Category: Jesus

The Politics of Christmas

‘At that time, the Roman Emperor, Augustus, decreed that a census should be taken throughout the Empire…’ – Luke 2:1

The second chapter of Luke’s Gospel contains the most widely remembered account of Jesus’ birth.  Linus Van Pelt likely has something to do with its fame.  For many of us, it just doesn’t feel like Christmas until we hear the story. 

We can imagine the scene unfolding before our eyes.  There’s Mary and Joseph, racing into the ‘little town of Bethlehem,’ unable to find room at the inn – though they were more likely in a relatives’ home, just downstairs with the animals.  Still, it’s a comfy, cozy scene, as Jesus is born into the midst of domestic tranquility – though he really wasn’t.  Births are hardly tranquil events.  But never mind, there’s baby Jesus, all swaddled and warm, radiant beams emanating from his holy face – well, not really.  OK, so maybe the way we imagine Luke’s scene is off a bit, but it’s still a wonderful story – the story of the Living God, the One through whom all things were made, becoming flesh to dwell among us.  And of course, adding to the wonder is the presence of the shepherds, outcasts invited in, after first being ‘sore afraid’ and told by angels that they would find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger, complete with a heavenly chorus of ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, goodwill to men.’  Yes, that’s what Christmas is all about Charlie Brown.

What’s interesting though, apart from the little things we get wrong, is the part of the story we miss.  Over the years, we listen to sermons on what this story meant to just about everyone involved: Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds, the angels.  Then we branch out into other Nativity-related texts, bringing in the Magi, Herod, Zechariah, Elizabeth, Simeon, Anna.  We even flash ahead and talk about the ministry of John the Baptist from time to time.  But there is one character, prominent in Luke’s account, that we tend to ignore, or, at best, mention briefly without comment.

Augustus Caesar.  He’s part of the Nativity story too.  Augustus was the Emperor of the Roman Empire at the time of Jesus’ birth.  After the death of his adoptive father, Julius Caesar, there had been a power struggle, complete with civil war, throughout the empire.  Eventually Augustus emerged victorious, which brought an end to the strife and ushered in a period known as the Pax Romana, or Roman peace, though it was, in truth, the peace of the oppressor, not the oppressed.  Nonetheless, at least to the Romans, Augustus was a hero.  He was rewarded with absolute power: military, political, and imperial.  He was worshipped and adored as the ‘Son of God’ (yes, that was his title) and everyone was expected to pledge their allegiance to him.  The world moved at his word, the activity in the wake of his order for a census being a case in point.  Augustus said the word, and everyone moved to be registered. If there was one guy on earth of whom it could be said, ‘he holds all the cards,’ it was Augustus Caesar.

The original readers of Luke’s account understood all this.  The mere mention of Augustus in the opening line said it all.  But reading on, by way of contrast, we discover the son of another King.  His name was Joseph, the descendant of David.  You would not have known Joseph was descended from kings by looking at him.  It had been a while since David had been king; his heirs long removed from the throne.  Joseph was a mere craftsman, and an impoverished one at that.  He held no military, political, or imperial power.  He was neither worshipped nor adored.  The world didn’t move for him.  He was one of the ‘moved.’

As was his adopted son to be, Jesus.  Yes, Jesus and Augustus were both adopted into a royal line.  The difference was that while Augustus was adopted into the lap of luxury and power, Jesus was adopted into the lap of poverty and weakness.  The contrast between Augustus and Jesus could not have been starker.   Like I said, in the eyes of the world, Augustus held all the cards.  Jesus held none. 

Which was exactly the way God wanted it.  The way the story unfolds reveals that God arranged for the arrival of His Son (for, after all that’s who Jesus REALLY is) in a manner that might cause us to rethink what power is all about.  Luke tells the story masterfully, using words that, while tame to modern ears after decades of overuse, were, for his first readers, shocking.  The angel brought the shepherds ‘Good News of Great joy.’  Good News.  The Gospel.  In Greek, euangelion.  In the Roman world, that word had a specific meaning.  It referred to an imperial pronouncement, usually accompanied by flags and political ceremony, that an heir to the empire’s throne had been born, or that a distant battle had been won.  The Angel went on to say that someone had indeed been born, calling him both Savior and Lord.  Again, in Rome, these words had specific meaning.  Savior was a title given to – guess who?  Augustus!  He was the one who had healed the chaos of Rome and brought the empire into a golden age.  Lord, as well, was a title for the Supreme Roman ruler.  And then came the song of the heavenly host: ‘Glory to God in the Highest, and peace on earth to those on whom God’s favor rests.’ Similar choruses were sung to Augustus, who, after all, had brought ‘peace’ to the empire.  The words to one such ode were inscribed upon a government building in Asia Minor in 6 BC:

‘The most divine Caesar…we should consider equal to the Beginning of all things…for when everything was falling into disorder and tending toward dissolution, he restored it once more and gave the whole world a new aura; Caesar…the common good fortune of all…the beginning of life and vitality…all the cities unanimously adopt the birthday of the divine Caesar as the new beginning of the year…whereas providence which has regulated our whole existence…has brought our life to the climax of perfection in giving to us the emperor Augustus…who being sent to us and our descendants as Savior, has put an end to war and has set all things in order; and whereas having become god manifest, Caesar has fulfilled all the hopes of earlier times…the birthday of the god Augustus has been for the whole world the beginning of the Gospel.’ 

Get it?  To the Roman world, a world focused on military, political, and imperial power, Augustus Caesar was the Good News.  He was the Gospel.  He was Savior and Lord.  He was the one worthy of worship.  God manifest among us!  But in Luke’s story, the tale is flipped. The angels proclaim Jesus, the manger baby, to be the Good News.  Jesus is the Gospel.  Jesus is Savior and Lord.  He is the one worthy to be worshipped.  He is God manifest among us!

This makes the angel’s announcement the most politically subversive in history.  It is the proclamation that the world’s glamorization of military, political, and imperial power isn’t all it is cracked up to be.  It is the proclamation that in God’s eyes, true power is found in humility and weakness. The proclamation that, despite what the politics of Rome proclaim, God’s politics, the politics of Christmas, points to a different reality: Jesus is Lord and Caesar is not.  If you want a Savior, a bringer of peace, you must follow Jesus, not the emperor.    

Well, that’s nice.  But does it have anything to do with us?   Of course, it does. Perhaps, at this moment in history, and in this country, it has more to do with us than at any other time in recent memory.  American society is deeply divided.  Over what?  Over who gets to play Caesar.  There’s a lot that needs to happen to bridge that divide.  A lot of soul searching, deep listening, and critical thinking needs to happen, for as Jesus said, a house divided against itself cannot stand.  But whatever the rest of society chooses to do, we who call ourselves Christians especially need to take a deep breath and search our hearts.

For the great temptation, first presented to Jesus in the wilderness (see, Luke 4:1-13) and us ever since, is that we will place our hope in power games and entangle ourselves in the politics of empire.  That we will follow imperial saviors.  That we will embrace a false Augustinian gospel, which is, as Paul would put it, no gospel at all (see, Galatians 1:6-9).  For you see, we were never meant to sing songs to the empire, be it red, blue, or purple. Be it Roman or American.  Our call has been, is, and always will be, to join the chorus of the shepherds and angels and proclaim that there is only one Gospel.  One Savior. One Lord.  One who is worthy of our worship.   He is the one born and laid in a manger, who lived to die on a cross for the sins of the world, who, from the moment of his birth, was proclaimed to rule a different kind of Kingdom; to be a different kind of King.   

That’s not to say Jesus would have nothing to say about the issues of our day, or that those who follow him should stay silent in the face of evil.  That would be wrong too.  But as we discern what we should say and do we must remember that in a world filled with those who still believe that the path to glory is the way of Augustus, who strive for, and pledge allegiance to, military, political, and imperial power, there is but one choice for those who claim the title ‘Christian.’  That choice is to forsake all other allegiances and embrace the politics of Christmas, allowing its author to inform our place and position on all matters.  This is the politics that calls us to stand only where Jesus stands and say and do only what he would say and do.

To paraphrase a line from Shane Claiborne and Chris Haw’s Jesus for President, this is the politics that will cause the faithful to say to those political, military, and imperial powers that demand their fealty: ‘Enough your imperial eagles.  Enough with your donkeys and elephants.  We pledge our allegiance to the Lamb.’

