worry and war. His Word Creates and Destroy, Exalts and Humiliates.

During Advent, we might actually wait, listen and watch for His Word. Instead of simply reading the Bible as a dusty book written centuries ago, we might listen for the dread Voice of Him Who Speaks.

As we hear His Resounding Voice, our deaf ears are healed. I mean really healed. We may actually begin to listen to Him and to the people in front of us. Everything, everyone I thought I knew suddenly becomes new.

A moment ago the person in front of me was my wife of 21 years, talking about the events of her day. A moment later, I am listening to an amazing, mysterious, wondrous person created in the image of God. I am listening and being changed in the encounter.

Don’t assume because you’ve known a person for most of your life that you know them. Listen, they might just surprise you. Don’t assume because you’ve read the Bible for most of your life that you actually know it. Listen, He might just surprise you.

During Advent, we wait yet again for the One Who Is, Who Was, and Who Is Coming Ever So Quickly. During Advent, we are learning to stop our busy bodies and busy minds. We are learning to pause, wait, watch and listen.

During Advent, we trust the Father to heal us through His Living Word by the power of His Spirit, so that we can actually hear again. In hearing Him, we behold Him. We love Him. And in hearing each other. We may learn to behold each other. We may learn to love each other.

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Andrei Rublev

The people who walked in darkness
Have seen a great light;
Those who dwelt in the land of the shadow of death,
Upon them a light has shined. (Is 9:2Is 9:2
English: King James Version (1611) - KJV
2 The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.  

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A sudden burst of light during the dark of morning sleep startles me awake. It stings like a splash of ice-cold water on the face. A sudden beep of the alarm clock shocks me out of bed. I leap across the floor to turn off this morning terror. After 21 years of marriage, Kelly is still puzzled by my traumatic waking habits when light and sound break into my dreams.

The Incarnation of the Word of God breaks into our sleeping world and startles us awake like a bright light, a loud sound, a stinging splash of cold water in the face. This Incarnation of the Word of God is disorienting, disruptive, and can be painful. This Incarnation of the Word of God is judgment.

When Jesus comes, he reveals that we are blind, deaf and dumb. When the True Form appears, all our forms are revealed as empty idols created by our broken hands and broken minds. The Incarnation of the Word of God breaks into our world as a baby in a manger, as a boy in the Temple, as a King on His Cross.

Reflecting upon the terrible suddenness of Incarnation brings to mind a traumatic encounter I once had with the Russian film Andrei Rublev. The impact of this strange film felt like something, someone burst into my world and left me speechless. I sat transfixed in holy awe.

Set in the 15th century, the film opens in the midst of a chaotic encounter between townspeople and a man launching his hot air balloon. He breaks free from the shouting people and ascends into the air. He floats over the town, over the creek, over the horses running along the bank, over the fields. The camera zooms in on a horse rolling in the dirt. Then he crashes and dies. End of story.

Then the story begins. A series of slow and loosely connected tales follow the Russian monk Andrei Rublev on years of  pilgrimage. His craft as an iconographer leads him from monastery to monastery. Along the way, he encounters a mocking jester who suffers at the hands of officials, a betrayal by a close friend, a pagan spring solstice ritual that ends badly, a group of artists gruesomely blinded after completing their work for one prince (blinded so they cannot duplicate their work), a clash between two princes that eventually leaves one dead (along with many of his townspeople).

All through the film, long slow shots depict every detail of peasant faces, peasant earthiness, and peasant suffering.

Rublev begins his pilgrimage aloof from this grimy world, but again and again he is immersed into the stuff of living. During one violent scene, he kills a Tartar invader who is attacking a local mute woman. The muck of the world has infected him. Now he is covered with blood. Rublev gives up painting. He gives up his brush, and he gives up his words.

He takes refuge in a vow of silence, serving the monastery and providing for the mute woman. Eventually she runs away with one of the Tartar invaders.

In the final tale of the movie, a master bell maker is summoned to craft a bell for the Prince, but bell maker is dead. The son steps forward and claims he has mastered the ancient skill.  The boy doesn’t fully know the secret of bell making, but he takes a risk, and the whole town takes a risk with him. After many challenges, the bell is finally complete, and the Prince comes to hear the bell. If it doesn’t ring, the boy and the town will suffer. The bell resounds across the land, and the boy falls into Rublev’s arms crying in relief.

After over three hours of watching black and white vignettes in Rublev’s life, this last scene fades to color. In the final moments of the film, we behold brilliant color images of Rublev’s icons, ending with his greatest work, Abraham’s Visitors (or the Old Testament Trinity).

