It’s the end of 2005. If you’re in Australia, it’s already 2006.

At this time of year it’s customary for people to look back on the events that shaped the year past. It’s also customary for people to look ahead to what 2006 may have in store for us.

So, I’m inviting you to tell me what your hopes are for 2006.

And while you’re at it, tell me what happened in 2005 that you’re especially thankful for.

So, the idea has resurfaced that I should start my own non-profit ministry organization — to help people think about the Bible and Spiritual Formation and How We Can Live In Our World in new and creative ways. This is something that people have encouraged me to do for some time, but I’ve always resisted because I am not interested in managing something like that. I’m at a point in my life where I’m content to just be talent. I want to think about things, show up and say my words and leave someone else to do all the other stuff. Creating content is one thing — filling out paperwork and having board meetings and all that makes me want to run and hide.

Anyway, several people have talked to me about doing something like this — especially in the past few months. And now I’m actually thinking about it. It would be wise to do this for a number of reasons, and I think I have people around me who are competent and willing to do most of the legwork for me. Still, I’m kind of dragging my feet.

I think part of the reason why I’m reluctant is because I can’t think of a really cool name. I don’t want to be John Turner Ministries. I work with really cutting edge folks with names like The reThink Group and BigStuf. John Turner Ministries sounds very — I don’t know — 1970s. My blog is titled In His Big Grip, but I don’t like that as the name of the organization, either.

So, I’m stuck. Am I making too much out of this? Does the name of the organization really make that much of a difference? Anyone have any great ideas for me?

A few days ago I finished the parenting book. It felt pretty good to hit send on that last chapter. There’s still a reading list and acknowledgments, but the content is done.

It took me more than two years, and I read close to 100 books in the process. The book has become a part of my life. So many of the things I’ve done have been filtered through this question: How will this help me finish the parenting book? I constantly asked myself if something was helping me write the book or distracting me from writing the book.

But now it’s done. And I don’t know what to do with myself.

I sat around the house yesterday. I read a novel. I helped my daughters roller skate in the driveway. I made dinner. I watched a football game. And around every corner I expected to encounter my familiar mantra: must finish parenting book. But it is finished.

I know it won’t be long before I get back to work. I’ve got three trips in January and three more in February. I’ll be back doing 5-Hour Workshops — training churches in how to use curriculum for 252Basics and reach out to families in their community more effectively. But I wonder how long it will be before the next book idea starts to really take shape. I have several ideas bouncing around my head. I wonder what the next big thing will be. Where will the next opportunity come from?

For now, I’m resting. I’m not checking my email much. I haven’t returned any calls since before Christmas. I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel restless. I need something, but I don’t know what it is. I’m not hungry, but I eat. I feel sluggish and tired.

Now that the book is done, I feel aimless.

How now shall I live?

“Welcome To Our World”
by Chris Rice

Tears are falling, hearts are breaking
How we need to hear from God
You’ve been promised, we’ve been waiting

Welcome Holy Child
Welcome Holy Child

Hope that you don’t mind our manger
How I wish we would have known
But long-awaited Holy Stranger
Make Yourself at home
Please make Yourself at home

Bring Your peace into our violence
Bid our hungry souls be filled
Word now breaking Heaven’s silence

Welcome to our world
Welcome to our world

Fragile finger sent to heal us
Tender brow prepared for thorn
Tiny heart whose blood will save us

Unto us is born
Unto us is born

So wrap our injured flesh around You
Breathe our air and walk our sod
Rob our sin and make us holy
Perfect Son of God
Perfect Son of God

Welcome to our world

When we talk about the birth of Jesus, we always turn to Luke’s Gospel or Matthew’s. That’s where we read about angels and shepherds, a star and a stable, wise men and visitations. That’s where all the images of Christmas have their origin. Mark’s Gospel skips the beginning and starts in the middle of the story. John’s Gospel goes too far back to before the beginning of anything and is hard to read and understand.

So, John and Mark don’t get much play during December. They don’t smell enough like a stable, I suppose.

The Apostle John has had a lifetime to reflect on the events surrounding the life of Jesus. He had been the one asked to look after Mary, Jesus’ mother. So, assuming she had become part of his family, they must have spent time talking about the birth and all the craziness surrounding it. Her face, her laugh, the way she turned phrases — these things may have been reminders to John of what Jesus was like.