This Christmas, may we all do so.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Note: in addition to the paraphrased quote from Claiborne and Haw, I want to credit their book for the inscription to Caesar, historical references to meaning of ‘Gospel,’ ‘Savior’ and ‘Lord,’ and the overall spirit of this post.

Boo Radley and the Gospel of Christmas

‘When Israel was a child, I loved him, and I called my son out of Egypt.  But the more I called to him, the farther he moved from me, offering sacrifices to the images of Baal and burning incense to idols.  I myself taught Israel how to walk, leading him along by the hand.  But he didn’t know or even care that it was I who took care of him.  I led Israel along with my ropes of kindness and love.  I lifted the yoke from his neck, and I myself stooped to feed him’ – Hosea 11:1-4 (New Living Translation)

Back in the 1970s, The Animals had a hit song that included the line, ‘I’m just a soul whose intentions are good, O Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood.’  I sometimes think it’s a line God could sing to himself.   There are some who adhere to the theology of Homer Simpson, who once prayed, ‘O smiteful One, tell me who to smite and they shall be smoten!’  God, to many, is violent, vengeful, and vindictive. 

It doesn’t help that professing Christian promote this idea.  Some time ago, a group of ‘Christian’ protestors gathered just a block from the church where I serve bearing signs that proclaimed God’s hatred for the LGBT community, feminists, liberals, and a host of others.  And while that’s an extreme example, there are others who, while seeming more respectable, nonetheless, say things that render God unapproachable.  It’s a long and inglorious tradition.  At the time of Jesus’ birth, some religious leaders peddled a God who could only be approached with extreme trepidation.  Indeed, if you were sick, poor, or beset with problems, they said, it was almost certainly your fault, and you needed to clean up your act before God would have anything to do with you.  Far from the image of God depicted by Hosea, who led his child by the hand despite his failures, these religious leaders made God out to be the bogeyman. 

You can understand how this view came to be.  Israel’s history was ripe for misinterpretation.  Prophets repeatedly called Israel to faithfulness, warning of the consequences of turning from Yahweh, and again and again, when Israel broke faith, trouble ensued.  When she did, it was easy to interpret events to mean that God had brought wrath and violence upon his people.  In fact, God did no such thing; the people, by rejecting God’s lifegiving ways, had brought wrath and violence upon themselves.  But even as Israel faced the consequences of her foolishness, God never turned from her.  Through the same prophets who issued words of warning, God also spoke words of consolation, of his longing for his people to return to him that he might, as Hosea said a bit later in his book of prophecy, ‘love them freely’ (Hosea 14:4).  Yes, even when Israel turned, God remained faithful.  His love remained unconditional.  Somehow though, the religious leaders in the days before (and after) Jesus’ birth missed that.  They felt you had to earn God’s love, and if you didn’t, it would probably be best for you to stay away.  And so, the image of a vindictive God got all the press, and the image of the God whose sole desire was to comfort his children as a mother comforts hers, was, by and large, lost. 

But God had a plan to fix that.  Michael W. Smith has a great Christmas Song, The Final Word, wherein he sings, ‘in the space of the beginning, was the living Word of light, when that word was clearly spoken all that came to be was right.  All creation had a language, words to say what must be said, all day long the heavens whispered, signing words in scarlet red.  Some had failed to understand it, so God spoke the Final Word, on a silent night in Judah’s hills, a baby’s cry was heard.’  Christmas, folks, is God’s answer to our misconceptions about him. 

At Christmas, God, who had, as the writer of Hebrews tells us, spoken previously through the prophets, now spoke through the Son, who is no one less than God with us.  God became one of us, descending from the infinite reaches of eternity into the womb of a virgin, born as a helpless infant and laid in a feeding trough.  He became first a craftsman who understood the labor of men and then the gentle, compassionate teacher who healed the sick, lifted the despondent, shared companionship with notorious sinners, and never, not once, turned anyone away, no matter who they were, where they had been, or what they had done.  In the Incarnation, in the person of Jesus, we behold the true image of God.  An image that defies the misconceptions that have survived from the first century to our own.  Dick Westley put it this way: ‘the old image of a vindictive, mean and jealous God gives way in Jesus to the God of faith who cherishes people, all people, and has made his abode with them.  Jesus presented a God who does not demand but gives; does not oppress but raises up; does not wound but heals.  A God who forgives instead of condemning and liberates instead of punishing.’ 

This was the purpose of the Incarnation.  To, as Brennan Manning put it, ‘convince us of the faithful love of God.’ 

Some years ago, I caught a glimpse of this wonderful truth while reading one of my favorite books, To Kill a Mockingbird.  Harper Lee’s story is cherished for many reasons.  It is a story of racial injustice, of a black man, Tom Robinson, on trial in the south for a crime he didn’t commit.  It’s the story of Atticus Finch, a man of integrity who fights for justice in an unjust world (forget the version from that other book!).  It’s the coming-of-age story of Atticus’ two children, Scout, his 6-year-old tomboy daughter, and her older brother Jem.  But it’s also the story of the enigmatic Arthur Radley, known to all as Boo. 

No one really knows Boo.  Scout describes his house down the street as a home ‘inhabited by an unknown entity the mere description of whom was enough to make us behave for days on end.’  In truth, this ‘malevolent phantom’ is a 33-year-old man with special needs, but no one knows that.  The stories about him are whoppers.  Jem insists he’s ‘six feet tall, judging from his tracks,’ and ‘dines on raw squirrels and any cats he can catch.’ The rumor is that he peeps through windows at night, has bloodstained hands, a jagged scar on his face, and yellow teeth.  Everyone knows to stay away from the Radley place.  No one ever climbs the steps to say ‘hey’ on a Sunday afternoon, no one dares to pick pecans from the tree in the Radley yard.  If a baseball was hit into it, ‘it was a lost ball, no questions asked.’ 

During the course of the story, Scout and Jem become curious about Boo and begin to play games designed to make ‘Boo Radley come out’ so they can get a look at him.  They don’t really get anywhere.  But along the way, strange things happen that are not in keeping with the stories they’ve heard.  Once, while playing in a tire that accidentally rolls all the way up the Radley sidewalk onto the steps, Scout hears someone laughing inside.  Another time, after running from a failed attempt to sneak up on Boo’s back porch at night, Jem got his pants caught on barbed wire and had to run home in his underwear.  The next morning, when he went back to get them, they were mended and neatly rolled up as if they expected him.  And then there were the presents.  Scout and Jem would find them in the knothole of a tree in Boo’s yard.  Two soap dolls, a boy and girl: images of themselves.  A watch and chain.  Good luck pennies.  A ball of twine.  Chewing gum.  An old spelling bee medal.  An aluminum knife.  It should have been obvious who they came from, but with all their misconceptions, Scout and Jem never suspected that Boo was their source.

The year progresses and Atticus tries in vain to defend Tom Robinson.  The racist jury convicts him, and the hearts of the children break.  Scout thoughts increasingly tend in Boo’s direction.  Then one night walking home from a school pageant, Scout and Jem are attacked by the racist Bob Ewell, who is out for revenge against Atticus for making him look like a fool at the trial.    He’s out for blood, but suddenly from out of the woods comes the unknown hero who has been listening and watching all along.  He saves the children and carries an injured Jem home.  As folks gather at the Finch’s to figure out what happened, the hero, who is of course the misunderstood Boo Radley, huddles in the corner out of sight, as if waiting for someone to invite him in.  Scout sees he’s nothing like what people have said.  She watches as a timid smile breaks across his face.  ‘Hey Boo,’ she says.  Her father makes the introduction: ‘Jean Louise [Scout’s true name], this is Mr. Arthur Radley. I believe he already knows you.’  Smiling, he whispers to Scout, ‘Will you take me home?’  Scout does, leading Boo by the hand to his front porch.  Scout turns and looks at her town, suddenly seeing what the past year must have looked like from Boo’s perspective.  And this is what she sees:

‘It was summertime, and two children scampered down the sidewalk toward a man approaching in the distance…still summertime, and the children came closer… Fall, and his children fought on the sidewalk…Fall, and the children trotted to and fro around the corner, the day’s woes and triumphs on their faces.  They stopped at an oak tree, delighted, puzzled, apprehensive.  Winter, and the children shivered on the front gate…Summer again, and he watched his children’s heart’s break.  Autumn again, and Boo’s children needed him.  One time, Atticus said you never really know a man until you stand in his shoes and walk around in them.  Just standing on the Radley porch was enough.’ 