As the film ended, I sat staring blankly. Overcome. I wasn’t sure what just happened to me, but I felt like God drew near to me, overwhelmed me, and left me without words. It is said that when ancient Celtic bards spoke, everyone lost their words and could not speak. When The Word of God draws near, all words fall silent.

Over the years, I’ve wrestled with why Rublev so deeply impacted me. I think it has something to do with Incarnation. As I think about the Incarnation of the Word of God, I return to the opening scene of Andrei Rublev. The man in the balloon wants to soar above the world, but the balloon crashes and he falls from the sky like Icarus.

Rublev seeks to rise above this world of changing forms by creating some permanent form. And yet, he is pulled down again and again into the ever-changing stuff of life. He is immersed in the struggle, the messiness, the suffering, the actual dirt and grime.
Incarnation is messy.

As we look up to the glory of the Creator, we may long to rise above this world into some spiritual plane that transcends the struggles, the suffering, the ache of our humanity. Man-made religion presses upward, striving, struggling to seize the divine.

God reveals his Incarnate Word by descending into the depths: he enters into the depths of our messiness, the depths of our grime, the depths of our humanness. Jesus, the Incarnate Word, “did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross” (Philippians 2:6-8Philippians 2:6-8
English: King James Version (1611) - KJV
6 Who, being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God: ⁷ But made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men: ⁸ And being found in fashion as a man, he humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross. fashion: or habit  

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The Word of God offends our sensibilities because Jesus is just a Jew born in the griminess of human flesh. He lives on the outskirts of world power, descended in a fallen house of a defeated nation. How could he make the audacious claim of intimacy with the Creator of Heaven and Earth? How could he speak of His Father instead of bowing before the unutterable name? How could this Jew, this outlaw, this man be fully divine and fully human? How could He be the only complete revelation of God the Father?

Jesus is irreverent. He eats with the wicked. He embraces the prostitutes. He tells stories of  “Good Samaritans” instead of judging them for their idolatry. If He hasn’t offended you, it’s because you’re not reading closely. He offends of all us–all of our sensibilities.
He bursts into this grimy, painful, broken, colorless world with the light of glory. This relentless light exposes every detail of our peasant faces, our grimy hearts, our suffering souls. We want to rise above our frail humanness, but the God of glory bursts our balloon by stepping into the middle of our humanity.

And Jesus never leaves our humanity.

In Himself, Jesus brings humanity before the Father interceding for us continually. But He also dwells in our midst. His light is still shining into the depths of our humanness. Echoes of grace resound across this suffering world. By His Spirit, our Savior stands in the midst of the suffering.

As we look for His coming, let us not look away from His world. He is here speaking to us. Calling us to step into the brokenness. Just as Rublev entered the life of the mute woman and the bell maker’s son, we must enter the lives of the troubled and troubling people around us. Christ the Word of God is calling us even now into His love as we enter into the lives of the person across the cubicle, the person across the street, the person across the world.

Can we look into their faces? Can we smell the muddy earthiness of rich and poor alike? Can we hear their stories of suffering, desperation, anger, emptiness? Can we rest in His love and dwell in His love and move in His love by embracing them?

Can we let go of our own visions of self-glory long enough to behold their broken images and acknowledge our own broken reflection?

We’ve been dreaming of a winter wonderland, but He is waking us to world of brokenness that reveals our own hidden brokenness. Can we see him, hear him, follow the call of His Spirit into the midst? Like Rublev we are being baptized into a world of pain and death.

In the midst, we discover the Risen Lord who has conquered death and is bringing all things into glory. We stand mute before the Word made Flesh, worshiping the Creator of Heaven and Earth who in His depths is worthy to be hymned in the heights with all glory and honor and power and wisdom.

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Art by He Qi

What does it mean to believe in the Incarnation? What does it mean to long for the coming of Christ? Here are some thoughts as we continue this time of Advent waiting.

The Word of God enters into a human race enslaved by sin and suffering corruption; a world reeling from the pain of human hurting other humans, hurting themselves, and hurting the creation. The Word of God comes to reconcile all things to the Father, and He does not return empty but accomplishes the purposes of God.

Jesus enfleshes the Word of God and reveals the fullness of God. He reveals that God is a perfect community of love between Father, Son and Spirit.

With that in mind, let us remember that each of us have been created in and through God’s Word. As we encounter the person of the Word in Jesus Christ, we come to realize that He always intended to relate to us personally; through our mind, body, soul, and heart. Just as we were created to relate to one another personally: through our thoughts, feelings, bodies, wills.