When John finally sits down to write his version of the story, he must have thought about where to begin. His mind must have played and replayed the details of that night in Bethlehem. Instead of starting there, he goes beyond it and beneath it. His version begins by telling us about the One called The Word and how this One came into a dark and dying world. In fact, as I read the prologue to John’s Gospel, two words surface more than any others: light and life.

Those two themes are what John’s mind gravitates toward. He must have remembered where Jesus was standing and what he sounded like when he referred to himself by those words. Jesus is many things to many people, but to John he is Light, and he is Life.

“In him was Life,” John writes. Jesus wasn’t just alive; he was life. Life was in him — more than a heart beating and lungs contracting, the life Jesus provided was what produces beating hearts and contracting lungs. He was life, so life was his to give. John’s Gospel reminds us that giving life was what Jesus had come to do. He was the bringer of life.

“That Life was the Light of men,” John writes. What’s going through John’s mind now as he reads his own words? He could recall men and women who were dark and full of death coming to Jesus and seeing how one touch, one word from him sent them away forever changed — forever filled with the Light and Life of the one who came to conquer our fear of death and beat back the darkness.

He could remember how that Light broke into his own darkness with a simple question. “What do you want?” Jesus had asked him. Life and Light — that was Jesus.

And there is a little inkling of the birth here in John’s Gospel. It is one short sentence, but it says as much as Matthew or Luke did — without the details, of course:

“The Light shone in the darkness, and the darkness did not understand It” (John 1:5).

This verse should be read before Matthew and Luke. It prepares us to receive the full version of the story. The Light that is Jesus shines in, around, through, behind, beneath, beyond the darkness of the manger, the darkness of the stable, the darkness of the world, the darkness of our hearts.

And yet we still do not understand it any more than did the shepherds or the wise men. Who can grasp this idea of Light and Life being contained in a body?

Like those first witnesses to the Christ-child, we are left to worship, adore and ponder the mystery. And we pray for his Life to come to life in us. And we ask for his Light to shine forth from our hearts forever.

The sun went down a little while ago here in Atlanta. It’s completely dark outside, and it happened earlier today than any other day this year. It’s the Winter Solstice — the day with the least amount of sunlight. Every day for the next six months will gradually grow longer and longer.

The early church faced some big decisions with what to do about certain pagan holidays. These holidays were so deeply embedded in their culture that people who had left behind their pagan ways and converted to Christianity would often revert to pagan revelry on these special days. Church leaders thought that if they could establish new holidays to paste over the old ones, maybe that might help.

And so the idea of celebrating the birth of great people in the Bible came about. But where on the calendar should they put something as significant as the birth of Jesus?

They actually decided on it a little backwards. First, they decided to celebrate the birth of John the Baptist on the Summer Solstice. It’s the longest day of the year. Every day after that has gradually fewer and fewer hours of sunlight. This reminded them of John’s statement that “I must decrease so that Jesus can increase” (John 3:30).

If Jesus is the light of the world, it makes sense to celebrate his entrance into this world on the shortest day of the year. The Winter Solstice fell on December 25 in the Julian Calendar. Christmas — the celebration of the birth of Jesus — was placed on that date.

I know all about the Feast of Saturnalia, and I’ve heard all the theories about early Christians just wanting to Christianize the population. But after this week, there will be gradually more and more light in our world. At least there’s supposed to be. Today has been the shortest day of our year. I am looking forward to more sunlight tomorrow and more the day after that.

I am looking forward to seeing how this Christ-child born in such a lowly estate is going to continue to increase in my own life and eventually light up the sky of this darkened world.

So, in one sense, today has been dark. Dean still isn’t showing any signs of improvement or receptivity that I know of. Children are going to bed tonight hungry and cold. Disease is tearing apart an entire continent. People are lonely and afraid and bound by rigid legalism that robs them of their joy.

But in another sense, we could say that we have made it through the darkest part. The light has broken through and may only exist in small pockets here and there — slivers of light shining through the cracks of the walls. But broken through it has. And tomorrow will have more light than today.

Dr. Kenneth Ulmer is the pastor of Faithful Central Bible Church in Inglewood, California. It’s a predominantly African-American Church that recently purchased The Forum — where the Lakers used to play basketball. He’s been their pastor since 1982 and has overseen their growth from 350 people to more than 13,000 now. His is a remarkable story.