This Christmas season, as I stand on Boo’s porch with Scout, I see what it must be like for God to be misunderstood, even feared.  Maybe you, reader, are someone who has misunderstood and feared him.  Maybe you have been taught to stay away from him just as Jem and Scout were taught to keep away from the Radley place.  Maybe you would never ordinarily dare to drop by his house on a Sunday to say ‘hey.’  If so, I want you to know something.  He isn’t who you’ve been led to believe. Get the old images out of your head.  Imagine instead, a manger.  A baby.  Can you see him?  Let me introduce you.  This is Jesus.  This is God.  I believe he already knows you.  He has watched and smiled and laughed while you have played.  He has lavished all sorts of gifts upon you.  He has hurt when you hurt.  And right now, the thing he wants more than anything, is for you to invite him in.  He isn’t angry with you.  He loves you and wants to be part of your life.  This Christmas, I pray you let him in. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

No Other Foundation

‘For no one can lay any foundation other than the one that has been laid; that foundation is Jesus Christ’ – 1 Corinthians 3:11

Last night I read the news that Jim Caviezel, the actor and professed disciple most famous for playing Jesus in The Passion of the Christ, has added his name to the Christian Hall of Shame.  Promoting an upcoming movie at a far-right conspiracy conference (what in God’s name was he even doing there?) he pushed the QAnon conspiracy theory that an international cabal (made up of rich Jews, liberal Democrats, and Hollywood elites, among others) take drugs procured through the harvesting of children’s blood.  Seriously.  You can’t make this stuff up.

My immediate thought was: not again. 

In recent years, we have seen many famous Christians fall from grace.  I won’t list the names here, first because there are tragically too many, second because what would be the point?  Many of these folks have been stars of the Christian culture I was raised to believe in, folks who had inspired me significantly in my own faith journey.  I suppose one lesson I might glean from that is that God can use anyone, and often works through broken vessels to advance his purposes.[1]  But right now, what I feel for the most part is embarrassment.  Embarrassment that, once again, in icon from Christian culture whom I have pointed to time and again as an example of faith has proven to be a first-class moron. 

Actually, I feel more than just embarrassment.  To tell the truth, moments like these shake my faith a little.  It would be surprising if they didn’t.  Like I said, many of these fallen Christians have been part of my own faith journey.  Their example has propelled me along at crucial moments.  If they are frauds (or worse) what does that say about my faith? Is that fraudulent too?  

Before I shock some of you too much, let me assure you that my faith is not fraudulent.  But the fact that such a thought would enter my head even for a moment, even in jest, concerns me.  It causes me to wonder if others might think it too, and not just for a moment.  Let’s face it, each of these fallen Christian celebrities, not to mention their aggregate influence, has done considerable damage to the faith of many believers.  In some cases, the damage may last a lifetime.

And that, reader, is something to write about.

That the fall of Christian celebrities can damage a person’s faith, reveals the folly of ‘Christian celebrity.’  Throughout Christian history, there have been notable followers of Jesus, men and women who, through their ‘long obedience in the same direction,’ to use Eugene Peterson’s phrase, have demonstrated what the life of discipleship looks like.  Such men and women deserve to be read about, studied, and respected as examples to emulate.  As Paul once said, ‘imitate me, as I imitate Christ’ (1 Corinthians 11:1).  But today, and for some time, we have raised up models for emulation who have not, at least not for a long time in the same direction, modeled Christlikeness.  Rather, we have made idols of those who, say, star in a movie, or build a large following using principles drawn more from the world of business than the Bible, or have nice hair, or a silver tongue, or look good in a pair of skinny jeans.  Charisma, biblically speaking, refers to a person having a gift of the Spirit; today it means having the right look, the right words, and the ability to make people (supposedly spiritually) swoon.  These are not the Christian saints of old.  These are Christian Celebrities.  And there is a ginormous difference between a saint and a celebrity. 

But more to the point, Paul’s words about imitation remind us that even as we read and study those who have exhibited lifelong faithfulness and Christlikeness, we really shouldn’t imitate them.  The only sense in which we should is to the extent that they imitated Christ.  He, and he alone, is the one we have been called to follow.  He, and he alone, is the one we are called to imitate.[2]  We cannot build our faith on the cult of Christian celebrity, or even Christian sainthood, for there is no other foundation than the one that has already been laid, and that foundation is Jesus Christ (1 Corinthians 3:11).

I was hurt (that’s not too strong a word) last night when I read about Jim Caviezel.  I suspect that many others will be too.  As they (you?) have been, time and again, as the idols of Christian celebrity have fallen like so many poorly stacked dominoes.  

And so, if your faith has been shaken, let me urge you to take this opportunity to re-center your faith where it belongs.  We should not believe because Christian celebrities inspire us.  We should believe because Jesus does. 

As I thought of these things this morning, I coincidentally (not!) heard the stirring words The Good Confession by Andrew Peterson, words that remind me why I believe:

All I know is that I was blind
But now I see that
Though I kick and scream,
Love is leading me.

And every step of the way
His grace is making me
With every breath I breathe
He is saving me.

And I believe.

Yes.  That’s why I believe.  Jesus is my foundation.  There is no other.  No not one. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] For this I am thankful, being a broken vessel myself. 

[2] By the way, on more than one occasion, Jesus explicitly rejected the chance to be a celebrity (see, Matthew 4:5-7; John 6:14-15).

Who are these gods?

A Poem for Holy Week inspired by Isaiah 46

Who are these gods?

Who neither move nor speak,

And yet they do.

Hoisted high by men,

Lugged on carts of wood and iron.

Bel, Nebo,

Plutus, Mars,

Aphrodite,

Narcissus, Phobos,

Bacchus, hundreds more –

These we fashion, with steel,

Celluloid, nightmares, selfishness.

We heed the voices of our creation,

And follow, though we carry them.

Encumbrances all.  So heavy!

The gods crash to earth, as we

Fall beneath.  Crushed.  Ruined.

These gods we could not carry,

But they –

Carried us into captivity. 

Who is this God?

Who moves and speaks,

All on His own.

Hoisted high by men,

Nailed to a cross of wood with iron.

Bel, Nebo,

Plutus, Mars,

Aphrodite,

Narcissus, Phobos,

Bacchus, hundreds more –

These are unmade, with love,

Compassion, dreams, sacrifice.

We heed the voice of our Creator,

And follow, as He carries us.

Encumbrances gone.  So buoyant!

The gods crash to earth, as we

Are lifted.  Raised.  Renewed.

Those gods we could not carry,

But He –

Carried us into eternity. 

Carry the Fire

‘Sin will be rampant everywhere, and the love of many will grow cold’ – Jesus, Matthew 24:12 (NLT)

Cormac McCarty’s The Road is as darkly dystopian a novel as you will find.  It tells the story of a man and his son struggling to survive in a post-apocalyptic world that is literally cold and growing colder.  It is a world with few survivors attempting to escape cannibalistic bands of men.  If this sounds awful, it is, but the story is nonetheless touching and beautiful.  Hope abounds, as father and son hold on to one another, loving each other deeply from the heart, learning together what it means to live with faith.  Throughout the novel, the father encourages his son with a simple phrase: carry the fire.  The world around them is dark and hopeless, but they carry within them a spark of life they dare not, will not, allow the world to quench.  This is how to survive in a cold world that is growing colder: you ‘carry the fire.’ 

I’ve been meditating the past several weeks on a familiar passage from Paul’s second letter to his son in the faith Timothy.  It goes like this:

‘For a time is coming when people will no longer listen to sound and wholesome teaching. They will follow their own desires and will look for teachers who will tell them whatever their itching ears want to hear. They will reject the truth and chase after myths.  But you should keep a clear mind in every situation. Don’t be afraid of suffering for the Lord. Work at telling others the Good News, and fully carry out the ministry God has given you’ – 2 Timothy 4:3-5. 

