Nothing

Nothing - Audio/Visual

Nothing

 Who dares accuse us whom God has chosen for his own? No one — for God himself has given us right standing with himself. Who then will condemn us? No one — for Christ Jesus died for us and was raised to life for us, and he is sitting in the place of honor at God’s right hand, pleading for us. Can anything ever separate us from Christ’s love? Does it mean he no longer loves us if we have trouble or calamity, or are persecuted, or hungry, or destitute, or in danger, or threatened with death?

I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow — not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below — indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:33-35; 38-39)

One summer, eight year old Tommy was visiting his grandparents’ home in the country where he loved to roam the woods with his trusty slingshot in hand. He’d aim at trees and bottles and cans, but he didn’t hit much because he was still working on his accuracy. One day, as he was returning from the woods, he heard grandma ringing the dinner bell. As Tommy was walking toward the house, he spotted grandma’s pet duck waddling by the pond. Now, he never dreamed in a million years that he could hit the duck, but just for fun he pulled the slingshot back and let it fly. Of course, as luck have it, the rock hit the duck square in the head. The duck dropped dead without even one last “Quack.” Tommy was shocked; he’d never hit anything he aimed at before, and now he felt terrible.

In a panic, he ran toward the dead duck, picked it up and carried it behind the barn where he buried it in the woodpile. As Tommy was headed toward the house, feeling horribly about what had just happened, he spotted his 13 year old sister, Cindy, and realized to his horror that she’d seen the whole, sordid affair.

Later on that night, after dinner, grandma said, “Cindy, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to stay and help me do the dishes.” “I’d love to, Grandma,” she replied, “but Tommy said he wants to do the dishes tonight.” And as she walked out of the kitchen past Tommy, she whispered in his ear, “Remember the duck.” Trapped, Tommy went over and did the dishes. The next morning, grandpa invited Tommy and Cindy to go fishing with him. But grandma had other plans. “Grandpa, I really need Cindy to stay here and help me with some chores,” grandma said. Cindy replied, “Tommy said he’d like to stay with you and help you out today, Grandma.” Once again, Tommy’s sister walked by and muttered, “Remember the duck.” So, Tommy did the chores and Cindy went fishing.

After a couple days of hard labor doing both Cindy’s chores and his own, Tommy had had enough. So he fessed up. “Grandma, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, but I killed your duck.” His kindly grandmother gave him a big hug and said, “Thomas, I know what happened; I was standing at the window watching the whole thing take place. I saw how shocked you were, and I’ve already forgiven you. I’ve just been waiting to see how long you’d let Cindy make a slave out of you.”

Tommy had been pardoned, but thought he was guilty. Why? Because he’d listened to the words of his accuser. You’ve been there, too. You’ve been accused of dishonesty, immorality, greed, anger and arrogance, just to name a few. In fact, every moment of your life, your accuser is filing charges against you. He’s noticed every mistake and denoted each mess-up. Neglect your priorities, and he’ll jot it down. Abandon your promises, and he’ll make a note. Try to forget your past; he'll remind you. Try to undo your mistakes; he’ll thwart you. This expert witness has one goal: indict you, get a conviction and put another notch in his belt. Even his name, Diabolos, means "slanderer." He is "the accuser of our brothers and sisters, who accuses them day and night before our God." (Rev. 12:10)

Can't you see him? Pacing back and forth before God's bench. Can't you hear him? Calling your name, listing your faults. He sneers, "This one you call your child, God, but he’s not worthy. He’s greedy. And when he talks, he’s really thinking about himself. He'll go days without an honest prayer. Even this morning he chose to sleep in rather than spend time with you. I accuse him of laziness, egotism, worry and distrust . . . ." And as he speaks, you hang your head. You have no defense. His indictment is true.

"Guilty, your honor," you mumble. "And the sentence?" Satan sinisterly asks. "The wages of sin is death," explains the judge, "but in this case the death has already occurred. For this one died with Christ." Satan is suddenly silent. And you are suddenly jubilant. You realize that Satan cannot accuse you. No one can accuse you. Fingers may point and voices may demand, but the charges glance off of you like bb's off a rhinoceros. No more dirty dishwater. No more penance. No more nagging sisters. You have stood before the judge and heard him declare, "Not guilty." The prophet Isaiah says the same when he writes, "The Lord God helps me, so I will not be ashamed. I will be determined, and I know I will not be disgraced. He shows that I am innocent, and he is close to me. So who can accuse me? If there is someone, let us go to court together." (Isa. 50:7-8). Once the judge has released you, you need not fear the court. But will it last? The apostle Paul pondered that very question when he wrote, "Can anything separate us from the love Christ has for us?" (Rom. 8:35) And there it is.

