Christmas Thoughts

I started writing the below before Christmas, but didn't get a chance to go through and edit it until today, So, the time setting is a little off, but, at the same time, it's technically only the third day of Christmas, so I suppose it can still be accurate. If you don't want to look at it that way, that's fine – I leave it to you, then, to adjust the time references accordingly in your head.

---

Christmas is, to my eyes, a somewhat vexing holiday. In our popular culture, there's a “holiday spirit” we're all supposed to be in, and which I can never seem to catch. It's perhaps best exemplified by the many TV and movie scenes involving dancing elves. Unfortunately, I'm too tall to be an elf. So, as I look at the upcoming holiday, and enjoy the decorations and the gift-getting and especially the music, there's a feeling that it's incomplete. And, in fact, it is.

At this point, one expects to see the nativity brought up. And this is rightly so, for the Christ-child is the reason this whole celebration happens. But what's come to me, perhaps just as a flaw in my own understanding, or perhaps as a flaw in our larger culture, is that the celebration has left behind the reason behind it; the birth, like the menorah, the flipping of a calendar, and the harvest, is just another excuse to party, a fate unworthy of any of them. How do we solve this? By stepping aside from the party and reconsidering the bedlam that was Bethlehem, and in that the reverence due the mystery of God Incarnate.

God, from the beginning of time, has brought light to darkness. In Genesis, darkness covered the earth, and the Spirit hovered over the waters. And the first thing God did in that situation was transform it by creating light. Later, in Isaiah 9, the prophet described an oppressive darkness covering the land of Israel, due to its sin and punishment, and foretells the Child as a sun breaking over the horizon at last. John, in his gospel, wrote of Christ as the light that gives life to all men, coming into the world, and in Revelation depicted the eternal Jerusalem as a place not needing sun or moon, because the Lamb Himself will be its light.

No matter what the carols say, we make a mistake if we believe nights are silent and peaceful. There can be good in the night, as with the Spirit that first day of Creation, but the more common nighttime of the punished Israelites and lost mankind is characterized by chaos, fear, hardship, and oppression. This was the case even on that first Christmas night: Mary and Joseph didn't find the stable picturesque or pleasant, except that it was a place outside the craziness of a village absolutely filled to capacity; the birth may have been miraculous, but I doubt Mary found it enjoyable; and I'd be willing to bet, again in the face of carols, that the Holy Infant did plenty of crying. But the night, and the babe, were all the more holy for that. For normal things to be accompanied by the normal, or exceptional things by the exceptional, is a boring truism; the awe-inspiring other-ness and holiness of the night was that the exceptional came in the midst and guise of the normal, and transformed it.

The Christ Child was a gift, but He was also a bit of a Trojan Horse. Wrapped incomprehensibly in that package of flesh was the fullness of the infinite God, a God Who, out of unspeakable love, had, on the one hand, humbled Himself to an astonishing level, yet, in so doing, had made Himself finally accessible to all. The effect of God's glory is to kill those who look on it, because it's too much for us to handle, yet, in the incarnation, as John writes, “we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14) Well might angels sing, stars shine rightly, shepherds come and bow down, and magi leave their studies to seek Him, for, by His own choice, “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” (John 1:14)

This Christmas, if your joy stems from dancing elves, boughs of holly, or even songs in the air, let me suggest you return to where it all started, with a God who, to change the world He loved, gave it neither revolution nor peace, neither a thunderclap from the heavens nor the final outworking of earthly evil, but instead gave the one gift no one could have dared to imagine and that the theologians still don't understand: Himself, laying on a pile of hay, so that one day He could hang upon a cross, and that today we could be adopted into His family and transformed into His likeness.

Merry Christmas!

Important Baking Tip

On a completely different topic, tonight I was baking. Now, in baking, there is a very important step, called "licking the beater". Someone might tell you that this step is extraneous, but I have been reminded tonight why this isn't the case. You see, I had put some sugar in a smaller plastic container to take it to cook elsewhere one day (I think for a Bible study) and hadn't combined it back into the larger sugar container, so it seemed like a good plan to use it up. And, indeed, it would have been a good plan, except that it wasn't sugar - it was salt. An extra quarter-cup of salt in a recipe changes the taste ever-so-slightly. Had I not been forced to lick the beater out of respect for tradition, I wouldn't have found out until people ate it. Thankfully, disaster was averted.

The lesson: lick the beater - it could save your dessert!

The Children of the Prophets

So, my grand thoughts on this blog are still, as many grand things, up in the air. Perhaps the upcoming quiet weekend will provide time for contemplation. In the meantime, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I offer this thought.