I’ve known those words for as long as I can remember.  But they have never felt more apt than they do now.  We live in a time when facts do not matter.  People are following the darkest inclinations of their hearts and accepting as true any cockamamie theory that justifies their expression.  They are indeed rejecting truth and embracing strange myths (e.g., Q Anon, Pizza gate, The Steal).  Elected leaders – and religious leaders – who consciously know better go along with such insanity, believing that they can use said dark expressions to forge political coalitions to remain in, and expand upon, their positions of power.  Sin has been part of the world since the Fall, but ours is a time of descending shadow.  We face the sort of days Jesus warned about.  Sin is rampant everywhere, and the love of many is growing colder by the minute. 

How does one live in such a world? 

Carry the fire. 

That is Paul’s advice to Timothy, his son in the faith.  Not in so many words, but it’s what he means. 

He breaks his advice down into four main points.    

First, we must keep a clear head in every situation.  Rudyard Kipling’s famous poem, A Father’s Advice to his Son, begins, ‘if you can keep your head about you, when others are losing theirs and blaming it on you…’  That seems to sum things up well.   People around us have lost their heads.  But disciples of Jesus must not lose theirs.  We must, as the author of Hebrews puts it, keep our eyes fixed upon Jesus.  While others wander into myths, we must remain deeply rooted in the way, truth, and life of our Lord.  We must, as Rich Mullins sang years ago, continue as the children who love while the nations rage.

Second, we must not be afraid of suffering.  Too many believers have been silent in these times, fearful of the repercussions of speaking truth into the darkness.  Church leaders have feared losing their flocks, ministries, or positions.  Ordinary believers (as if there were such a thing!) fear losing friends and community standing.  Folks, if we’re fearful of such things now, what will we do when things get worse?  Paul wrote to Timothy from prison, awaiting his own death.  The very next verses in his letter tell of how he was being poured out as a drink offering for his faith.  Yet Paul was not afraid of suffering.  He knew it was part of what can happen when you live faithfully for Jesus.  Flannery O’Connor put her finger on the problem of people who don’t understand this basic truth when she wrote, ‘they think faith is a big electric blanket, when of course it is a cross.’  As believers living in a world that is cold and growing colder, we had better be prepared to pick up ours and follow Jesus.  We cannot be afraid. If the world is to find hope beyond the darkness of our times, we must do what we have been called to do. 

Third, we are to work at telling others the Good News.  Some translations put this, ‘do the work of an evangelist.’  An evangelist is one who proclaims Good News.  We who follow Jesus have the best news of all and have been empowered to share it far and wide.  The Kingdom has come.  There is another way to live.  We need not be captive to either strange myths or our darkest impulses.  People must know this. We must stand at the crossroads and live out the values of the Kingdom, pointing the world to Jesus and his way.  To paraphrase N.T. Wright, it is our call to preach hope wherever there is hopelessness, justice wherever there is injustice, peace wherever there is violence, and love wherever there is hatred.  We are to preach Jesus, incarnate, crucified, and resurrected to a world that is cold and growing colder, that it might find the warmth it needs to thrive again. 

And finally, we are to fully complete the ministry that God has given us.  This will be different for each of us.  But every Christian has a ministry.  Whatever it is, whether it is running a global ministry, pastoring a small church, caring for a handicapped child, preserving the beauty of God’s creation, loving the neighbor across the street, or any number of other wonderful things, we are to continue to bloom wherever God has planted us until we are directed to another mission field or else our race has run.  God will show us, each day, what he desires us to do.  Ours is to draw close to him, discern his will, and perform whatever task he gives.  In a world that is cold and growing colder, this may seem to not make much difference at times.  No matter.  We must be faithful to the end.  We must do what is right.  We must follow the lead of our Lord and Savior. And trust the rest to him. 

This is how we live in times such as ours.  We do not give up.  We fight the good fight.  We finish the course.  We keep the faith.  We pass on the torch of faith to those who come behind us.  Just as those who carried it faithfully in the past passed it along to us. 

The world is dark and cold my friends, and things may get darker and colder still in days to come.

Carry the fire.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

It’s Time to Abandon the Empire

‘Whenever the Spirit of God blows like a hurricane through Christian history, it is through prophets and lovers who have surrendered unconditionally to the folly of the Cross’ – Brennan Manning

It was tough living in first century Palestine, at least if you were a faithful Jew.  Herod the Great, and his sons after him, collaborated with Rome to impose Greco-Roman politics and culture upon Israel with evangelistic fervor. The way of Herod, aka the way of empire, the way of wielding power from above to impose one’s will upon those below, was having its way throughout the land. This was the world of Jesus.

In his book, The Jesus Way, Eugene Peterson points out something rather remarkable about Jesus and his time: despite the virtual omnipresence of the Roman Empire and its puppet kings, Jesus pretty much went about his business as if they didn’t exist. Only once did he briefly mention the emperor (Mark 12:17), and it was the same with the house of Herod (Luke 13:32).  He called Herod Antipas a ‘fox,’ which was just enough of an insult to let everyone know what he thought of that family’s wily political ways. Not that he was unaffected by these miscreants. He certainly was. His birth in Bethlehem was brought about by imperial edict. As a toddler he fled with his refugee family to escape Herod’s mania.  As a craftsman in Nazareth he felt the financial pinch of the empire’s oppressive taxation. As an itinerant preacher he walked among centurions and soldiers who jealously eyed him with suspicion.   And at the end of his life he was deemed a political enemy of the state and crucified under orders of the Roman Governor Pilate.  Even his grave was guarded by Roman soldiers. From birth to death, Jesus life was ramed by the politics and policies of empire. 

But he never let the empire dictate the course of his life.  He simply swam in its waters (without ‘getting wet,’ i.e., being contaminated by them) as he heeded the voice of his Father.  Never once did he seek to use the empire’s power to further his message. He never petitioned it for a redress of grievances (though the Gospels show evidence of other religious leaders doing just that). He never asked Herod to implement just laws or further the Kingdom of God on earth. It is striking that during the greatest injustice ever perpetrated, his own arrest and trial, he never once asked either Herod or Pilate for mercy.  In fact, he was silent before Herod, and largely so before Pilate.  To the latter he would only say that his Kingdom didn’t operate along the lines of power politics and violence, as Pilate’s did, and that in any event his life was in his Father’s hands, not Rome’s. In other words, even when the regents of the world stood before him and asked for his input on the subject of his own death, he pretty much ignored them. 

This is not to say he never addressed the powers of his day.  On the contrary, he challenged them at every turn. His every move in life was, in a sense, a political act; a statement in word or action that decried the way of empire and violence. But he never employed the ways and means of the empire to make his case. He never sought political power or assistance. He never enmeshed himself, even to the slightest degree, in the empire’s methods. He simply went about his Father’s business, strolling about the dominion of the empire, showing everyone another way to change the world.

There are of course many reasons why he took this approach. But most crucial is that empire simply wasn’t his Father’s way. His Fathers way was (and is) the way of the Cross, which Paul described as the wisdom of God and the power of God (1 Corinthians 1:24). Jesus knew that using the ways and means of empire to make the world a better place would be useless. Might as well try to make the sun rise in the west. The empire was the empire was the empire, and always would be. There was nothing to gain by becoming entangled with it and everything to lose. Get involved in the empire, pursue its ways, and you’ll only end up talking, looking, and smelling like the empire. You might gain at least a part of the world, but in the process lose your own soul (Mark 8:36). Much better, and ultimately far more effective, to follow the way of the Cross.

Such thoughts race through my mind today in the wake of Donald Trump’s second acquittal in the Senate, supposedly the ‘greatest deliberative body on earth.’  We all knew how it would end. And we were right. If you were hoping for another outcome you were fooling yourself. You were counting on an empire to do the right thing. But an empire is an empire is an empire. It never does the right thing. Maybe once in a blue moon it makes a move in the right direction.  Even a blind pig will occasionally find a truffle.  But in the end, the forces of empire, the power players who long to impose their will on those below them, always manage to get their way. It was empire that created the system after all, and it works exactly the way empire intends. 

I’ve spent several years now lamenting and fighting the empire, or at least the version known as Trumpism.  But after everything that’s happened, Trumpism is still alive, still menacing the nation in the wake of insurrection. I will continue to stand against it, of course, but in coming days I’m going to do better at remembering the tactics of Jesus. I’m resolving to spend less time paying attention to what the empire is doing. Sure, I will vote. I will speak out about issues that matter. I will stand against racism, seek solidarity with the vulnerable, work to preserve the beauty of God’s creation, lots of things.  I may even show up at a protest or two. But I am not going to expend the best parts of myself watching and worrying about the minutiae of what the empire is doing, thinking that by doing so I can somehow will it to do the right thing. The vote today proves what I really knew all along.  It never will.   