That’s the question, isn’t it? That’s what we want to know, don’t we? We want to know how long God's love will last. Does God really love us forever? Not just on Easter Sunday’s when our shoes are shined, and our hair is coiffed. We want to know, deep down inside, how does God really feel about me when I'm a jerk? Not when I'm peppy and positive and ready to take on world hunger. Not then. I know how he feels about me then. Even I like me then. I want to know how he feels about me when I snap at anything that moves, when my thoughts are gutter-level, or when my tongue is sharp enough to slice a diamond. How does he feel about me then? That's the question. And that's our concern.

Oh, we don't say it; we may not even know it. But we can see it on each other’s face. We can hear it in our words. Did I cross the line this week? Last Tuesday when I drank Jack Daniels until I couldn't walk . . . last Thursday when my business took me where I had no business being . . . last summer when I cursed the God who made me as I stood near the grave of the child he gave me? Did I drift too far? Wait too long? Slip too much? That's what we want to know. Can anything separate us from the love Christ has for us? Fortunately, God answered our question even before we asked it. And so that we'd see his answer, he lit the sky with a star. So we'd hear it, he filled the night with a choir; and so we'd believe it, he did what no man had ever dreamed – He became flesh and dwelt among us.

He placed his hand on the shoulder of humanity and said, "You're special." Untethered by time, he sees us all. From the backwoods of Virginia, to the marbled halls of Wall Street; from the Vikings to the astronauts, from the cave-dwellers to the kings. Vagabonds and ragamuffins all, he saw us before we were born. And he loves what he sees. Flooded by emotion. Overcome by pride, the Star-maker turns to us, one by one, and says, "You are my child. I love you dearly. I'm aware that someday you'll turn from me and walk away. But I want you to know, I've already provided you a way back." And to prove it, he did something extraordinary. Stepping from the throne, he removed his robe of light and wrapped himself in skin: pigmented, human skin.

The light of the universe entered a dark, wet womb. He who angels worship nestled himself in the placenta of a peasant, was birthed into the cold night, and then slept on a bunch of straw. Mary didn't know whether to give him milk or give him praise, but she gave him both since he was, as near as she could figure, both hungry and holy. Joseph didn't know whether to call him Junior or Father. But in the end he called him Jesus, since that's what the angel said, and since he didn't have the faintest idea what to name a God he could cradle in his arms.

"Can anything make me stop loving you?" God asks. "Watch me speak your language, sleep on your earth, and feel your hurts. Behold the maker of sight and sound as he sneezes, coughs, and blows his nose. You wonder if I understand how you feel? Look into the dancing eyes of the kid in Nazareth; that's God walking to school. Ponder the toddler at Mary's table; that's God spilling his milk.”

"You wonder how long my love will last?” God asks. “Find your answer on a splintered cross, on a craggy hill. That's me you see up there, your maker, your God, hanging by nails and bleeding. Covered in spit and soaked in sin. That's your sin I'm carrying. That's your death I'm dying. That's your resurrection I'm living. That's how much I love you."

"Can anything come between you and me?" asks the firstborn Son. Hear the answer and stake your future on the triumphant words of Paul: "I am sure that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor ruling spirits, nothing now, nothing in the future, no powers, nothing above us, nothing below us, nor anything else in the whole world will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Rom. 8:38-39)

Nothing.

Grace,

Randy

Misfits

Misfits - Audio/Visual

Misfits

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger. (Luke 2:8-12)

Most everyone knows this passage; even if they’ve never cracked a Bible open. That’s because each December, in between scenes of the Grinch slithering around Whoville, or George Bailey being rescued by Clarence, or Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer running around the North Pole with Herbie, we have Linus, who discovers the true meaning of Christmas in the gospel of Luke. Now, I love Linus as much as the next guy, but has popular culture made this story just a little too familiar? Maybe.

You see, the story begins with God sending out a birth announcement. In fact, there’s only one announcement of Christ’s birth recorded in the Scriptures, and there’s only one invitation from God to anyone to come see his newborn Son. And God puts the wrong address on the envelope. He sends the announcement, priority overnight express, to a bunch of uneducated, smelly, low-class, social and religious dropouts: shepherds. They’re the last people you’d expect God to have on his mailing list.

They were the religious outcasts of their day. According to Jewish law, shepherds were always religiously unclean because their line of work kept them from going to church. But without them, who was going to watch the sheep while everyone else made the trip to Jerusalem to make sacrifices at the temple? Apparently, that didn’t matter. They were doing the dirty work so the churchy people could pretend to be holy. They were kind of like truckers, or maybe shift workers, whose jobs keep them from regularly attending services. It wasn’t their fault, but who cares if you’re one of the pretty people.