---

In the Old Testament, names are very significant things. In even a casual reading, it seems like the people named everything. Sometimes they got so into it they gave the same thing two names, as in Exodus 17:7. And they weren't random names – they were names with meaning, meant as a way to remember and proclaim an important message or event. This emphasis on naming even applied to people. Sometimes, as in Genesis 29 and 30, the names are human-given, with typical human motives. Other times, as in Isaiah 7:14, the name is God-given, and comes with a message (this is also the case with John the Baptist and Jesus in the New Testament).

This thinking relates back to the poor prophet who sparked this thought, Hosea. If you're not familiar with him, he's got his own short book in the Old Testament. The book's theme is a metaphor of marriage and adultery for the relationship between God and Israel. And, to make it clear, God gave them an object lesson in poor Hosea's family life. That part of the story isn't the point here, although if you're not familiar with it you might want to take a look. Rather, the part of interest is in chapter 1, from verse 3 to verse 9.

In the passage, after Hosea has gone and found his God-ordained wife (those who believe God has one perfect person out there for you, beware!), they start having children. As parts of his prophecy, God gives Hosea the name each child should have. Surprisingly, they aren't found in most baby name books. The first child, a son, was named Jezreel, which means “God scatters”, and is also the name of a town where the king of Israel was assassinated in a bid for power (see 2 Kings 9). The second, a daughter, was named Lo-Ruhamah, “not loved”. And the third, another son, was dubbed Lo-Ammi, “not my people”.

The names were meant as a message to Israel, but, at the same time, it was three real people who got stuck with them - they of all people had good cause for low self-esteem! And that's usually, in fact, where our thinking about them stops, or at least mine had. But there is another possibility. You see, giving a name creates the opportunity for proclamation, but it doesn't actually do the proclaiming. The fact that some kid has a silly name doesn't directly imply that everyone knows it, or, more importantly, what it means. Rather, it is up to those who know to explain it.

Which means, I think, that Hosea's children were really offered a choice, as opposed to being left to suffer. They certainly had the option, and perhaps even the right, to become victims, innocent people stuck with a hardship in God's bigger plan. But, they also had the option to embrace the message, to view it as an invitation to join their father's mission to their countrymen, warning them of what God was saying through what they had been given.

The book doesn't really say what happened to the children, so it's left to our imagination. But I wonder if all of us may be given similar choices. It's easy to take the good things we're given and be thankful for them and use them with gusto in the service of the Kingdom. But what do we do with the bad things, the troublesome things, the tough things? We have the option of becoming victims, which is something our culture today is really good at. Or, we have the option of being thankful and using them as gifts in the service of the Kingdom. Which one will you do?

John 11 - The Easy Impotence of Earthly Expectations

Most people are familiar with the phrase “the soft bigotry of low expectations,” often used in discussions of education politics. Its origins are uncertain, from what I can tell, but the concept isn't: if you don't expect a person to perform well, for whatever reason, you can be reasonably sure that they will not, in fact, perform well. Thus, the initial prophecy of failure fulfills itself, and the apparent solution is to set a higher level of expectation. Awhile ago now, as I was getting ready to lead a Bible study, it struck me that we can do a very similar thing with God. The passage for that study, which I'd like to refer to, is a familiar one: John 11, the story of the death and resurrection of Lazarus and the repercussions thereof.

To recap it, Jesus had a friend named Lazarus, who lived in a village near Jerusalem called Bethany. At the time of this story, Jesus was on the other side of the Jordan River, avoiding a premature execution at the hands of the rather unhappy religious establishment. While there, He received word that Lazarus was gravely ill, but despite this, to the dismay of many, Jesus remained where He was for two more days before heading to Bethany. In this interim, Lazarus died. And, thus, it was likely with a mix of sorrow, anger, and hope that Lazarus' sister Martha met and confronted Jesus on His way into town, in verses 20-22, where we'll pick the story up from.

Martha greeted Jesus by laying out the obvious, which didn't make Jesus look good: Lazarus was dead, Jesus could have prevented it, and He didn't. Then, probably realizing how that sounded, Martha hastened to add that her faith in Jesus remained firm (v. 22), even though this round hadn't worked out how she had hoped. From the text (no cheating by reading ahead!), Martha was upset but resigned to the situation; it wasn't what she wanted, but God must have had a plan, so she was going to persevere through the disappointment in faith and hope.

