What'd You Get for Christmas?

 

What’d You Get for Christmas?

What'd You Get for Christmas - Audio/Visual 

When the eighth day arrived, the day of circumcision, the child was named Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived. Then when the days stipulated by Moses for purification were complete, they took him up to Jerusalem to offer him to God as commanded in God’s Law: “Every male who opens the womb shall be a holy offering to God,” and also to sacrifice the “pair of doves or two young pigeons” prescribed in God’s Law.

In Jerusalem at the time, there was a man, Simeon by name, a good man, and a man who lived in the prayerful expectancy of help for Israel. And the Holy Spirit was on him. The Holy Spirit had shown him that he would see the Messiah of God before he died. Led by the Spirit, he entered the Temple. As the parents of the child Jesus brought him in to carry out the rituals of the Law, Simeon took him into his arms and blessed God: “God, you can now release your servant; release me in peace as you promised. With my own eyes I’ve seen your salvation; it’s now out in the open for everyone to see: A God-revealing light to the non-Jewish nations, and of glory for your people Israel.”

Jesus’ father and mother were speechless with surprise at these words. Simeon went on to bless them, and said to Mary his mother, “This child marks both the failure and the recovery of many in Israel, a figure misunderstood and contradicted – the pain of a sword-thrust through you – but the rejection will force honesty, as God reveals who they really are.” Anna the prophetess was also there, a daughter of Phanuel from the tribe of Asher. She was by now a very old woman. She had been married seven years and a widow for eighty-four. She never left the Temple area, worshiping night and day with her fastings and prayers. At the very time Simeon was praying, she showed up, broke into an anthem of praise to God, and talked about the Child to all who were waiting expectantly for the freeing of Jerusalem. (Luke 2:21-38)

What’d you get for Christmas? That’s a pretty frequent question now that the gifts have been opened and the dinner has settled. We said it as kids and today, as adults, we say it around the office unless, of course, you’re working virtually from home. Television commercials are already talking about it – returning the things you didn’t want for the things that you did. Mediums will be exchanged for larges; eggnog is marked down for clearance and clean-up is in full swing where lights and decorations are stored for next year and corner-lot Christmas trees are composted. Life will get back to “normal” again. December’s generosity will become January’s payments, and the magic will quickly fade away.

When I hear that question it reminds me of my teacher, Ms. McDonald, when she asked all her sixth graders at Esther Lindstrom Elementary School that same timeless question when we returned from Christmas break. Laura was the first one to enthusiastically answer the question. She sat in front of me, which suited me just fine since I liked sitting close to Laura because she was pretty good at baseball. Her answer was a Chatty Cathy doll. But then Laura went on to tell the class – in excruciating detail – about her new doll to the point that my eyes began to glaze over, and I began to regret my seat assignment. “Maybe the doll’s rubbed off on her,” I thought. Thankfully, I was next.

I don’t specifically remember what I said, but I know I didn’t say “a pony,” or a “real guitar.” It was probably something like a baseball glove, or trading cards or Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots. Then the girl behind me gave her answer. "An engagement ring!” she shouted. Now in the interests of full disclosure I think she’d probably been held back a few times and could have been 13 or 14 years old. But Bellflower wasn’t some third world country or first-century Bethlehem. So, getting an engagement ring was a pretty remarkable disclosure which, apparently, all the girls understood but the boys thought was something you got from a Cracker Jack box.

But what if, in answer to that question, your first thought was, “I got Jesus for Christmas.” Or what if a friend asked you, “Hey, what’d you get for Christmas?” and you said, “Same as everyone else.” Bewildered, your friend looks at you and laughs, “What are you talking about? ‘Everyone’ I know didn’t all get the same thing.” “Sure, they did,” you respond. “We all got Jesus.” Maybe one of the sweetest gifts God gave during his son’s earthly ministry was when Jesus was only eight days old and God gave an incredibly special gift to two very unassuming people — a man named Simeon, and a widow named Anna.

