Immanuel
An innocent person died for those who are guilty. Christ did this to
bring you to God. (1 Peter 3:18)
The eighty-seven
year old man moped through life, living in a sleepy village outside Rome,
Italy, with his books and seven cats. His wife had died twelve years ago, and
his only daughter worked in Afghanistan. He seldom ventured out, and rarely spoke
to others. Life was drab and lonely. And on the day he decided to do something
about it, Giorgio Angelozzi put himself up for adoption. Correct. The
octogenarian placed a classified ad in Italy's largest daily news-paper:
"Seeks family in need of a grandfather. Would bring 500 euros a month to a
family willing to adopt him." The ad changed his life.
The paper ran a
front-page article about him. Inquiries poured in from as far away as Colombia,
New Zealand and New Jersey. Angelozzi became an overnight celebrity. He went
from having nothing but time on his hands to having scarcely enough time to
handle all the interviews and requests. A pop star responded. A millionaire
offered servants and a seaside villa. But one letter stood out, Angelozzi
explained, because every member of the family – father, mother, sister, brother
– had signed it. He settled into their ground-floor apartment, taking walks in
the garden, helping with dishes and homework. "I couldn't have chosen
better," he says. "Maybe it was luck, or maybe it was God looking
after me, I don't know. . . . I knew right away I had found my new home."
The latter explanation
makes the most sense because heaven doesn’t export monotony. Christ once
announced, "I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better
life than they ever dreamed of." (John 10:10) Nor does God author
loneliness. Among our Maker's first recorded words were these: "It is not
good for the man to be alone." (Gen. 2:18) We may relish moments of
solitude – but a lifetime of it? Probably not. Many of us, however, are far too
fluent in the language of loneliness. “No one knows me,” we think. “People know
my name, but not my heart.” “They know my face, but not my feelings.” And maybe
the saddest . . . “No one's near me.” We hunger for physical contact.
Ever since Eve
emerged from Adam’s rib, we've been reaching out to touch one another. We need
to make a connection. And we need to make a difference. The anthem of the
lonely heart has another verse, too: “No one needs me.” The kids used to need me . . . The business once needed me . . . My
spouse no longer needs me . . . Lonely people fight feelings of
insignificance. What do you do with those thoughts if you have them? How do you
cope with these cries for significance? Some stay busy; others stay drunk. Some
buy pets; others buy lovers. Some seek therapy. A few seek God.
But God invites all
of us to seek him, and his treatment for insignificance won't lead you to a bar
or a dating service, a spouse or even a social club. God's ultimate cure takes
you to a manger. The babe of Bethlehem. Immanuel. Remember the promise of the
angel? "'Behold, the virgin shall be with child, and bear a Son, and they
shall call His name Immanuel,' which is translated, 'God with us.'" (Matt.
1:23) Immanuel. The name appears in
the same Hebrew form as it did two thousand years ago. "Immanu" means "with us."
"El" refers to Elohim, or
God. Not an "above us God" or a "somewhere in the neighborhood
God." He came as the "with us God." God with us.
Not "God
with the rich" or "God with the religious," but God with us. All of us. Russians, Germans,
Buddhists, Mormons, truck drivers, taxi drivers, even librarians. God with us.
And don't we love the word "with"? "Will you go with me?" we ask. "To the
store; to the hospital; through my life?" God says he will. "I am with you always," Jesus said before
he ascended to heaven, "to the very end of the age." (Matt. 28:20)
Search for restrictions on that promise and you won’t find any. You won't find
"I'll be with you if you behave . . . or when you believe.” Or, “I'll be
with you on Sundays in worship . . . or at mass." No, none of that.
There's no withholding tax on God's "with" promise. He is with us.
You see, prophets
weren't enough. Apostles wouldn't do. Angels didn’t suffice. God sent more than
miracles and messages. He sent himself; he sent his Son. "The Word became
flesh and dwelt among us." (John 1:14) For thousands of years, God gave us
his voice. Prior to Bethlehem, he gave his messengers, his teachers, his words.
But in the manger, God gave us himself. Many people have trouble with that teaching.
Islam sees God as one who sends others. He may send angels, prophets or books,
but God is too holy to come to us himself. Christianity, by contrast,
celebrates God's surprising descent. His nature does not trap him in heaven,
but leads him to earth. In God's great gospel, he not only sends, he becomes;
he not only looks down, he lives among; he not only talks to us, he lives with
us as one of us. He swims in Mary's womb. Totters as he learns to walk. Bounces
on the back of a donkey. God with us.