So, instead, I’m going to follow the way of the cross. I’m going to stroll around the dominion of empire doing my best to show everyone another way to change the world. I’m going to try to be more like my Jesus (I am well aware of how far I fall short of that standard), the one who went about his business of challenging the empire and its ways without seeming to notice it. My life will still be lived in the shadow of the beast, as his was, and in some ways shaped by the beast’s designs and machinations. But I will not waste my time worrying about those designs and machinations. I will instead seek my Fathers will and place myself in his hands. I will live by the creed of another Kingdom, not the Pilatian, Herodian, or Trumpian kingdoms of the world.   

Will doing this make a difference? I have no idea.  It really isn’t any of my concern. In the inside cover of my Bible I have taped a quote from Brother Dominique, a friend and mentor of the late Brennan Manning. It reads:

‘All that is not the love of God has no meaning for me.  I can truthfully say that I have no interest in anything but the love of God which is in Christ Jesus.  If God wants it to, my life will be useful through my word and witness.  If he wants it to, it will bear fruit through my prayers and sacrifices.  But the usefulness of my life is His concern, not mine.  It would be indecent of me to worry about that.’[1]

It’s time to get out of the shallow end of the pool and live that statement to the full.

Let the chips fall where they may. I will trust God and follow Jesus.  I will follow the way of the Cross.

As Shane Claiborne and Chris Haw say, ‘enough with the donkeys and elephants. It’s time for the Lamb.’

It’s time to abandon the empire. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] From All is Grace, by Brennan Manning.

Signposts

‘It’s all a muddle’ – Stephen Blackpool, in Charles Dickens Hard Times

How naïve we were. 

Many of us thought, or at least hoped, that after January 20th, things would return to ‘normal.’  The Q Anon conspiracy would vanish.  The Proud and Boogaloo Boys?  They’d put down their guns and take up needlepoint.  The tens of millions who drank the Trumpian Kool-Aid?  They’d all join hands with the other side and sing Kumbaya.    The 197 members of Congress who voted to overturn an election would apologize.  The ringleaders, in both Congress and the former Administration, who actively worked to incite an insurrection would be held accountable.  Trump would be convicted of impeachment charges in the Senate.  White Evangelical ‘Christians’ who had made the devils bargain, exchanging their values for power, would fall on their faces and cry out to God for forgiveness.  White Supremacists would have an epiphany.  And the cult of Donald Trump would come to an abrupt and sudden end.  

Ok, maybe we didn’t think all that would happen.  But we at least hoped that major progress would be quickly made. 

Instead, almost the exact opposite is happening.  Q Anon is thriving, within the very halls that its adherents and allies attacked a mere matter of weeks ago.  Militia groups are arming (so much for needlepoint).  Trump fans are, well, still Trump fans.  Republicans in Congress are siding with those who lied about the election (not all mind you, just 90% of them).  The ringleaders have not only not been held accountable, but it looks like they will all get off scot free.  Trump will, barring a miracle, not be convicted by the Senate.  The aforementioned white Evangelicals are doubling down on the devil’s bargain.  White supremacy is going strong.  And the cult of Trump is nursing its wounds and planning a comeback for its master ‘in some form.’

The truth is that the country is mess.  Evil lingers still.  It will be back. One of America’s two major parties is choosing the path of insane conspiracy theories, lies, hate, and authoritarian tactics. [1]  It feels as if we stand on the edge of a dark abyss, and it is only a matter of time before we are pulled in.  It seems as if we are captives to our times, and there is little we can do about it as we watch dark events unfold. 

What are people of goodwill to do?  What, most particularly, are followers of Jesus to do? 

The answer is simple.  Live.  We are to live, knowing that we are not captives to our times.  We are the keepers of a better future.  We know that no matter what happens in the coming years, in the end, Julian of Norwich will be proven correct: ‘all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.’  I have been struck as of late by the words by the late Francis Schaffer, a theologian who wrote extensively about the ongoing suffering and evil of our world, and the responsibility of the Christian who lives within it.  We are not to just resign ourselves as captives to our times, or to lay down and die in the face of the evil around us, any more than we are to join such evil.  We are to live in the midst of said evil differently, in the direction of what we know the future will be, in the direction of a world made new by the love and grace of God at the return of Jesus.  Schaffer wrote:

‘Wars will continue until the Prince of Peace comes, but we must pursue harmony now.  Hunger and poverty will remain until the Bread of Life returns, but we must still care for those in need now.  Sin will permeate this earth until the Spotless Lamb arrives, but we must preach forgiveness now.  Our actions today should be driven by our knowledge of what is to come.’ 

He is so right.  Yes, the world is a mess.  But we have been called to live as ‘citizens of heaven’ (Philippians 2:27), ‘strangers and exiles on earth’ (Hebrews 11:13) waiting for the better world that Christ will one day bring.  We are not captives of our times; we are liberated to live the in the light of the future that will be.  Even when the world around us is a total mess. 

Stephen Blackpool is one of my favorite Dickensian characters.  He is a mere ‘hand,’ a cog in a vast industrial machine, with little power or influence in a society ruled by misguided men.  ‘It’s all a muddle,’ he says, over and again, as he tries to figure things out.  He laments that there is nothing he can think of to make things better.  But at one point he grasps that carrying on in the way of the world will never work. He says: 

‘I cannot, with my little learning and my common way, tell you what will make all this better…but I can tell you what won’t.  The strong hand will never do it.  Victory and triumph will never do it.  Believing your side is unnaturally and always forever right, and the other side unnaturally always and forever wrong…will never do it till the Sun turns to ice.’[2]

Stephen is on to something.  The world is a muddle.  In our day as well as his.  Behaving like the world will never make anything better.  Power politics will never do it.  Winning at all costs, selling your values for power, will never do it.  Demonizing those you disagree with, to the point of violence, as so many do today, will never do it.  All of this is the way of empire.  The way of hate.  The way of vengeance. 

But living as children of light in a world of darkness, now that’s something.  Living as signposts that point to a better day that is to come, that might make a difference.  Living as those who believe in justice.  Living as peacemakers.  Living as truth tellers.  Living as those who love while those around us rage.  Those things just might make all the difference in the world. 

The world may be a mess, and maybe we can’t arrange all the improvements we would like.  Probably not.  But we can live as signposts pointing to coming day.  A day that, as followers of Jesus, we know is coming soon. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] I should add that even if the government stays ‘blue,’ that doesn’t rid us of evil.  Blue or Red (or yellow or purple for that matter), empires are empires.  They are inherently power seeking and corrupt (though under present circumstances, I’d prefer Blue over Red any day of the week). 

[2] Stephen speaks with a heavy accent.  With apologies to Mr. Dickens, I’ve cleaned it up to make it easier to understand.  I still love the original. 

The Voice of the True King

The following Christmas message is excerpted and adapted from my book, Royal Mistakes: Life Lessons from Some Seriously Messed Up Judean Kings.

‘The people refused to listen to Samuel’s warning.  ‘Even so, we still want a king,’ they said.  ‘We want to be like the nations around us.  Our king will judge us and lead us into battle.’  So Samuel repeated what the people had said, and the Lord replied, ‘Do as they say, and give them a king.’ – 1 Samuel 8:19-22(a)

Back in the days before Rehoboam, before Solomon, David or even Saul, Israel was one nation under one King, and that King was God.  God appointed Judges to lead and impart guidance to the people, but these men and women were not monarchs in their own right.  They were merely representatives, ambassadors if you will, of the One True King.  God was Israel’s King.  It was as simple as that. 

At least it was supposed to be.  The people, fallen and fickle as they were, tended to forget who their king was.  Whenever they did, it got them into trouble.  The Book of Judges tells of the trouble they got themselves into in those days.  The people would forget who their king was, turn their back on him, worship idols and wind up conquered by their enemies.   Then they would cry out to God for help and God would send a Judge to help them. The people would then turn back to God for a while, but before long they would forget him again, and the whole cycle would repeat itself.  You know, lather, rinse, repeat.  It was a troubling time in which to live.  The final verse of Judges sums up the problem: ‘In those days Israel had no king; all the people did whatever seemed right in their own eyes’ (Judges 21:25). 