Simeon’s age isn’t specified, but most Bible scholars presume him to be elderly in light of the phrase, “The Holy Spirit had shown him that he would see the Messiah of God before he died,” which would be a really weird biblical footnote if he’d been a young man. Plus, Simeon’s “Okay, I can die happy now” response after meeting the Christ child (“God, you can now release your servant; release me in peace as you promised”) seems to imply his advanced age since there’s no evidence that he had a death wish. Anna, on the other hand, is certifiably old. That’s because she had been previously married for seven years and, since then, had been a widow for eighty-four more. So, if you assume Anna married when she was around fourteen, as most Jewish girls did at the time, she was probably around 105. Now, that’s old – certifiably or otherwise.

Luke, whose medical specialty could have been gerontology for all we know, explains that both of these elderly people hung out at the Temple a lot because of their devotion to God. But given their card-carrying AARP status, you can’t help but wonder if they weren’t just a little lonely, too. Given their age, maybe they had no one to go home to, or no one to talk to at the dinner table, or no one to sit beside while on the couch watching It’s a Wonderful Life. Maybe there was nothing in their tidy little apartments at the City of God Retirement Home to keep them company except their cats and cataracts.

Apparently, they puttered around the church every day, praying at the altar, maybe hobbling back and forth on errands for the priests, like carrying boxes of candles up from the basement or carefully rubbing down each church pew with linseed oil until it gleamed. The temple regulars had grown accustomed to always seeing the white-haired gentleman wearing the high-water khakis and that nice, little old lady who always smelled like Pledge. Most worshipers probably didn’t give Simeon and Anna any more thought than they did the shiny pews or the plentiful supply of candles up front. They were old. They were fixtures. They were invisible. But then one day a teenaged couple walked through the front door of the Temple. The young man was wearing a clean but tattered pair of blue jeans and had a couple of birds squawking in his backpack. His wife, who couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen, was carrying what looked like a brand-new baby. They both shyly approached Simeon.

That’s when the young man cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but can you tell us where to go to give God an offering on behalf of our new little boy?” Simeon immediately put the mop down and took a deep breath to steady himself. Then he reached his gnarled hands toward the new mom and asked her gently, “May I hold him, please?” Mary nodded and handed the newborn Son of God to Simeon. He cradled the pink-cheeked Messiah for several minutes and then began to sing a praise song he’d written many years before but had never actually sung aloud.

Anna, who’d been in the women’s restroom refilling the paper towel dispenser, was shuffling back toward the auditorium when she heard Simeon’s warbling baritone voice. “What’s that old goose up to now?” she thought. And as she wobbled her way to the sound whose pitch and volume were now rising, her feeble heart skipped a beat because she didn’t realize that the sound was actually Simeon singing. She’d thought he’d fallen down, broke his hip and was screaming in pain. That was until she turned the corner and saw her dear old friend’s enraptured countenance. Then she saw the baby in his arms and, realizing immediately the miracle that was happening right in front of their eyes, ran toward Simeon and the baby with the speed and agility of an Olympic track star.

Day after day, year after year, Anna and Simeon had accepted and appreciated the little joys that came their way: a place to go to volunteer and feel useful; a friend with whom to share stories and prayer requests; maybe even free Wi-Fi in the Temple lobby. It makes you wonder if their willingness to recognize the sweet, little gifts God blesses us with each and every day are part of the reason God chose them to be recipients of the same incomparable surprise Christmas present he gave the shepherds wandering in the fields that special night only a week earlier. Good news and great joy — the Savior of the world wrapped in an ordinary blanket. God does stuff like that.

The long and patient faithfulness of Simeon and Anna is a beautiful example for those of us who, like them, are waiting for the Lord’s return. But unlike Anna and Simeon, we’re not left to wait alone. Paul told the struggling Gentile believers in Colossi, “Christ lives in you, the hope of glory!” (Col. 1:27) And when you think about it, Christ grew in Mary until he had to come out. And like Simeon and Anna, Christ will grow in us until the same occurs. He will come out in our speech. He will come out in our actions. He will come out in our decisions. Every place you live will be a Bethlehem, and every day you live will be a Christmas.

So, what’d you get for Christmas? I got Jesus, and so did you.

Happy New Year!

Randy

Here's Your Sign

 

Here’s Your Sign

Here's Your Sign - Audio/Visual 

Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the reign of King Herod. About that time some wise men from eastern lands arrived in Jerusalem asking, “Where is the newborn king of the Jews? We saw his star as it rose, and we have come to worship him.” King Herod was deeply disturbed when he heard this, as was everyone in Jerusalem. He called a meeting of the leading priests and teachers of religious law and asked, “Where is the Messiah supposed to be born?”