He knows hurt –
his siblings called him crazy. He knows exhaustion – so sleepy, he dozed in a
storm-tossed boat. He knows betrayal – he gave Judas three years of love;
Judas, in turn, gave Jesus a betrayer's kiss. Most of all, he knows sin. Not
his own, mind you. But he knows yours. Every lie you've told. Person you've
hurt. Dollar you've taken. Promise you've broken. Virtue you've abandoned.
Opportunity you've squandered. Every deed you've committed against God – for all
sin is against God – Jesus knows. He knows them better than you do. He knows
their price because he paid it. "For Christ also suffered once for sins,
the just for the unjust, that He might bring us to God." (1 Pet. 3:18)
Maybe little
Blake Rogers can help us understand Jesus's heart-stopping act of grace. Blake offered
a remotely similar gift to his friend, Maura. Blake and Maura share a
kindergarten class. One day she started humming. Her teacher appreciated the
music but told Maura to stop – it’s not polite to hum in class. She couldn't.
The song in her head demanded to be hummed. After several warnings, the teacher
took decisive action. She moved Maura's clothespin from the green spot on the
chart to the dreaded blue spot. That meant trouble. And that meant a troubled
Maura. Everyone else's clothespin hung in the green. Maura was blue, all by
herself. Blake tried to help – he patted her on the back, made funny faces, even
offered comforting words. But nothing worked. Maura still felt alone.
So Blake made
the ultimate sacrifice. Making sure his teacher was watching, he began to hum.
The teacher warned him to stop. He didn't. So she had no choice but to move his
clothespin out of the green and into the blue. Blake smiled, and Maura stopped
crying. She had a friend. And we have a picture of what Christ did for us,
because we’ve colored ourselves blue. Every single one of us has sinned a blue
streak. Our clothespins hang from the wrong end of the rope. Our sins have
separated us from God. But Jesus loved us too much to leave us alone. Like
Blake, he voluntarily passed from green to blue, from righteous to unrighteous.
But the analogy ceases there. Because although Blake took Maura's loneliness,
Christ took so much more. He took our place.
He passed from
green to blue so that we might pass from blue to green. "For Christ also
suffered once for sins, the just for the unjust, that He might bring us to God."
(1 Pet. 3:18). Christ takes away your sin, and in doing so, he takes away your anonymity.
No longer need you say, "No one knows me," because God knows you. He
engraved your name on his hands and keeps your tears in a bottle (Isa. 49:16;
Ps. 56:8) "LORD, you . . . know all about me," David discovered.
"You know when I sit down and when I get up. You know my thoughts before I
think them. You know where I go and where I lie down. You know thoroughly
everything I do. . . . You are all around me . . . and have put your hand on me."
(Ps. 139:1-3, 5) God knows you. And he’s near you. How far is the shepherd from
the sheep (John 10:14)? The branch from the vine (John 15:5)? That's how far
God is from you. He’s near.
See how these
four words look taped to your bathroom mirror: "God is for me." (Ps.
56:9) It makes no sense to seek your God-given strength until you trust in his.
And his kingdom needs you. The poor need you; the lonely need you; the church
needs you . . . the cause of God needs you. You are part of "the over-all
purpose he is working out in everything and everyone." (Eph. 1:12) The
kingdom needs you to discover and deploy your unique skill. Use it to make much
out of God.
Some time ago, I
received an overdraft notice on the checking account of one of my daughters. I
encouraged, and still encourage my college-age children to monitor their
accounts. Even so, they sometimes overspend. So what was I to do? Let the bank
absorb it? They won't. Send her an angry letter? Admonition might help her
later, but it won't satisfy the bank. Phone and tell her to make a deposit?
Might as well ask donkeys to fly. I know her liquidity. Zero. Transfer the
money from my account to hers? Seemed to be the best option. After all, I had
$25.37. I could replenish her account and pay the overdraft fee as well.
Besides, that's my job because my sons and daughters do something no one else
can do: they call me Dad. And since she calls me Dad, I did what dads do. I
covered my daughter's mistake. When I told her she was overdrawn, she said she
was very sorry. Still, she offered no deposit. She was broke. She had only one
option. "Dad, could you . . . ." I interrupted her mid-sentence.
"Honey, I already have." I met her need before she even knew she had
one.
And long before
you knew you needed grace, your Father did the same. Before you knew you needed
a Savior, you had one. And when you place your trust in Christ, he places his
Spirit in you. And when the Spirit comes, he brings gifts – housewarming gifts
of a sort. When you become a child of God, the Holy Spirit requisitions your
abilities for the expansion of God's kingdom, and they become spiritual gifts.
The Holy Spirit may add other gifts according to his plan. But no one is gift-deprived.
Lonely? God is with you. Depleted? He funds the overdrawn. Weary of what seems
like an ordinary life? Your spiritual adventure waits. He is near. Immanuel.
Grace,
Randy
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