Shepherds were also social outcasts. They were constantly on the move and viewed with suspicion – kind of like how some people might look at carnies. They were often accused of thievery, and weren’t allowed to testify in court since their word wasn’t considered trustworthy. That’s a polite way of calling them habitual liars. Making matters worse, they had more contact with sheep than with people. They didn’t even come home at night since they were with the sheep 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Worse yet, they slept in the sheep’s pen at night to guard against theft and attack. In other words, you probably didn’t want your daughter marrying a shepherd.

So, imagine you’re God and you want to announce the most amazing, most incredible, most joyous news ever; an event that will change the course of human history – the birth of the Savior; the one for whom the nation of Israel had been waiting and hoping and praying for thousands of years to come. So, who do you announce it to? Who do you tell? Who do you invite to come and see? Probably not a bunch of shepherds.

The point is that you would expect an event like the birth of Christ to be announced to the most important people in the nation. You know, the political, religious and military leaders. The hoi polloi. The media, maybe. But none of them got the text, or the e-mail, or the tweet, or the whatever. Oh, some foreign wise guys figured it out by following the star to Bethlehem, and then they informed Herod of what they’d heard. But they didn’t get an angelic messenger, or angel choir, or an invitation either. Only the social and religious outcasts got the memo. It’s like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir rehearsing all year to perform Handel’s Messiah in front of a handful of folks from skid row.

Why? Why did God send His angels to announce the birth of Christ to a bunch of misfits? Were the shepherds especially pious, or unusually holy? Maybe they got the MVP for believers since they’d been locked out of church by the church police. Or, maybe they were expecting this thing to happen. Or, maybe they were part of the Occupy Grasslands movement. The truth is they probably thought that God had no idea who they were. And why would he? They don’t sacrifice at the temple; they don’t show up for the feasts; they don’t go to church; and their deepest theological discussions are with a bunch of sheep. So why them?

Maybe it was because God wanted to demonstrate, first to the shepherds, that his love doesn’t discriminate on the basis of class, or wealth, or social standing. God doesn’t discriminate on the basis of intelligence, education, profession, political power, or any other quality that we can think of. God doesn’t respect kings more than cabbies, or priests more than pew potatoes. He’s kind of indiscriminate that way.

Paul makes the same point in his first letter to the Corinthians where he says, “My dear friends, remember what you were when God chose you. The people of this world didn't think that many of you were wise. Only a few of you were in places of power, and not many of you came from important families. But God chose the foolish things of this world to put the wise to shame. He chose the weak things of this world to put the powerful to shame. What the world thinks is worthless, useless, and nothing at all is what God has used to destroy what the world considers important. God did all this to keep anyone from bragging to him. You are God's children. He sent Christ Jesus to save us and to make us wise, acceptable, and holy. So if you want to brag, do what the Scriptures say and brag about the Lord.” (1 Cor. 1:26-31)

I imagine that many nights, as the shepherds sat in those cold, lonely fields, they looked out over the village and saw the lights of homes far away. Maybe they heard the faint sound of families, people laughing, and wished they could be a part of that. And maybe you’ve felt that way too. Maybe you’re not one of the pretty people. Maybe you’re not particularly wealthy, or powerful, or influential. Maybe you’ll never see your name in the paper for some great accomplishment. Maybe you’re on the fringes, either socially or religiously. And when you compare your level of religious observance to others, the comparison doesn’t stack up very well: spotty church attendance, infrequent Bible reading and even less frequent prayer. You think that if God actually knows that you exist, he’s probably not impressed.

If this strikes a chord, then I’ve got good news. Great news, in fact. The best possible news. God loves you – just like he loved those shepherds. You’re special to him – just like those shepherds were special to him. So special, in fact, that he gave them the incredible privilege of being the first to hear of Christ’s birth and, other than Mary and Joseph, the first to lay eyes on the Son of God.

God didn’t give those privileges to the Roman Caesar, or to the Jewish high priest. He gave it to the shepherds. Not in spite of who they were, but because of who they were: humble, ordinary people with few opinions about themselves. Simple people who were willing to believe what God told them, and when they heard the news they didn’t seek out a bunch of religious professionals for a second opinion. When they were invited to visit Bethlehem to see the newborn Messiah, they didn’t worry about who was going to watch the sheep. They didn’t get bogged down in debates about how they were going to find a small baby in such a large city. They simply obeyed, and went.

God likes to use the ordinary so that, like a mirror, his power can be reflected in his creation. And it’s true that God didn’t send an angel to give you or me the news, either. But he did send you an invitation. Here’s what it says: “I’m here to announce a great and joyful event that is meant for everybody, worldwide: A Savior has been born in David’s town, a Savior who is Messiah and Master.” (Luke 2:10-11)

Don’t let the simple yet profound message of Christmas be lost on you this season: God knows you and loves you anyway – even if you’re a misfit.