Now you must understand, Israel did have a king.  God was the King.  Israel just had a hard time following a king they could not see.  What they lacked, they figured, was an earthly king, someone they could see, someone who would stand tall and strong and mighty at the head of a great army carrying a sword and shield, someone who would wave a flag and rally the troops, someone who would make them great like the nations that surrounded them.  True enough, God had gone before them once in a pillar of cloud by day and fire by night (See, Exodus 13:21).  But that had been a long time ago.  And truer still, God still went before them in battle through the means of the Ark of the Covenant.  But doggone it, it just wasn’t the same thing.   What they needed was a true king!

And so, on a day that would live in infamy, the people of Israel approached the man God had chosen to be the current Judge of Israel, Samuel.  ‘Look,’ they said, ‘we want you to give us a king like the ones in all the other nations’ (See, 1 Samuel 8:5).  They felt that if they only had that, all their problems (you know, the problems they had because they refused to acknowledge God as their One True King) would be solved.  All they needed was a tangible, earthly king.  One they could see.  One they could hear.  All they needed was to hear the voice of this true king, and everything would be wonderful. 

Samuel was heartbroken.  He immediately turned to God, whom Samuel at least acknowledged as King, and asked what he should do.  God told him to go ahead and grant the request. 

‘Do everything they say to you,’ the Lord replied, ‘for they are rejecting me, not you.  They don’t want me to be their king any longer…Do as they ask, but solemnly warn them about the way a king will reign over them.’ (1 Samuel 8:7-9). 

Samuel warned the people.  He told them that if they had a king like the nations, he would take their sons off to war, turn them into slaves, confiscate their property, tax them to death and otherwise make life miserable for them (sound familiar?).  ‘If you put your trust in a human king rather than God,’ Samuel told them, ‘you will live to regret it.’  (See, 1 Samuel 8:10-18). 

But the people would not be dissuaded.  ‘Yeah, yeah, we still want a king.  We want to be like the nations around us.  We want a king who will lead us into battle.  We want a king we can see and hear.’  And so Samuel checked with God again, and God again told him to go ahead and give them their ‘ideal’ king. 

The First King of Israel

Samuel did as instructed.  He found a king for Israel.  His name was Saul, and at first glance, he seemed perfect for the job.  He had the bearing of king. Tall and handsome, he stood head and shoulders above every other man in Israel (1 Samuel 9:2).  He hailed from a wealthy and influential family (1 Samuel 9:1).  He was skilled in battle.  Early in his reign, he led Israel to many victories.  But for all that, there were problems. 

For one thing he was a bit of a fraidy-cat.  On the day Samuel went to anoint him King of Israel, he hid behind a pile of luggage (1 Samuel 10:22).  And then there was his behavior during the whole David and Goliath thing.  Goliath, the Philistine champion, taunted Israel’s army for forty days, challenging them to send out the best man to fight.  That man, of course, was Saul.  But Saul never went, ultimately leaving the task of felling the giant to a shepherd boy who may have been no more than ten years old (See, 1 Samuel 17). 

Saul was also a jealous man.  As the years rolled by, and the young shepherd boy David grew to be a man, he led Israel’s armies in battle with great distinction, winning many battles over Israel’s enemies.  But as the people began to sing David’s praises, Saul became jealous (1 Samuel 18:7-9).  In fact, before long he became a paranoid, homicidal lunatic, hurling spears at David and chasing him all over the wilderness in an attempt to kill him (See, 1 Samuel 19-26).  When all was said and done, God was so disgusted with Saul that he stripped him of his kingdom.  Saul himself met with a dreadful end, falling on his own sword in battle (1 Samuel 31:4).  It turned out that Saul had not been the king Israel had been looking for.  His voice was not the voice of the True King. 

Israel’s ‘Best’ King

So Israel moved on to David, who was a much better leader.  David was no coward.  He was strong and courageous.  He was a Warrior-Poet, a man from whose heart sprang forth the beautiful songs we call the Psalms.  Best of all, he was a man after God’s own heart (1 Samuel 13:14).  That is, he cared about what God cared about (at least on his best days).  But even so, he was only human, and being human, he had problems.  His biggest problem was his weakness for the ladies.  His first six sons came from six different wives.  The most infamous of his relationships was the one he had with Bathsheba (2 Samuel 11).  Alone one day, walking about on his royal parapet, he looked down and noticed a beautiful woman taking a bath.  And he kept looking (it’s the second look that gets you in trouble).  He soon invited her to the palace, offered her a drink, and well, one thing led to another, and even though she was married, he slept with her.  Things became complicated when she announced she was pregnant (just imagine that conversation), and that her husband, Uriah, had been away at battle for some time, thus eliminating the possibility that he was the father.  What did David do?  He arranged the murder of her husband.  David was not only a peeping Tom, he was a murderer.  And this was but one of the moves by which David, the best earthly king Israel ever had, sowed the seeds of destruction for his own kingdom.  No, not even David was the king Israel needed.  Once again, his was not the voice of the True King.

Worldly Wisdom Personified

But third time’s a charm right?  After David came his son, Solomon.  Talk about a man who had what it takes to be king!  Solomon was the wisest man on earth.  As we noted in chapter one, people came from all over the world to listen to the pearls of wisdom that dropped from his lips (1 Kings 4:34).  He was an administrative genius who created the most efficient government Israel had ever seen, and a master builder to boot (See, generally, 1 Kings 4).  Moreover, he was amazingly wealthy; the Bible describes him as the richest king on earth (1 Kings 10:23).  But even he wasn’t the king Israel needed.  Because if David had a weakness for the ladies, Solomon was weaker still.  He had 700 wives and 300 concubines (1 Kings 11:3), many of whom led him into idolatry and the worship of false gods.  Yes, the wisest man who ever lived turned out to be a fool and set up the scenario that would divide his kingdom during the reign of his son Rehoboam.  Not even Solomon’s was the voice of the True King. 

After Solomon

And after Solomon?  Years of royal screw-ups. A Divided Kingdom.  War. Idolatry.  Social Injustice.  Defeat and exile.  The northern kingdom of Israel defeated, her ten tribes led away by the Assyrians, erased from the pages of history.  The southern kingdom of Judah defeated by Nebuchadnezzar, her tribes taken to Babylon for 70 years before being allowed to return under Persian rule.  Then came the Greeks, a brief period of independence, and finally Rome. Eventually Rome gave Israel a king.  His name was Herod, a brutal megalomaniac who murdered members of his own family to stay in power.  No one in Israel ever made the mistake of thinking that his was the voice of the True King. 

The dream for a king like the nations had proven to be a nightmare.

The Return of the True King

But God never gave up on his people.  He never gave up on his dream of a people who would know him, and him alone, as their True King.  A people who would be his own and show the world how he wanted people to live.  And so, throughout this sordid history of earthly kings and empires, God sent the people reminders of his dream.  Perhaps the best examples of these reminders are the ones that came from the mouth of God’s prophet Isaiah.  Isaiah spoke of tough times, but also offered hope:

‘Nevertheless, that time of darkness and despair will not go on forever…there will be a time in the future when Galilee of the Gentiles, which lies along the road that runs between Jordan and the sea, will be filled with glory.  The people who walk in darkness will see a great light.  For those who live in a land of deep darkness a light will shine.  You will enlarge the nation of Israel, and its people will rejoice.  They will rejoice before you as people rejoice at the harvest and like warriors dividing plunder.  For you will break the yoke of their slavery and lift the heavy burden from their shoulders.  You will break the oppressor’s rod, just as you did when you destroyed the army of Midian.  The boots of the warrior and the uniforms bloodstained by war will all be burned.  They will be fuel for the fire.  For a child is born to us, a son is given to us.  The government will rest on his shoulders.  And he will be called, Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.  His government and its peace will never end.  He will rule with fairness and justice from the throne of his ancestor David for all eternity.  The passionate commitment of the Lord of Heaven’s Armies will make this happen!’ (Isaiah 9:1-7). 