“In Bethlehem in Judea,” they said, “for this is what the prophet wrote: ‘And you, O Bethlehem in the land of Judah, are not least among the ruling cities of Judah, for a ruler will come from you who will be the shepherd for my people Israel.’”

After this the wise men went their way. And the star they had seen in the east guided them to Bethlehem. It went ahead of them and stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw the star, they were filled with joy! They entered the house and saw the child with his mother, Mary, and they bowed down and worshipped him. Then they opened their treasure chests and gave him gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. (Matt. 2:1-6; 9-11)

For many, holiday time is highway time. Ever since the magi packed their bags for Bethlehem, the birth of Jesus has caused people to hit the road. And those Christmas trips have a lot in common with the wise guy’s excursion. We don’t camp with camels, of course, but we’ve been known to bump into a knobby-kneed in-law on our way to the dinner table. We don’t keep an eye out for star lights, but flashing lights of the highway patrol? We watch for them at every corner. And we don’t ride in a spice-road caravan, but six hours in a minivan with kids would have made the wise men thankful for animals.

It’s not always ho ho ho on the high, highway. Extended time in the car reveals human frailties. For instance, dads simply refuse to stop. They apparently hearken back to the examples of their forefathers. Did the pioneers spend the night at a Holiday Inn? Did Lewis and Clark ask for directions? Did Joseph allow Mary to stroll through a souvenir shop on the way to Bethlehem? Of course not. Men drive as if they have a biblical mandate to travel far and fast, stopping only for gas or to recharge the battery.

And children? Road trips do to kids what a full moon does to the wolfman. If one child says, “I like that song,” you’d like to hear the other one say, “That’s nice.” But that’s not going to happen. Instead, the other child replies, “That song stinks, and so do your feet.” And then there’s the issue of bathroom stops. A child can go for weeks without going to the bathroom at home. But once on the road, the kid starts leaking like secrets in Washington, D.C.

The best advice for traveling with young children is to be thankful they’re not teenagers. Teens are embarrassed by what their parents say, think, wear, eat and sing. So, for their sake, and if you ever want to see your future grandchildren, don’t smile at the waitstaff, don’t breathe, and don’t sing with the window either up or down. Frankly, it’s probably wiser to just postpone traveling with children altogether until they’re a more reasonable age — like thirty-something.

Christmas and travel. The first has a way of prompting the second, and it’s been that way since the delegation from the east came searching for Jesus. “Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the reign of King Herod. About that time some wise men from eastern lands arrived in Jerusalem asking, ‘Where is the newborn king of the Jews?’” (Matt. 2:1-2)

Apparently, Matthew loved the magi because he gave their story more ink than to Jesus’ birth. Matthew never mentions the shepherds or the manger, but he didn’t want us to miss the star and the seekers. It’s easy to see why because their story is our story. We’re all travelers; we’re all sojourners. And in order to find Jesus, we need direction. Fortunately, God gives it, and the story of the wise men shows us how. “We have seen his star in the East and have come to worship him.” (Matt. 2:2) God uses the natural world to get our attention, i.e., The heavens declare the glory of God. (Psalm 19:1)

God led the wise men to Jerusalem with a star. But to lead them to Jesus, he used something else: “King Herod was deeply disturbed when he heard this, as was everyone in Jerusalem. He called a meeting of the leading priests and teachers of religious law and asked, ‘Where is the Messiah supposed to be born?’ ‘In Bethlehem in Judea,’ they said, ‘for this is what the prophet wrote: “And you, O Bethlehem in the land of Judah, are not least among the ruling cities of Judah, for a ruler will come from you who will be the shepherd for my people Israel.” (Matt. 2:3-6) The star sign was enough to lead the magi to Jerusalem, but it took Scripture to lead them to Jesus.