Jesus' answer to this honest statement was of little comfort; “Your brother will rise again” (v. 23) was quite true. The Pharisees and Sadducees fought on the point, but Jesus clearly supported the idea of the final resurrection of the dead, and so there was hope in that. In fact, in so stating, He helped her put it all in perspective. Martha, though sad and perhaps a little disappointed, accepted this, and was willing to take it and soldier on.

And, of course, this is where the story ends. Except that, of course, it doesn't, because that wasn't quite what Jesus meant.

Martha, in her grief and from her limited perspective, misunderstood what was going on and why Jesus was there. Christ hadn't come to give her a hug and help her move on. Rather, He was there to raise the dead man! Martha had a hard time understanding this, in fact not apparently getting it until Lazarus walked out of the tomb in verse 39. At that point, she discovered she'd gotten a whole lot more than she'd expected, or even thought possible!

I'm afraid that oftentimes we make the mistake of Martha, looking at the impossible situations in our lives in the light of our own human abilities, and in so doing forgetting to consider that the all-powerful God of the universe is also present. This factor, logically, yet, in the moment, shockingly, changes everything. The end of Martha's mourning was but a question away!

Jesus had a lot to say about faith, and the power available to those who will believe. The statements are bold – “If you abide in Me, and My words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you.” (John 15:7) – and come from a trustworthy source. But, even so, it's hard. That's why Jesus nowhere condemned Martha for not making an absolute leap of faith. In fact, lest we take the argument too far, it's not true that God will always give us what we ask for in faith (see, for instance, 2 Corinthians 12:7-9). Both can be the case because it's not faith that makes things happen, but the God-man in Whom that faith is placed. For Martha, this took the form of Jesus' statement: “I am the resurrection, and the life”! (v. 25) God “is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think,” (Eph. 3:20) so it is hardly untoward to be bold in asking. God requests the faith required to ask the question – He can take care of the rest.

One important note, lest this be taken wrong, is that, whichever way God's will points, He requires our obedience. Martha had no idea what was going on, and a lot of what Jesus asked her to do probably didn't make any sense. But, even so, she obeyed Him. Asking for miracles takes a lot of faith, but simple obedience requires only a small bit of it at each step. Martha wasn't in a state to ask for what she needed, and certainly couldn't see it coming, but because she obeyed, she got it anyway.

This is written as much to me as to anyone else. If God can and is willing to, in fact, “do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think”, then our practical system of world-level expectations begin to look rather pathetic and foolish. Perhaps instead, as we obey God in the issues of life, we should consider asking Him for a God-level answer. Maybe, just maybe, He'll let us “see the glory of God.” (v. 40)

Breaking News: Disaster Averted Due to Sockpuppet Post

A Sunday service was almost left incomplete this past weekend, when, due to a miscommunication, the guest speaker at a church in lovely Troy, NY failed to appear. It could have been a service without a message, but church member Nathan Allen, author of future internet sensation The Sockpuppet Post, was ready. Using archives of articles from the Post, he was able to quickly piece together a sermon and deliver it, marking his first time preaching. The topic was seeking and responding to rest, and was based on 1 Kings 19. As Mr. Allen said, "I'd always imagined my first sermon would have more ... preparation." But church members seemed to receive it well.

Mr. Allen believes readers of the Post should be encouraged by this incident to relentlessly study the Word, and to even keep notes. "You may not ever be called upon to give a sermon off the cuff, but you never know. Either way, you can't help but gain from digging into the Word."

When asked if he'd take his own advice and update the Post after 2.5 months of silence, Mr. Allen frowned, sighed, and turned to trod back into his hole. As he faded into the darkness, he could be heard muttering "soon, soon - just as soon as I get this other crazy project finished..." It is hoped, not least by the author, that he will in fact survive to post another day.

Mark 10 - Those Darn Kids!

"Children, how difficult it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God." - Mark 10:24-25


A couple weeks ago, while getting the service together for church, I was going through Mark 10 and noticed something interesting that got me thinking. The chapter has several short episodes, all pretty well-known, and I want to look at the first four of them. In the first, vv. 1-12, the Pharisees make one of their many attempts to make Jesus look foolish. The second, vv. 13-16, is when the children came to see Christ, and He had to tell the disciples to let them through. This is followed by the visit of the rich young ruler, vv. 17-22, and finally Jesus' discussion with the disciples in vv. 23-31 about general people's and their own dedication to Him.