 Merry Christmas,

Randy

Malled

Malled - Audio/Visual

Malled

In the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, God sent the angel Gabriel to the Galilean village of Nazareth to a virgin engaged to be married to a man descended from David. His name was Joseph, and the virgin’s name, Mary. Upon entering, Gabriel greeted her: “Good morning! You’re beautiful with God’s beauty, beautiful inside and out! God be with you.”

She was thoroughly shaken, wondering what was behind a greeting like that. But the angel assured her, “Mary, you have nothing to fear. God has a surprise for you: You will become pregnant and give birth to a son and call his name Jesus. He will be great, be called ‘Son of the Highest.’ The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David; He will rule Jacob’s house forever — no end, ever, to his kingdom.”

Mary said to the angel, “But how? I’ve never slept with a man.” The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, the power of the Highest hover over you; therefore, the child you bring to birth will be called Holy, Son of God. And did you know that your cousin Elizabeth conceived a son, old as she is? Everyone called her barren, and here she is six months pregnant! Nothing, you see, is impossible with God.” And Mary said, “Yes, I see it all now: I’m the Lord’s servant, ready to serve. Let it be with me just as you say.” (Luke 1:26-38)

Do any of the following words describe you? Hurried. Scattered. Stuffed. Forgetful. Busy. Behind. Broke. If they do, you’re not alone. Christmas is our annual reminder of why Santa takes the sleigh rather than the Interstate, and how the mall got its name. Strange how a season of peace so often becomes a season of panic. For some, however, this time of year brings more than just a hassle. For them, it brings heartache. Many use sadder words to capture their Christmas feelings. Words like: alone, discouraged, depressed, angry, hurt.

For instance, the sight of happy children may be a reminder of a vacant crib. The busy social calendar of some only highlights the empty calendar of others. Images of families together reinforce the pain of families apart. If this season is hard for you, if you’re looking forward to December 26^th more than December 25^th, then I’ve got a story for you to consider. I’d like you to contrast your circumstances with that of a young girl, perhaps no more than 15 at the time; maybe even younger.

Here she is away from home, miles from family and her own bed. She’s spent the last five days on crowded roads enduring the winter chill. As much as she tries to keep a good attitude, it’s not easy. This isn’t how she planned to celebrate the birth of Jesus. No matter how you cut it, this isn’t a good time of the year to be away from those you love. She’d envisioned a happy meal with family and friends and – now look at her – stranded in a city of strangers. Even if she could leave, she’d never make it home in time. And even if she had the time, she doesn’t have the energy. She needs some rest. She needs a bed. She needs some help.

The last few months have been about all she could handle. Ask her which is worse, the pain in her heart or the pain in her back, and she’d be hard-pressed to make a choice between the two.

Her heart aches for her family. They’d gone through so much over the last year. Under normal circumstances, they’d have been thrilled to learn of her pregnancy. But pregnant before the wedding? With her conservative family and bizarre explanation for her “condition”? And to have to tell the man you love you’re carrying a child that isn’t his? It’s a miracle he still married her. A miracle indeed. And a miracle is what she needs tonight.

Her back aches from her pregnancy. She’d envisioned giving birth at home, mom holding one hand, Joseph the other. Perhaps if they could all celebrate the birth of her firstborn together, they, too, would believe what the angel said. At least, that was Mary’s plan.

Of course, I could be wrong about Mary’s plan. I’m a guy. So maybe the feeding troughs and stables and midnight birth pains were her idea. But I don’t think so. I’ve yet to meet a mother-to-be who dreamed of using a cow stall for a delivery room, and a manger for a bassinet. I doubt if Mary did, either. So when Joseph returned from the inn and asked her if she was allergic to sheep, it’s a safe bet to say she was surprised.

This isn’t how she planned to celebrate Christmas. And maybe this isn’t how you planned to spend yours, either. When you stop and think about it, Christmas hasn’t changed much in 2,000 years. What brings us stress today, brought her stress then; but what brought her joy, can bring us joy as well, if we’ll allow it. So, do what Mary did.

First, trust God for a Christmas miracle. Things may look bleak today, but they could change tomorrow. Don’t assume that your troubles will necessarily linger. Mary had faith to let God do a work inside of her. So, follow her example. Second, trust in God enough to obey Him. Mary did. She obeyed. She didn’t rebel, pout or demand a detailed explanation. She simply obeyed. And we can do that much. Make it your aim to follow God as closely as you can.

And last, sign up for servanthood. Mary told the angel: “I am the Lord’s servant.” (Luke 1:38) Those who demand to be served are likely to be disappointed. But those who take the position of a servant, on the other hand, are happiest because they have the fewest expectations. Make it your aim to serve, not to be served, and the clouds will lift.

Let Mary be your model, and perhaps by the end of December you’ll be using words like “Joyful,” “Happy,” and “Faithful,” to describe your spirit. Nothing, you see, is impossible with God.

Grace,

Randy