People see God’s signs every day. Sunsets that steal the breath. Newborns that bring tears. But not everyone who sees the signs draws near to God. Many are content to just simply see the signs. They don’t realize that the riches of God are intended to turn us toward him. “Perhaps you do not understand that God is kind to you so you will change your hearts and lives.” (Romans 2:4) The wise men, however, understood the purpose of the sign. They followed it to Jerusalem, where they heard about the scripture. The prophecy told them where to find Christ. It’s interesting to note that the star reappeared after they learned about the prophecy. The star “came and stood shining right over the place where the Child was.” (Matt. 2:9) It’s as if the sign and the Word worked together to bring the wise men to Jesus. That’s because the ultimate aim of all of God’s messages is to shed the light of heaven on his Son.

“They came to the house where the child was and saw him with his mother, Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. They opened their gifts and gave him treasures of gold, frankincense and myrrh.” (Matt. 2:11) A simple dwelling became a cathedral, and the seekers of the Christ-child found him and knelt in his presence. They gave him gifts: gold for a king, frankincense for a priest, and myrrh for his burial. They found the Christ because they heeded the sign and believed the Scripture.

Noticeably absent at the manger were the scholars of the Torah; the religious know-it-alls. They reported to Herod that the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem, so they’d read the prophecy – they just didn’t respond to it. You’d think at a minimum they would have accompanied the magi to Bethlehem. The village wasn’t far away, and the risks were small. At worst they’d have been out a little time and effort, but at best they’d have seen the fulfillment of prophecy. But the priests showed no interest whatsoever. The wise men, on the other hand, earned their moniker because they did.

Their hearts were open to God’s gift, and the men were never the same. After worshiping the Christ child, “they departed for their own country another way.” (Matthew 2:12) Matthew uses the word “way” in other places in his gospel to suggest a direction in life. He speaks of the narrow “way” (Matt. 7:13-14), and “the way of righteousness.” (Matt.21:32) Maybe he’s telling us that the wise men went home as different men. Called by a sign. Instructed by Scripture. Directed home by God. It’s as if all the forces of heaven cooperated to guide the wise men. And God uses every possible means to communicate with you and me. The wonders of nature call to you. The promises and prophecies of Scripture speak to you. God reaches out to you. He wants to help you find your way home for Christmas.

Some time ago, I watched the television adaptation of the drama The Miracle Worker, the compelling story of two females with great resolve: Helen Keller and Anne Sullivan. Helen was born in 1880. She wasn’t quite two when she contracted an illness that left her blind, deaf and mute. When Helen was seven years old, Annie, a young, partially blind teacher, came to the Kellers’ Alabama home to serve as Helen’s teacher. Helen’s brother, James, tried to convince Annie to quit, but the teacher wouldn’t consider it. She was committed to helping Helen function in a world of sight and sound, and Helen was as stubborn as her teacher.

Locked in a frightening, lonely world, Helen misinterpreted Annie’s attempts. The result was a battle of wills. Over and over again Annie pressed sign language into Helen’s palm, but Helen would pull back. Annie persisted. Helen resisted. Finally, in a moment of high drama, a breakthrough. During a fevered exchange near the water pump, Annie placed one of Helen’s hands under the spout of flowing water and into the other hand she spelled out w-a-t-e-r. Over and over, w-a-t-e-r. Helen pulled back. Annie kept signing. W-a-t-e-r. All of a sudden Helen stopped. She placed her hand on her teacher’s and repeated the letters w-a-t-e-r. Annie beamed. She lifted Helen’s hand onto her own cheek and nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes, yes! W-a-t-e-r.” Helen spelled it again: w-a-t-e-r. Helen pulled Annie around the yard, spelling out the words. G-r-o-u-n-d. P-o-r-c-h. P-u-m-p. It was a victory parade of sorts.

Christmas celebrates a similar moment for us — God breaking through our world, and in a feeding stall of all places. He will not leave us in the dark. He is the pursuer, the teacher. He won’t sit back while we miss out. So, he entered our world. He sends signals and messages: H-o-p-e. L-i-f-e. He cracks the shell of our world and invites us to peek into his. And every so often a seeking soul looks up.

May you be one of them. When God sends signs, be faithful. Let them lead you to Scripture. And as Scripture directs, be humble. Let it lead you to worship. And as you worship the Son, be grateful. He will lead you home. This Christmas may God give you eyes wise to see, and a heart humbled by the babe in the manger. This Christmas, may you be changed by the Christ who gave his life so that you may find yours – f-o-r-e-v-e-r.

