My wife and I were talking about signs yesterday. Not road signs, but signs from God. The kind of signs that are all over the place in the Christmas story -
The sign of the virgin conceiving, that Ahaz refused to ask for, that God gave him anyway.
The sign of the angel appearing to Zechariah, who refused to believe his prophecy and was struck dumb until his son John was born.
The sign of the angel appearing to Joseph in a dream, who then got up from his dream and did what the angel told him to do.
The sign of the angel appearing to Mary, who rejoiced in faithful obedience to be the mother of our Lord.
The sign of the angels appearing to the shepherds, who got up from their fields and went to Bethlehem to see the Babe in the Manger.
We observed that there seem to be a lot of Christians looking for God to tell them or show them what His will is for them in life. If only God would give them a sign, they think, then they would know what He has in mind for them and they would follow Him obediently. But would they? Would we?
We eventually decided that it would depend on the person, on the day, on the sign, maybe on other factors. For instance, would you embrace a sign from God if it came at a time when you were bored, perhaps like the shepherds, and saw no big life change in taking a little side trip to follow the sign?
Would you embrace a sign from God if it seemed to run in a direction you were already inclined to go, like faithful Mary?
Would you embrace a sign from God if it seemed to run in an opposite direction, like Joseph who was considering that the right thing to do would be to divorce Mary? The angel told him that the will of God was that Joseph should marry her, and we're told Joseph did so - would you do that willingly, or under protest?
Would you embrace a sign from God if it came at a time of settled comfort, like Zechariah and Elizabeth, looking forward to life's evening of retirement and quiet ease only to find out that God had in store for them diapers and bottles and crying and running and skinned knees and climbing trees and school programs and . . . . .?
Would you protest like Ahaz, and end up with a sign from God whether you want it or not?
I'd like to think that if God gave me a sign or spoke to me directly, that I'd respond to Him in faith and eagerness, like Mary did or the shepherds. But I doubt it.
How about you?
Time magazine decided that 2011 was the year of the protester. From the protests of the "Arab Spring" to the "Occupy [insert destination here]" movement, it seems that this has been the year for long-suffering people to rise up and cast off their oppressors, whether those oppressors were bloody tyrants or crushing mortgages. In all cases, the motivation has been "we've had enough!"
And now Christmas is upon us. Peel away the decorations, the shopping, the carols, the cuteness, the lights. At its heart, Christmas is the story of the Great Protester declaring "I've had enough!"
"I've had enough!" of the destruction that the Tyrant Satan has caused in My Kingdom - "I Protest!"
"I've had enough!" of the infection of sin that has sickened everything I ever made - "I Protest!"
"I've had enough!" of the fear that covers all My precious human beings - fear of one another, fear of Me, fear of almost everything - "I Protest!"
And so Jesus came to Occupy Bethlehem. Not a huge movement - not a big crowd. Just a tiny baby in an out-of-the-way stable. Just His parents, just a few shepherds and sheep, just a few Wise Men. And no riots, no chants, no sit-ins or homemade signs. No media coverage, no confrontations, no rebellions. Just Love.
Because Love alone is the weapon of the Great Protestor. Love alone overcomes the Tyrant, the infection, the fear. The Love of God alone, incarnate in the Baby Jesus, that brings freedom and joy and peace.
Look at this Baby Jesus, and see the Great Protestor come in love. Embrace Him, and let Him tear away the Tyrant, heal the infection, calm the fear that binds you and me and everyone. Love Him, and be free.
Dear MJ,
I saw a note about you today on a police log. Your situation is an echo of a great sadness to me, and I cry for you and your family. I can only imagine what kind of pain you must be going through.
I also saw "comments" that others had left on that same police log, and I know that some of those "comments" must have only added to your griefs and added to your hurt.
My sister in Christ, I want you to know that you are my precious sister in Jesus, and I know that He is especially fond of you. I know that He loves you with a love that goes beyond anything that we can imagine. I know that He became the Baby in Bethlehem, the Crucified, and the Risen One to give you His love. I remind you of this not to say that you owe Him. I remind you of this to say that He knows your every pain and sorrow, that He cries for you and pours out His love for you, and that He is even now longing for you to come home to Him and let Him wrap His arms of love around you.