Considered together, there are two intertwined threads in these four anecdotes. The first is thematic, and is obvious: all four are about people coming to Jesus, with different results. The second, and the one that caught my attention, is the idea of “children” in relation to the disciples. More specifically, in the second story, it's the disciples versus the children, as they tried to get the kids to leave the Master alone, while in the fourth Christ turns around and, in verse 24, refers to those same disciples as “children”. We'll consider the first, and then find that it wraps back around to the second.

Taking the stories in order, we can discern two pairs of contrasts. The first is between the Pharisees and the children: the former were allowed full access to Jesus, but the latter denied any access at all, even though it's apparent in Christ's reactions that the opposite would have been preferable. The second is between a person who has everything yet lacks, and those who have nothing and yet lack nothing. In both cases, the people who were ultimately successful had what the world would consider impassible obstacles in their way – the children, their social status, and the disciples their lack of worldly goods – while, conversely, the ones who seemed to have nothing in the way couldn't quite make it. It seems, in fact, that the children and the disciples didn't see the obstructions at all, or at least as such, while the others ran up against an invisible, impenetrable wall that caused them to miss Christ's point completely.

The previous paragraph is a conclusion in itself, one that's obvious from the text. But let's consider the disciples, who, besides Jesus, were the only ones involved in both pairs of stories. Interestingly, they switched parts between the two. In their discussion with Jesus, we see that they were committed to allowing nothing to keep them away from Him. But with the children, they bowed to social propriety and actively became obstacles to keep them from getting to Jesus. In other words, they understood the Christian life for themselves, but acted as if it didn't apply to others in the world. And here, incidentally, is where we wrap back to Jesus' rather poignant choice of identifiers for the group.

The disciples had missed the fact that the children were obeying the same motivations they were, only acting them out in accordance with their own childish natures. Since children are different from adults, it only stands to reason that their approach would be different, but their heart was the same. And that's why, in verse 15, Jesus told His disciples to be like children in approaching Him. It wasn't to imply, I think, that they weren't doing so (our usual interpretation), but to explicitly point out that this was exactly what they were doing. In other words, their fault wasn't in not following God enough – it was in denying others' authenticity in doing the same, and thus making themselves obstacles to their co-disciples.

How often do we do the same? There are obviously limits to proper seeking – if it's not seeking Christ, or otherwise contravenes the plain meaning of scripture, there's an issue there. But within those confines, there are a lot of different ways of following Christ. Just consider the number of denominations, para-church and social ministry organizations, Bible studies, theological schools, etc. there are out there, and it's awe-inspiring. What is actually important in it all? That people give it all up, “and come, follow Me.” (10:21) All the other details can be viewed as a challenge to “proper” Christianity (“proper” in whatever sense or facet you like) to be stifled and corrected, or, it would seem more correctly, as an opportunity to see and encourage our brothers and sisters in the heartfelt pursuit of their faith. All it takes (hehe - “all”) is to drop some of your own pride and evaluate yourself and the other person in the light of that goal, not your ideas about it. You may discover a fellow disciple.

What I Learned Today (kinda)

Oh, why not....

It's late, but I was encouraged recently. I commute using the local bus system, and there is a certain driver who, being human, often can come off rather harshly, generally to riders who more than ask for it (I'm not condoning it, but I'm not perfect either). Yet, I have a pretty good rapport with them, and have found that it's actually not difficult to draw out a smile. My secret? Just being kind - it's amazing what a transformation a simple greeting can bring about.

I'd consider myself smart, but Solomon beat me to it: "A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger." (Prov. 15:1) If you haven't already, try it - it's pretty cool.

What I Learned on Sunday

If you weren't already aware, Chinese New Year is this Thursday. I had always assumed that, like the western New Year, it is celebrated at midnight local time. Apparently, however, from what I gathered in talking to an international student, no matter where you are, the Chinese year starts when it's midnight in China. Although I'm guessing China has multiple time zones, so I'm not exactly sure how that works.

New Feature - What I Learned Today

Writing isn't happening a lot lately. I apologize. I have four or five posts half-done, but haven't managed to finish any of them. When I get time, this blog will be deluged, I guess. :)

In the meantime, I realize I'm learning lots of neat things lately, which should be shared. So, I'm going to attempt a semi-daily feature called "What I learned today". Some of it will be geeky, some of it not. I haven't learned anything exciting yet today, but here are two recent ones:

1. When linking to a PDF file on the web, you can specify which page should be loaded. In the href, after you put the filename (folders/filename.pdf), you add "#page=" and the page number.

2. The official difference between a calzone and a stromboli is that, while both have mozzarella cheese in them, calzones also have ricotta.