Merry Christmas!

Randy

 

Majesty in the Mundane

 

Majesty in the Mundane

Majesty in the Mundane - Audio/Visual 

In those days Caesar Augustus declared that everyone throughout the empire should be enrolled on the tax lists. This first enrollment occurred when Quirinius governed Syria. Everyone went to their own cities to be enrolled. Since Joseph belonged to David’s house and family line, he went up from the city of Nazareth in Galilee to David’s city, called Bethlehem, in Judea. He went to be enrolled together with Mary, who was promised to him in marriage and who was pregnant. While they were there, the time came for Mary to have her baby. She gave birth to her firstborn child, a son, wrapped him snugly, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them at the inn. (Luke 2:1-7)

The noise and the bustle began earlier than usual in the village that day. As night gave way to dawn, people were already on the streets. Vendors were positioning themselves on the corners of the busiest intersections. Store owners were unlocking the doors to their shops. Children were awakened by the excited barking of the street dogs and the frequent complaints of donkeys pulling carts. The owner of the inn had awakened earlier than most in town. After all, the inn was full – all the beds were taken. (Luke 2:7) Every available mat or blanket had been put to use. Soon all the customers would be stirring and there would be a lot of work to do.

Did any of the innkeeper’s family mention the arrival of the young couple the night before? Did anyone comment on the pregnant girl? Maybe. Maybe someone raised the subject. But, at best, it was raised but not discussed since there was nothing particularly novel about the young couple. They were, quite possibly, one of several families who had been turned away that night. Besides, who had time to talk about strangers when there was so much excitement in the air? Augustus had done the economy of Bethlehem a huge favor when he decreed that a census should be taken, even if it was for the purpose of collecting more taxes. Who could remember when this much traffic had hit the village?

No, it’s doubtful that anyone mentioned the couple’s arrival, or wondered about the condition of the girl. They were too busy. The day was already upon them. Bread had to be baked. The morning’s chores had to be completed. There was too much to do to imagine that the impossible had actually occurred. Yet if someone had happened to come upon the sheep stable on the outskirts of Bethlehem that morning, it would have been a pretty strange sight to see.

The stable stinks like all stables do. The stench of urine, dung and sheep is pungent in the air. The ground is hard, the hay is scarce. Cobwebs cling to the ceiling, and a mouse scurries across the dirt floor. A more lowly place of birth could not exist. And off to one side is a group of smelly shepherds. They sit silently on the floor, perhaps perplexed, perhaps in awe, but no doubt in amazement. (Luke 2:16) Their night watch had been interrupted by an explosion of light from heaven and a symphony of angels. (Luke 2:10) You see, God goes to those who have time to hear him. So, on that cloudless night he went to some simple shepherds.

Near the young mother sits the weary father. If anyone is dozing, he is. He can’t remember the last time he sat down. And now that the excitement has subsided, and now that Mary and the baby are comfortable, he leans against the wall of the stable and feels his eyes grow heavy. He still hasn’t figured it all out. The mystery of the event remains a puzzle to him. But he doesn’t have the energy to wrestle with the questions. What’s important is that the baby’s fine and Mary’s safe. And as sleep comes, he remembers the name the angel told him to use . . . Jesus. (Luke 1:31) “We’ll call him Jesus,” he mutters as he drifts off to sleep

Mary, on the other hand, is wide awake. She looks so young, and her pain has now been eclipsed by wonder. She looks into the face of the baby. Her son. Her Lord. And at this point in history, the human being who best understands who God is and what he’s doing is a teenage girl in a stinky stable. Somehow, Mary knows she’s holding God. So, this is he, she thinks, and then remembers the words of the angel, “His kingdom will never end.” (Luke 1:33) “He doesn’t look like a king, though,” she muses. His face is prunish and red. His cry, although strong and healthy, is still the helpless and piercing cry of a baby, and he’s absolutely dependent upon Mary for his well-being.