And I am reminding you of this so that I can tell you that you have that home at our church; that whenever you come, you are welcome; that whenever you show up you will be embraced, received, loved, forgiven - with no questions asked and no explanations required. When you're ready to come home and eat with us the Supper that Jesus gives us all, the Supper of His love, just come. I'm waiting - so are we all.
My dad is in the hospital this week for tests. He seems to be doing OK, and is ready to be released. However, he's still kind of weak, so when I got there today the social worker was talking to him and my mom about a short-term care facility placement for physical therapy. That's probably a good idea, as the physical and occupational therapists may be able to make suggestions to them about modifications to make at home, to make life a little easier for everyone.
This is the first time I've been confronted with the idea of my dad going into a nursing home, even for a brief time for physical therapy. I knew it was a good plan for him, but the idea spoken aloud sucked all the air right out of the room. I felt like my stomach just plunged right to the floor. I asked to duck out of the room for a few minutes, and went down the hall to the lounge area near the elevators. For several minutes I didn't know what to think, to say or to do. I took out my cell phone, trying to decide who to call, trying to decide whether to call anyone at all, in reality just trying to keep the world from spinning. Just as I thought I might break down completely, who should come strolling past me but a dear friend and fellow pastor John, on his way to visit one of his parishioners.
He sat down next to me, I cried, we talked, and he prayed with me. Then we went in to see Dad and Carolyn again, he left after a few minutes to see his member, and I was fine.
All John was planning to do was visit his member. He never thought he'd find me sitting in the hospital hallway. He never thought I'd be needing someone to sit with me for a bit, to pray the prayer I didn't know how to pray, to listen to me and watch me cry a little. I didn't know that I was praying, although I guess I was. I didn't have John in mind, when I was wondering who I could talk to. But God did. He sent John in answer to the prayer I didn't know I was praying, to pray for me and with me, and to give me the comfort of the Father that I needed just then.
I can't thank you enough, Father. Please keep hearing my prayers and sending Your answers.
The other day as I was in downtown Cleveland I overheard one well-dressed gentlemen ask two others, "Is that the Cleveland River?" One of the others said, "No, the Cuyahoga." The first one laughed and said, "Oh, that's the one that caught fire a while back, isn't it?" They went on from there to talk about the toxicity of various rivers they had known.
Actually, it was in 1969 that the Cuyahoga River caught fire - over forty years ago. Since then it's been cleaned up, a center of commerce and recreation in downtown Cleveland, and there's even a National Park upstream. It's a beautiful river now.
And it's a shame that when people from outside the Cleveland area hear the name "Cuyahoga River" they automatically think of its darker days, the lowest point in its history. They can't seem to move past that and say, "Wow, what a beautiful river!" They're so focused on the past, what it used to be.
But that's how we all are, I think. We're so focused on what used to be that we don't look at the present. I think particularly of some of the Bible characters, whom we name by their original infirmities - "the Gadarene demoniac," "the man born blind," "the ten lepers," and others - as if nothing significant happened to them since they first appear in the Gospel stories. Yet Jesus met them in their distresses and healed them, every one, so now those labels no longer apply. Now they are "the Gadarene whom Jesus exorcised," "the man to whom Jesus gave his sight," "the ten men whom Jesus cleansed" and so on. They praised Him for what He had done, and their lives were changed forever.
Except in the minds of the people around them, and in ours. The people around them still wanted them to be a demoniac, a blind man, and lepers, and to deal with them in the old ways. How often do we want to deal with the forgiven, the restored, and the healed as they used to be? How often do we still hold their sin against them, and our resentments and fears and disgusts, too?
Yet what does Jesus now hold against them? Only the scars in His hands, I think, as He embraces them with His love. He can no longer see what they were, only what they have become - beautiful and precious to Him. If we don't see that beauty that He gives them, but only their sin from long ago; if we see only the demoniac, the blind man, the leper, or the river that caught fire, we're just as ignorant of the love of Jesus as the well-dressed stranger who only knows one bit of the story.