Yet our capacity to love God and other people personally suffers from the corrupting impact of sin. So we hide from one another and God. We use one another and God. We hurt one another and God.

Jesus, the One through whom each of us was created, enters into our human flesh, enters in the pain of our broken relationships, enters in to the corruption at work in our lives and our world. He enters into it all and bears the consequences of all corruption the cross.

But the love of the Father is greater than death and by His Spirit the Father raises the son to life. Jesus, the Incarnate Word of God, ascends to the Father, taking our humanity into the Triune Life of God. That might bear repeating. He takes our humanity into the Communion of Love between Father, Son and Spirit.

In Christ, we are fully reconciled to God. In Christ, we are immersed into the depths of God’s love. In Christ, we meet our loving Father who fully enters into the suffering of His wayward people. In Christ, we are immersed in the Spirit who teaches, guides and leads us into perfect love for God and man.

Our life is truly and completely hid with Christ in God. Nothing can invade, destroy, or corrupt that treasure. My identity, my hope, my dreams, my humanity is hid within the loving communion of Father, Son and Spirit.

Paul reveals this great mystery of Incarnation as a mystery of mutual indwelling. Even as we dwell in Christ who dwells in the Father, Christ dwells in us and through His Spirit is transforming, sustaining, perfecting us in love. In and through Christ, we are becoming the living community of love on this earth.

With this great mystery of God’s breaking into our world in His Word, Jesus Christ, Advent becomes the great “straining forward to what lies ahead.” As Paul writes in Philippians,

12 Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. 13 Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, 14 I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

We are longing, yearning, straining forward for the great revelation of Christ in our lives and in our world. We are rejoicing in the Creator who has not forsaken us and we are looking forward with all creation to the fullness of His glory completely unveiled for all to behold that,

God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, 10 so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, 11 and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. (Philippians 2:9-11Philippians 2:9-11
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9 Wherefore God also hath highly exalted him, and given him a name which is above every name: ¹⁰ That at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth; ¹¹ And that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.  

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So Advent rightly begins at the end. We as the Bride of Christ give voice to the cry all creation, and by Spirit this cry ascends to God.

“The Spirit and the Bride say, “Come.” (Rev 22:17Rev 22:17
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17 And the Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely.  

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And even as we cry out with longing, Jesus responds,

“Surely I am coming soon.” (Rev 22:20Rev 22:20
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20 He which testifieth these things saith, Surely I come quickly. Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus.  

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Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!

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“We wait for you.”

As I begin writing my Advent reflections this year, I am listening to Fernando Ortega sing, “We wait for you.” In these four words, he captures the heart of Advent. Now we enter the season of waiting and watching.

In that waiting, we encounter the wonder and miracle of the Incarnation afresh. Over the last few months, I’ve been waiting and listening in the words of Athanasius’ essay, “The Incarnation of the Word of God.” During Advent, I plan to stroll back through these ancient words alongside the texts of Advent. If you’d like to read this delightful expression of devotional theology, I can assure you that you’ll get far more enrichment than from my stumbling words.  You can access the text online at http://www.worldinvisible.com/library/athanasius/incarnation/incarnation.c.htm

Advent begins by looking with hope-filled anticipation toward the glorious appearing of our Savior and Lord Jesus Christ at the end of the age. We look for His complete unveiling before the world. We enter into the deep longing of God’s people from the coming of the Lord.

To articulate the deep longing for Christ’s coming at the end of the age, I must go back to the beginning of all things.

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” (Genesis 1:1Genesis 1:1
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The First Book of Moses, Called Genesis ^{1 1} In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.  

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Athanasius (and other Church Fathers) teach that God creates the heavens and the earth out of nothing. God creates in and through His Word alone.

God creates time and space, the heavens and the earth, animals and plants, Adam and Eve. He creates a world teeming with life and vitality and populated with animals and humans. He does this in and through His Word.

Throughout the Old Testament, we see the Word of God breaking into this world again and again with power and life and wisdom. He calls Abraham out from the land of Ur, and by His Word, Abraham becomes the “father of many nations.” He calls Moses from the fiery bush, and by His Word sends Moses to deliver the children of Israel from the hand of Pharaoh. He speaks His Word to the children of Israel on Mt. Sinai, audibly delivering the 10 Commandments in the hearing of all the people.