‘Out of the stump of David’s family will grow a shoot – yes, a new Branch bearing fruit from the old root.  And the Spirit of the Lord will rest on him – the Spirit of wisdom and understanding, the Spirit of counsel and might, the Spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord.  He will delight in obeying the Lord…He will give justice to the poor and make fair decisions for the exploited.  The earth will shake at the force of his word, and one breath from his mouth will destroy the wicked.  He will wear righteousness like a belt and truth like an undergarment.  In that day the wolf and the lamb will live together; the leopard will lie down with the baby goat.  The calf and the yearling will be safe with the lion, and a little child will lead them all…nothing will hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain, for as the waters fill the sea, so the earth will be filled with people who know the Lord.  In that day the heir to David’s throne will be a banner of salvation to all the world.  The nations will rally to him, and the land where he lives will be a glorious place’ (Isaiah 11:1-10).

 In other words, God would bring beauty out of the tragedy that occurred on the day Israel asked for a king like the nations.  The God who was Israel’s True King would reveal to them and to the world what their hearts had truly been longing for all along.  It was as if God, through Isaiah, was saying: ‘Hear O Israel!  Your True King is coming, and when he comes, when you follow him, when you hail him as your True King, then you will know peace.  Then you will know joy.  Then you will know salvation.  And this peace, this joy, this salvation, will be not just for you, but for the whole world!  It is coming Israel!  You shall one day hear the voice of your True King!’

The centuries slipped by in the wake of Isaiah’s words, and the people longed to hear that voice.  They longed for the arrival of its owner.  And for a long time, it must have seemed as if it would never happen.  But then, at the dawn of what we now call the first century, an angel named Gabriel showed up.  And he told an old man named Zechariah that the True King was coming.  And he told a young girl named Mary that she would conceive by the Holy Spirit, and that her child would be the True King.  And he told her carpenter fiancé Joseph, a descendant of David, that he should go ahead and marry her and raise the child as his own.  And in the fullness of time, the angels broke forth in glorious song outside the little town of Bethlehem, the birthplace of David, as they announced that the True King had come.  The King Israel should have wanted all along.  God himself.  God in the flesh.  God as one of us.  God as our king. 

And so it came to pass that as Mary brought forth her child into the world on that still, not so silent night, a newborn baby’s cry pierced the darkness of the Judean countryside, and Israel finally heard the voice of the True King. 

The True King’s Kingdom

The voice, of course, belonged to Jesus, whose kingdom was and is unlike anything else the world has ever seen.  Jesus never had a kingdom like Saul, David, Solomon, or any of the nincompoops we’ve studied in this book.  He never wielded a sword.  Never carried a shield.  Never waved a flag.  Never exercised power in the conventional sense.  Never had a palace.  No, Jesus’ kingdom was different.  It was a peaceful kingdom, a kingdom whose power was based on the idea of just coming alongside of people and loving them.  Even if they were enemies.  He traveled up and down the land of Israel, teaching about the Kingdom of God, showing the world his way, revealing to the world the way of the True King. 

Jesus died on a Roman cross for the sins of the world, and I suppose when that happened, it must have seemed as if once again, Israel had not found her True King.  But then came Easter, and the glorious news that Jesus had risen from the dead!  And then, forty days later, he ascended to heaven, from whence he rules and reigns now and forever, and from whence he shall one day come again to make earth and heaven one.

Until that day, his Kingdom expands.  It expands one life at a time.  It expands through those who dedicate themselves to living and loving in his name.  It expands, as through the words and deeds of his followers, the world continues to hear the voice of its True King.

And, as Isaiah said so long ago, it will never stop expanding.  The kings and kingdoms of the world will always fall.  But the Kingdom of God and the Christ will endure forever.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

A Father’s Story

This post is an excerpt from my Advent devotional, The Dawn from On High: Advent Through the Eyes of Those Who Were There. It appears as the second chapter of the book, after Mary has told the story from her perspective.

‘This is how Jesus the Messiah was born.  His mother, Mary, was engaged to be married to Joseph…’ – Matthew 1:18

Oh the joy in my heart!  I was betrothed to Mary!  Oh Mary, she could knock your socks off.  Once matters were arranged, I looked her in the eyes – oh those beautiful eyes – and told her of the home I would prepare for us.  She smiled broadly, the kind of smile that makes the sun come out on a cloudy day, and I hurried off to begin the addition to my father’s house that would one day be our bridal suite.  Such a wondrous time.  The days were filled with expectation and longing.  Just seeing Mary walk by on her way to get water from the well was enough to send my soul into the skies. 

But then one day her father came by.  He could not look me in the eye.  He brought dreadful news.  Mary was pregnant. I tried not to believe it, but there was no reason for him to lie.  After a brief conversation he left, and I fell to the floor.  I cried for hours.  I felt as if the sun would never come out again.

Finally, I rose, resolved to see her, to hear of her betrayal from her own lips.  I felt I deserved at least that from her. 

Boy did she have a story.  She claimed that an angel had appeared to her and told her that she would conceive by the Holy Spirit, and that the child she gave birth to would be none other than the Messiah who would inherit the throne of our ancestor David.  Man, I had heard some whoppers in my day, but that one took the cake.  I was no fool.  I may have been young and inexperienced, but I knew where babies came from, and it wasn’t the Holy Spirit.  So I faced the fact: Mary had betrayed me.  I was heartbroken.  So was she.  I’ll never forget the look in her eyes as she begged me to stay.  But I didn’t.  I turned on my heels and walked out the door.  Mary had always been truthful, but I just couldn’t believe a story like that.  So I walked out of her life, believing I was doing so forever. 

___

My ordeal wasn’t over, however.  There were legal details to arrange.  My options were relatively straightforward.  I could publically divorce her, thereby exposing her betrayal and bringing shame upon her and her family.  I could call for her death by stoning for having broken the contract of marriage.  Or I could quietly break off the engagement.  The first two options were things I could never have done.  Truth was that in spite of what I believed she had done I still loved her.  And so I went with option three. 

Even so, it broke my heart.  It broke over the loss of Mary and the loss of my dreams.  It broke as I thought of what Mary would endure as an unwed mother.  What would become of her?  At best, she would endure shame and humiliation.  At worst, I feared, she might end up a beggar or prostitute.  One thing was certain: our traditional community would not look kindly upon her predicament.

With such thoughts, sleep did not come easy.  I tossed and turned throughout the night until finally, in the early morning hours, in that nether world between sleep and wakefulness, I had a dream.  Or at least something like a dream.  In it I heard a voice, ‘Joseph, son of David!’  I opened my eyes, or at least imagined I did, and saw before me a being wrapped in light.  It was an angel!  I was scared to death.  But then the angel spoke again:

‘Joseph, son of David!  Listen to me.  Don’t be afraid to make Mary your wife.  The child within her was conceived by the Holy Spirit.  She will bring forth a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will be the One who will save people from their sins.  Mary did not lie.  She has told the truth.’ 

I woke with a start, soaked in sweat from head to toe.  I pondered the angel’s words.  Could they be true?  Suddenly, as if by divine inspiration, the words of the prophet Isaiah came into my mind: ‘Look!  The virgin will conceive and bring forth a child.  She will give birth to a son, and he shall be called Emanuel, God with us.’  Tears erupted from my eyes.  It was true!  Mary had not betrayed me.  She had been faithful.  And, which was more, God was on the move.  Mary’s child was the Messiah who would save us all! 

I knew what I had to do.  Four in the morning or not, I had to see Mary.  I raced to her father’s house, pounded on the door.  He greeted me with bed lines on his face, wondering if I had lost my mind.  Maybe I had.  But he let me in.  When I saw Mary, I fell to my knees.  I grabbed her around the waist, resting my head upon her belly, and thought, ‘Oh my Lord, in here rests the hope of the world.’  Mary knelt beside me and we held each other for what seemed an eternity, flooding the house with tears of joy.  When we finally looked up, Mary’s father was crying too. 

In due time, I took Mary to my home, that where I was, there she would also be.  Oh you bet there was a scandal.  People counted on their fingers.  Some laughed.  Some snickered behind our backs.  Some gave dirty looks.  Others were rude, downright hostile.  But we took it all in stride, and if anyone ever got too out of line with Mary, I gave them a talking to they did not soon forget.  But for the most part we accepted the strife, knowing that nothing good ever happens without some degree of suffering, and if this was ours to bear in God’s great plan of redemption, we were more than willing to endure it. 