Thoughts - 2 Chronicles 33:17

I was reading in 2 Chronicles last night, and came across a fascinating little note. Chapter 33 describes the reign of King Manasseh in Judah. Manasseh is known as one of the worst kings, because he re-introduced the many forms of idolatry his father Hezekiah worked to eliminate from Hebrew life. Usually, his story is read in 2 Kings, where the story ends with God giving notice that Manasseh's sin was the last straw, and Judah would fall just as Israel had already. However, 2 Chronicles gives the other part of the story: Manasseh was taken to Babylon in chains, truly repented there, was restored, and returned to Judah to attempt to undo his apostasy. He was largely successful, but the chronicler, in verse 17, offers that he failed in one place: “Nevertheless, the people still sacrificed at the high places, but only to the Lord their God.”

Based on past history, especially before Hezekiah, this seems pretty darn good. After all, the people were worshiping the true God for once! In fact, one could potentially argue if it was a problem. After all, even Samuel, that great prophet of God, had sacrificed on high places in his time, as did other prophets (1 Samuel 9, 10). And David said, “The earth is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof” (Psalm 24:1). Further, the Law nowhere mentioned Jerusalem or the Temple as places for worship. So, as long as Jehovah was worshiped, were they not free to worship Him in their own villages, instead of much-less-convenient Jerusalem?

The Bible student will quickly realize that the preceding argument is a bit of a straw man, but it isn't hard to imagine it being offered in earnest. The problems with it, though, are many and, I find, extremely thought-provoking. As such, I thought I would share them, in the hope that they might be applied to today.

First, the high places contravened the specific word of God, notably Deuteronomy 12, 14, 26, and 31, where God said that He would choose a place for His name, and that all worship was to happen there. This is not a minor issue, and unfortunately it wasn't isolated: the more-famous story of King Josiah and the discovery of the Law in the temple, only 20 years after Manasseh's death, indicates that they were off the mark in many more areas, due to ignorance of God's commands. Of course, the Law was there for the finding and reading long before then, but they instead chose the expedient of relying on their own ideas. This is sad, not just because of the spiritual state it indicates, but because God's commands exist, not for their own sake, but to demarcate the best and safest way of doing things.

In this case, the most direct problem God's plan would have saved them from was that the high places emulated heathen religious practices. High places weren't a Hebrew invention, but a holdover from the peoples driven out of the land before. As such, they represented a visible connection with the paganism the Israelites had found to be a particularly strong temptation. It was a snare they should have been well aware of, but apparently they either didn't recognize it or thought themselves strong enough to resist it. Either way, they embraced, rather than shunned, the temptation, and history repeated itself yet again..

This temptation is even more dangerous because the high places splintered the faith community, cutting them off from one of their strongest God-given defenses. Since each village and city had its own high place, there was no need to gather into a larger body. By leaving off from that, however, they lost two important things. First, they lost the positive motivation of seeing themselves as a part of the whole. The gatherings at Jerusalem were an opportunity to understand oneself at part of the totality of the Chosen People, to be encouraged and energized by affirming the common faith and practice shared with a host of other people. It was, if you'll excuse the term, sanctified peer pressure to orthodoxy. Second, the larger community could also exert negative motivation – watching and stepping in to correct divergences from the Law. The communities, being on their own, had no such control. In short, they had placed themselves on the wrong side of the “divide and conquer” methodology - conquering by sin, well before any human invader.

Finally, and most surprisingly to me, the logic in Deuteronomy 12 shows that perhaps their greatest problem was that the high places made holiness incomprehensible. The simplest meaning of “holy” is “separate”, and there was a clear distinction made between things that could be done at home and things that had to be done in “the place the Lord your God will choose.” (vv. 5, 11, 14, 18, 26) A clear line was drawn between common life and sacred times – not that God was to be removed from everyday life (see, e.g., Deuteronomy 6:4-9), but that His fullest worship required one to move from where they were to where He was. A “high place” outside of town wasn't the equal of “going up” to the place of the transcendent God! But, further, until they were separated to a distinct place (and, consequently, time) of God, they could not understand fully what being in His presence meant: a place, in fact, not of somber hardship, but of exuberant joy.

So, in the end, what seemed, at worst, a harmless shortcut in returning to God, demonstrated and furthered the corruption of the foundations of God's people. Judah was already in decline, and heroic attempts to repair and restore it from the top came too late. Judgment was around the bend, but their reactions left open a path for that final, condemning decline.

I think there are applications to the present day, but these are left as an exercise to the reader. Preferably, via the comments. ;)