By His Word, He raises them up to be a kingdom of priests. He leads them through the wilderness, testing and humbling them, teaching them that man does not live by bread alone but by every Word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.  Through Israel and the Law given to Israel, we begin to see that God’s world opens outward toward His Word (see Psalm 19).

The other nations trust in man-made idols, Israel must trust in the Word of God alone. The Psalmist declares the trustworthiness of God’s Word. The prophets condemn idolatry while extolling the Word of God, which stands forever. Isaiah proclaims that God’s Word goes forth from His mouth and does not return empty but accomplishes the purposes of God.

Then in the midst of the great longing of God’s people for deliverance. God’s Word breaks into this grand story with a surprise. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”

All things were created in and through the Word of God. The Word of God became a man and dwelt among us. The Word of God is not simply a story of Israel’s history. The Word of God is not simply a set of commandments. The Word of God is not simply wisdom for building our world. The Word of God is not simply a book we call the Bible. The Word of God is a person.

The New Testament reveals with stunned awe that this person is a Jewish man named Jesus, born in the House of David. He suddenly appears as the long-awaited Messiah. The last King of Israel and the true King of all humanity.

As Paul writes in Colossians,

15 He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. 16 For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. 17 And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together. 18 And he is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent. 19 For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, 20 and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross. (Colossians 1:15-20Colossians 1:15-20
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15 Who is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of every creature: ¹⁶ For by him were all things created, that are in heaven, and that are in earth, visible and invisible, whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers: all things were created by him, and for him: ¹⁷ And he is before all things, and by him all things consist. ¹⁸ And he is the head of the body, the church: who is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead; that in all things he might have the preeminence. in...: or, among all ¹⁹ For it pleased the Father that in him should all fulness dwell; ²⁰ And, having made peace through the blood of his cross, by him to reconcile all things unto himself; by him, I say, whether they be things in earth, or things in heaven. having...: or, making  

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Before I complete this meditation, let us pause and join Mary who when she beheld Jesus, treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart.

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Yesterday, I heard a man say “Merry Christmas” and then apologize switching to “Happy New Year” instead. But he was really right the first time. We’ve entered Christmas “time,” and today is only the sixth day of a 12-day feast. During some seasons, Kelly and I have chosen to exchange a gift for each of the 12 days, helping remind us of the extended season of feasting.

Since I love getting presents this makes for a good tradition. While I realize that it is better to give than receive, I find it delightful to get…lots of presents. Presents and Christmas just go together. Some of my fondest memories from childhood include sitting under the Christmas tree and stacking up all the gifts that were labeled, “To Doug.”

During my early childhood, we’ve lived up in New Jersey. Every year we’d receive several large boxes from Tennessee, and each box was filled with presents from all our relatives.

What a delight I had to tear into the boxes, unpack the gifts and stack them under the tree. During the days leading up to Christmas, I’d sit by the tree and gather the “Doug” gifts, shaking, weighing and wondering upon the contents of each pretty package.

Sometimes I think I enjoyed the presents more before I opened them. The fancy papers, the colored bows, the odd shapes, and the varying weights all were a feast for my young imagination. Augustine’s idea that true happiness is found in anticipation of the good was being proved even in my childlike world of wonder.

In a way, this may be why Christmas sometimes seems like a letdown for some children and adults. The anticipation of the event is far more delightful than the actual experience. We discover like Augustine that the good we longed for is still ahead of us and not found in the mere gifts we exchanged.

As he reflected upon our longing for the “good,” Augustine came to believe that this good must be outside of us or we wouldn’t long for it. Then he assumed it must be something greater than what our outer world could supply. Because all our earthly goods never live up to the longing we have.

As he wrestled with this unfulfilled longing, Augustine came to see this greater good as something or someone that would fulfill the “desire” within us that drives us to long. And eventually Augustine came to realize that this “good” must be God, and that true happiness was found on earth in the anticipation of God who is beyond us.

For him, true earthly happiness was found in the longing for the “beautiful vision” of God. We merely touch hints of this vision in present life and will only enjoy the complete vision in the life to come. So even in the delight of a Christmas present, Augustine might see hints of God’s wondrous love.

I like that because my delight with Christmas presents might be seen as an act of spiritual devotion. Then again, it might be my unbridled selfish desires. And oddly enough, I suppose it is really a mixture of both. And God in his grace is working and transforming me in spite of my selfish motives.

But for now, let me go back to the presents! I have a question for you. What is the most memorable present you have ever received? I asked myself this several days ago, and oddly enough, it’s not an easy question to answer. All the presents blur together in my mind. Sweaters and pants and shirts and toys and boxes and bows all jumble together in one confusing mix.