___

One day, as Mary was approaching her time, a Roman soldier, a herald, arrived in Nazareth.  Caesar had decided to take a census, and everyone was required to travel to the city of their ancestors.     This meant that I, a descendant of David, had to return to Bethlehem, the city of David.  I nearly laughed out loud.  Bethlehem was the place the prophets said the Messiah would be born.  Little did Caesar know that he was setting the stage for the fulfillment of God’s promise! 

So off we went.  I on foot, Mary, nine months pregnant, on our donkey.  The eighty mile, several day trip was a rough one for one so heavy with child, but as Mary herself pointed out, who were we to argue with the ways of God?  We completed the journey in the nick of time.  We had barely touched the mezuzah on the doorpost of the house when Mary had her first contraction (oh, I know many of you think it was an inn, but that’s a misunderstanding.  Bethlehem was my hometown – I had family there).  It was I who nearly fainted.  We first thought to take Mary to the upper portion of the home, but that was a no go.  The census had brought many of my relatives home and the guest room was filled to the brim.  My family would have cleared some space, but we realized that with so many people in the house, it would be best to head down to the lower level, the place where the animals were kept, since there would be more privacy (we folks in the first century weren’t as squeamish as you are today about animals). 

It was a long night.  Mary’s labor was hard.  As I said, nothing good ever happens in the world without some degree of suffering.  But eventually the glorious moment arrived, and Mary’s son, God’s son, was born.  It was beautiful and miraculous, but at the same time unremarkable, like any other birth.  The midwife cleaned him up, and while she tended to Mary, she handed him to me. 

It was love at first sight.

___

There is much more I could tell.  Of shepherds and angels.  Of the day we took Jesus to the Temple and met Simeon and Anna.  I could tell of how Simeon, to whom God had promised he would not die until he saw the Messiah, took Jesus in his arms and declared that he had, and then handed him back to Mary.  I remember his words as he did so, ‘this child is destined to cause the rise and fall of many in Israel.  He will be opposed.’  Oh how his face darkened with those words, and darkened deeper still as with furrowed brow and sad eyes he told my wife that a sword would pierce her heart as well.  I could tell you of how we later received a visit from Magi from the east bearing gifts, and of how an angel again warned me that King Herod was trying to kill Jesus.  I could tell of our consequent flight to Egypt, of how we lived there as refugees for a time, and of how, after an angel told us it was safe to return home, we learned what had happened in our absence.  In a mad attempt to kill our son, Herod had killed all the children under two years old in and around Bethlehem.  Oh how Simeon’s words resounded in my mind as I wondered what such a thing might mean for the future of my son? 

It has been a few years now.  We live in Nazareth.  Jesus is a toddler.  Our lives have been, for the most part, uneventful.  But still, on some nights, after we have tucked Jesus in and helped him say his prayers, I stand over him and wonder: what did Simeon mean?  I reflect upon how Jesus came into the world, of Mary’s difficult labor, and of how nothing good happens in the world without some degree of suffering.  And I reflect upon the fact that Jesus came to do the best thing of all: to save the world.  What pain and suffering must await him?  I have seen what a maniac like Herod can do.  What will others do when Jesus begins to fulfill his destiny?

My friends and neighbors believe that the Messiah will be a triumphant warrior.  But I have heard the town Rabbi read the sacred words, of how the Messiah will be pierced for our transgressions, crushed for our sins.  The punishment that will bring us peace will fall hard upon him.  It will be by his wounds that the rest of us will be healed. 

Oh Father in heaven!  What does that mean?  What will happen to our son?  How can I prepare him for his future?  How can I teach him to be faithful and true, to stand when the time to fulfill his destiny arrives?  Blessed Adonai, I am so inadequate to the task.  Why did you ever choose me?  How can I possibly be a father to the Son of God?

But I remember what the angel said.  I am the son of David.  The descendant of a simple shepherd used by God to do great things. And I think, maybe God can use a simple carpenter too.

Maybe, he can use anyone. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Artwork by Michelle Jones

The Manger Player

‘And she brought forth her newborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger’ – Luke 2:7

How extraordinary is the chronicle of Christ’s Nativity!  Peasant parents-to-be on the move to register for the all-powerful Emperor Augustus’s census, mere mice in a world patrolled by imperial lions.  Arriving at their destination, they are forced to bring forth their miracle child in less-than-ideal conditions.  Depending on your interpretation of events, they were either shuffled off from the inn to a barn out back or relegated to the lower portion of a dwelling where the animals were kept.  Either way, their son – no less than the Son of the God – was born in a stable.  You might have thought that the Almighty Maker of Heaven and Earth, who created the universe out of nothing, could have arranged a better location for His Son’s birth than a place that stank like wet animal fur and dung.  The only people who came to acknowledge the incredible introduction of God in human skin were shepherds (the magi came later), hardly the major players of Judean society.  It was hardly an auspicious beginning.  The regents of the world would never have done it this way.

Which is precisely the point.  This was the unfolding of God’s plan to save the world, and God, though the possessor of ultimate and comprehensive power, doesn’t behave like the world’s major players.  He reveals his strength in weakness, a weakness that proves itself to be stronger than human strength (See, 1 Corinthians 1:25; 2 Corinthians 12:9).  It is through weakness and foolishness that God saves the world.  Which explains perfectly why Jesus was conceived in the womb of a poor peasant girl, birthed in a stable, and laid in a manger, why he came into the world not as a major player but, if you will, a ‘manger player.’  That’s the way God rolls. 

We would do well to remember this.

Too often we do not.  History is replete with examples of professing Jesus followers pursuing the way of power, the path of the major players, rather than the path of the one in the manger.  It is a path God never asked his people to follow, one that He Himself expressly rejected in the life of His Son.  Yet many follow it anyway, believing that obtaining what the world perceives as power is not only important but a matter of life and death. 

I am reminded of this every day when I read the news.  The 2020 Presidential election is over, and most of us would like to move on, but as we all know the President is playing a dangerous game, spinning patently false conspiracy theories in a transparent attempt to steal an election in pursuit of his own interests.  That a political leader, a major player on the world stage, would behave in such a manner probably shouldn’t surprise us.  The regents of the world often behave this way.  It’s kind of par for the course.  The extent to which it seems odd to us in America reflects how privileged we have been in this society up to this point.  Not everyone in the world is quite so privileged. 

But to see professing Christians, those who claim to follow Jesus, backing such an effort, hoping to thereby have access to the halls of power, exercise influence, and advance an agenda, should shock the conscience of everyone who hopes to honestly follow the one born and laid in a manger. 

An influential leader in the evangelical world recently gave voice to the position of many when he echoed the President’s lies, refused to accept the ‘monstrous’ Joe Biden as his fellow American, and called the election ‘the most horrifying thing that has ever happened in the history of the nation.’  He then proclaimed to the President (who had called in to his show; yes, this man has a show): ‘I’d be willing to die in this fight.  This is a fight for everything.  God is with us.’[1] In brief, this leader conveyed his belief that Christians had to fight for Trump because everything depends on keeping him in office. 

I beg to differ.  Christians should know that everything does not depend on keeping one’s preferred political candidate in power.  Rather, everything depends on following the one who, rather than be born in a palace and laid on a bed of downy softness, was born in a stable and laid in a manger.  Everything depends on following the one who, after he grew into adulthood, expressly spurned the imperial power game.  Everything depends on following the one who, though he had created all things, rejected being a major player on the world’s terms, took up his cross as his preferred means to save the world, and called us to do the same.

The Apostle Paul said that Christians are to have the same mind as Christ Jesus, who, even though he was God, renounced his privilege, became one of us, took on the form of a servant, and humbled himself all the way to the Cross (Philippians 2:5-8). 

There is a battle worth dying for in our time.  It’s a battle for the soul of the Church.  In this battle, with all due respect to the evangelical leader quoted above (and those who agree with him), the question is not whether we will give our lives for Donald Trump.  Or Joe Biden.  Or any other major player on the scene of imperial politics.  The question is not whether we will give our lives in the mad quest to obtain imperial power that we might change the world from the top down.  The question is whether we will give our lives, not for the major players, but for the ‘manger player,’ pursue his humble path, and walk with him as he changes the world from the bottom up. 

As the Mandalorian would say, ‘This is the way,’ and everything depends upon our following it.    

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] Eric Metaxas, Christian Radio Host, Tells Trump, ‘Jesus is With Us in this Fight.’ Religion New Service. November 30, 2020.