Majesty in the mundane. Holiness in the filth of manger. Divinity entering the world on the floor of a stable, through the womb of a teenager, in the presence of a blue-collar construction worker. But this baby had created and overlooked the universe. (Col. 1:16) These rags keeping him warm were the robes of eternity. His golden throne room had been abandoned in favor of a dirty sheep pen. And worshiping angels had been replaced with kind but bewildered shepherds. (Luke 2:15)

Meanwhile, the city hums. The merchants are unaware that God has come down. The innkeeper would have never believed that he had just sent God out into the cold the night before. And the people would scoff at anyone who told them the promised Messiah lay in the arms of a teenager on the outskirts of their village. They were all too busy to consider that possibility. But those who missed Jesus’ arrival that night didn’t miss it because of evil acts or malice. They missed it because they simply weren’t looking. And not a lot has changed in the last two thousand years. Because it all happened in a moment, a most remarkable moment – when God appeared to those who were looking for him.

As moments go, that one was no different than any other. If you could somehow pick it up off the timeline and examine it, it would look exactly like the ones that have passed while you’ve been reading these words. It came and it went. It was preceded and succeeded by others just like it. It was one of the countless moments that have marked time since eternity became measurable. But in reality, that particular moment was like no other because in that segment of time a spectacular thing occurred. God became a man. (John 1:14) While the creatures of earth walked unaware, Divinity arrived. Heaven opened itself and placed its most precious one in a human womb.

The Omnipotent, in one instant, made himself vulnerable. He who had been Spirit became human. He who was larger than the universe became an embryo. And he who sustains the world with a word (Heb. 1:3) chose to be dependent upon the nourishment of a young girl. God as a fetus. Holiness sleeping in a womb. The creator of life being created. The God-man with eyebrows, elbows, and a spleen. He stretched against the walls and floated in the amniotic fluid of his mother’s womb.

He came, not as a flash of light or as an unapproachable conqueror, but as one whose first cries were heard by a peasant girl and a sleepy carpenter. The hands that first held him were calloused and dirty. No silk. No ivory. No hype. No party. No hoopla. Were it not for the shepherds, there would have been no reception. And were it not for a group of stargazers, there would have been no gifts. (Matt. 2:1-12)

So, angels watched as Mary changed God’s diaper. The universe watched with wonder as the Almighty learned to walk. Children played in the street with him. And had the synagogue leader in Nazareth known who was listening to his sermons he might have let Jesus get a word in edgewise. Jesus may have had pimples. He may have been tone-deaf. Perhaps a girl down the street had a crush on him, or vice versa. It could be that his knees were knobby. But one thing’s for sure: Jesus was, while completely divine, completely human.

For some thirty-three years he would feel everything you and I have ever felt. He felt weak. He grew weary. He was afraid of failure. He got colds, burped, and had body odor. His feelings got hurt. His feet got tired (John 4:6), and his head ached. To think of Jesus in that light is — well, it seems almost irreverent. It’s not something we like to do. It’s uncomfortable because it’s much easier to keep his humanity out of the incarnation. Clean the manure from around the manger. Wipe the sweat out of his eyes. Pretend he never snored or blew his nose or hit his thumb with a hammer. He’s easier to stomach that way. There’s something about keeping him divine that keeps him distant and sanitary.

But don’t do that this Christmas. Let him be as human as he intended to be. Let him into the manger of your world. For only if we let him in can he pull us out. And listen to him. “Love your neighbor” (Mark 12:31) was spoken by the man whose neighbors tried to kill him. (Luke 4:16-30) The challenge to leave family for the gospel (Luke 14:26) was issued by the one who kissed his mother goodbye at the doorway. “Pray for those who persecute you” (Matt. 5:44) came from the lips that would soon be begging God to forgive his murderers. (Luke 23:34) “I am with you always” (Matt. 28:20) are the words of a God who, in one instant, did the impossible to make it all possible for you and me. It happened in a moment. A most remarkable moment. The Word became flesh (John 1:14); majesty dressed in mundanity.

There will be another. The world will see another instantaneous transformation. In becoming man, God made it possible for man to see God. But when Jesus went home, he left the back door open. As a result, “we will all be changed — in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye.” (1. Cor. 15:51-52) The first moment of transformation went largely unnoticed by the world. The second will not.

So, the next time you use the phrase “just a moment,” remember that’s all the time it will take to change your world for eternity. So, perhaps take a moment this Christmas to change it now.

Grace,

Randy