So I’m not sure I can answer the question. After a few days of consideration, I have begun to remember the Bozo riding in the Bozo car that still sits in my house to this day. Then I remembered a Fisher Price circus set and a golf ball yo-yo and a train. Oops now the memories are flooding my mind: multiple race tracks, G.I. Joe dolls, magic tricks, a chemistry set, and a Tootsie Roll machine. Now I can’t stop. On and on I could go for pages listing trinkets and toys that delighted me for seasons of my childhood.

I failed to mention that the first gift which came to mind was a broken toy: a little car with broken wheels. I hated this gift but remember it more than any other gift. My sister and I were attending a youth choir Christmas party. We exchanged gifts using numbers we drew from a hat.

When I opened my little package, I was shocked to find a used and broken toy. Sad to say, I burst into tears. “Why me Lord?” “Why in heaven would someone have given me a broken toy?” As usual, my sister came to the rescue. She quickly pooled some money with another girl, and they ran down to the bookstore to buy me a puzzle.

I appreciated her kindness but somehow always felt a tinge of guilt playing with that puzzle. Why was I so sensitive and selfish over such a small thing? The memory stills haunts me on occasion.

I still wonder, “What is the story on that broken car?” Who thought bringing a broken car as a gift was a good idea? Were they too poor to buy something? If so, maybe this little broken car was actually a treasured gift, and they were giving me something of great value.” I’ll never know the story before it came to me, but I can tell you the story after I received it. Discarded. Trashed. But not forgotten.

Every gift is not simply a gift. It is actually a story in motion. It had a story before I got it and in one way or another it becomes part of my story once I receive it. For every gift that someone bought for me over the years, there was a moment or many moments of wondering, “What would Doug want?” Or possibly, “What can I get the best deal on?”

A whole series of thoughts might have occupied someone’s mind: “What size does he wear?” “What color does he like?” “Maybe I’ll just get him a goofy toy and call it a day.” For every gift someone bought for me, a thought or series of thoughts passed through their mind about me.

Now I realize something rather odd about the gift. It is actually an extension or symbol of the relationship I enjoy with that person. They took a few minutes to think about me and to find a gift for me because I am in relationship with them (even if that relationship consists in simply feeling some obligation to buy something).

Now this might seem odd, but I come to realize that gifts are but symbols for persons in my life. The wonder of gifts might not only point to some deep longing for the God, they might also point to the wonder of human relationships.

Looking around me at all the people in my life, I realize that I am surrounded by all shapes and sizes of gifts. Some talkative. Some quiet. Some big. Some tiny. Some friendly. Some a bit grumpy. And yet, in the mystery of God’s grace all these people are gifts of love and relationship God has granted me in this life: hints of His divine and all-surpassing love.

I can admire the packages. Or I can open up the gifts. How? I listen, enjoy, appreciate the wonder of the people around me. I can realize that each of these people have a story that extends far beyond me. But in some mysterious way I am part of their story and they are part of my story.

Every person in my life will change me and I will change them. I can celebrate them and thank God for them, or I can act like I got a bunch of broken toys. And ask, “Why me?”

I hope I’ve learned that even broken toys have mystery and wonder and stories that may unfold surprising hints of God’s goodness and grace.

As I celebrate the 12 days of Christmas this year, I am opening up gifts. Not physical boxes, but the amazing wonder of people in my life. From family and friends to the mystery of the stranger in the story, I am surrounded by gifts of wonder and glory. May I have eyes to see this wonder and sense the stirrings of a love from deep heaven that binds us together in grace.

Doug Floyd

“From a human perspective, when you compare [God] to the other gods of the other religions in the world, you have to say our God is really sort of odd. He uses the most common of people, people that aren’t any different from any of us here; he comes in the most common of ways, when by his Spirit an anonymous young woman is found to be with child. And the strangest thing is that he comes at all—he’s not the Above-Us-God, too holy to come down. This God’s love is so immense that he wants to come down. And he has proven his love by the fact that he did come down and touch our ground.”
James R. Van Tholen, Where All Hope Lies (cited from ChristianityToday.com)

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Winter.
Beautiful destruction blankets the old world
in white death.
Baptism.
All the world is buried beneath
the terrible whiteness of God’s love.
Silence.
Laughter, tears and non-stop chatter cease
in the bleak mid-winter night.
Stillness.
One cry breaks the chilling
night of bone cold death.
Baby.
Jesus tumbles down in dead of winter,
coloring this white world with heaven’s light.
Spring.
Love’s fire melts sin’s icy sting,
Raising a new world into vibrant life.

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I still remember the shock I first experienced when Ebenezer Scrooge (in the guise of Mr. Magoo) saw his name on the tombstone. In some strange way, this odd slightly scary image is one of my earliest impressions of Christmas. And I think of it fondly.

Mr. Magoo introduced me to the wonder of Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol,” and for that I was always be grateful. I can barely imagine Christmas without the wonder of this marvelous story.

Over the years, I’ve watched almost every version of “A Christmas Carol.” And yet, every year I find another one I haven’t seen. This year I had the pleasure of discovering a haunting 1935 version with Seymour Hicks. Drawing elements from German expressionism, this version captures the terrible wonder of this story.

I believe the master storyteller Charles Dickens in all his flaws was graced by God to bless the world with his rich legacy of penetrating stories. (Here is a little essay I wrote on Charles Dickens in the early 90s.)

Dickens saw the suffering of the world first-hand. As a child, his family went to the poor, but Dickens was left behind to fend for himself. For several months, he drifted through a nightmare of existence.

His nightmares became the stories I’ve loved so deeply. Dickens doesn’t hesitate to portray the gritty ugliness of our world and the people in our world. And yet, his loves those people. He loves Scrooge. So he can’t leave him in his dis-grace.

A few friendly ghosts will rescue the old man in his misery. During of night of visions, Scrooge encounters the ugliness of his soul, his need for redemption, and the heart of Christmas joy. While “A Christmas Carol” does not explicitly detail the story of Christ, the image is never far from the surface. Listen to Dickens own words as he talks about his image of Christmas:

What images do I associate with the Christmas music as I see them set forth on the Christmas tree? Known before all others, keeping far apart from all other, they gather round my bed. An angel, speaking to a group of shepherds in a field; some travelers, with eyes uplifted, following a star; a baby in a manger; a child in a spacious temple, talking with grave men; a solemn figure, with a mild and beautiful face, raising a dead girl by the hand; again, near a city gate, calling back the son of a widow, on his bier, to life; a crowd of people looking through the opened roof of a chamber where he sits, and letting down a sick person on a bed, with ropes; the same, in a tempest, walking on the water to a ship again; again, on a sea-shore, teaching a great multitude; again, with a child upon his knee, and other children round; again, restoring sight to the sick, strength to the lame, knowledge to the ignorant; again, dying upon a Cross, watched by armed soldiers, a thick darkness coming on, the earth beginning to shake, and only one voice hear, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Dickens saw the “writing on the tree” so to speak. He saw what Christmas envisioned. The birth, life and death of the Savior for all humanity. The only hope in a world darkened by human violence and human oppression.

Alongside Dickens, we learn to love Scrooge as we witness a man wounded and damaged in this world of sin. Scrooge, the grumpy bah-humbug truly becomes the “founder of the feast” that Bob Cratchitt has called him. In his redemption, Scrooge comes to exemplify the very spirit of Christmas present. Joy and generosity overflow from the man who once was a pit of stinginess.

In the 1970 musical version starring Albert Finney, Scrooge is so deeply transformed that he tears up his debt book (bringing up images of Zacchaeus after he encounters Jesus). Then Scrooge dons a Santa outfit and proceeds to pour out gifts and laughter and joy upon everyone in his presence. Wherever Scrooge goes, he brings the celebration with him.

That spirit of abundance, of generosity, of overwhelming joy inspires me to bring the joy, and not to wait for someone or something else to make me happy. I’ve tasted the secret of joy in the goodness of God’s grace, and I want to spread it to all people I meet. Just as Cratchitt loved the unlovable Scrooge, I want to love and call for the best from the people around me.

When Dickens wrote “A Christmas Carol,” the London Times hadn’t mentioned Christmas for over 30 years. But Dickens saw the possibility of what could be, and he wrote about it. Chesterton rightly calls Dickens the “founder of the feast” because he fell in love with the despairing people around him and wrote a vision of their transformation.

Sounds a bit like the wonder of a God who loved and loves his enemies. And his relentless love transforms our dark and hateful souls into something wondrous. Oh Lord, grant me eyes to see your love for the people around me. Just as my haunting memory of the Mr. Magoo Scrooge facing a tombstone, I know we all face a tombstone.

We have a brief sojourn before ascending. Let us love deeply and widely and unreservedly. Let us pray and hope and expect the grace of God to penetrate all the Scrooges in our world.

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