And he can preach.

He’s one of those rare men who not only has lots of good knowledge (he earned a Ph.D. from Grace Theological Seminary) but lots of passion as well.

And did I mention he can preach?

He tells this story about two guys walking through an art museum. They come upon a painting of a chess game, which is very interesting because one of the two men happens to be an international chess champion.

There were two characters in the painting: one looked like a regular guy; the other looked like the Devil. The regular guy was down to his last piece on the chessboard, and the title of the painting is Checkmate.

Something about the painting intrigued the two men, but the chess champion could not stop staring at the painting. He became so engrossed in it, he eventually told his partner to move on without him. Something about the painting wasn’t right, but he couldn’t figure it out and wanted more time to study it.

After a while, he began to run through the museum to find his friend. He said, “We have to find the man who painted this. We have to tell him that he must change his picture or change its title.”

His friend was bewildered. “What? What’s wrong with the picture and its title?”

THE KING STILL HAS ONE MORE MOVE.

When Dr. Ulmer tells the story, this is where you start to get goosebumps. It can’t be checkmate if the King still has one more move. The game can’t be over as long as the King still has one more move. Anything can happen as long as the King still has one more move.

God’s people are in slavery in Egypt. They’ve come under the ruthless hand of the mighty Pharaoh. He’s killing all the baby boys. It looks like Checkmate, but…the King still has one more move.

The people leave Egypt, headed for the Promised Land, but Pharaoh is determined to bring them back. They find themselves with the armies of Egypt behind them and the Red Sea in front of them — trapped between the Devil and the Deep Red Sea. It looks like Checkmate, but…the King still has one more move.

A little boy named David goes out to fight a giant named Goliath. He doesn’t fit into the suit of armor he’s offered, so he goes out to fight with a rock and a slingshot. It looks like Checkmate, but…the King still has one more move.

Elijah is totally outnumbered. The Queen has been executing the prophets of God and replacing them with the prophets and priests of Baal. The people have been seduced by the worship of foreign gods, and it looks like Checkmate, but…the King still has one more move.

A young man named Daniel refuses to stop praying to his God and gets thrown in a den of lions. Three other young men refuse to bow down and worship an idol and get thrown into a fiery furnace. The nation groans under the strain of captivity and exile. It looks like Checkmate, but…the King still has one more move.

Eventually, Jesus himself entered our world and submitted to the most cruel and inhumane torture imaginable. He was mocked and beaten and killed and buried in a tomb. And when they slid that stone in front of the entrance to his grave, it must have looked like Checkmate, but…the King still had one more move.

There’s a reason I’m telling you this. And it’s a very personal reason.

My father-in-law is dying.

I don’t mean he’s dying like we’re all dying. I mean he’s dying right now. He may not last through the holidays. And my wife is distraught.

See, Dean is not only not a Christian; Dean has been openly antagonistic about Christianity.

But did I mention he’s dying?

He’s got 70 tumors in his lungs, one in his brain and one behind his ear. If he ever finds out I told you all this, he’ll probably never speak to me again.

But did I mention he’s dying?

It’s pretty much a foregone conclusion at this point. He’s dying. There’s no amount of medical technology that’s going to magically appear to save him. Certainly, miracles are possible, but he’s not going to last much longer.

The only hope I have to offer my wife is this: Even though it looks like Checkmate right now — the King still has one more move.

Would you please pray that our King will make his move? Pray for Dean’s heart to open and soften and receive what he has fought so hard to resist all his life. Pray for grace and mercy and love to do what reason and argument and logic never have been able to do. Pray for Dean. Pray for my wife. Pray for us all. Please.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where all this talk of withdrawal is heading. It’s been hinted at in some of the comments, and it’s something that I feel very passionately about — so much so that a big portion of the parenting book revolves around it.

Christians often feel compelled to withdraw out of fear. They’re afraid they might find themselves polluted by their involvement with non-Christians. That was Pete’s argument, and he had Bible verses to justify it. Granted, they were taken miserably out of context, but they sounded valid. We’re not supposed to have anything to do with the world, right? We’re not supposed to love the world or the things of the world.

And, as lots of Christians like to say, “It’s all about souls.” Souls are all that matters, right? So, all this other stuff is just re-arranging deck chairs on The Titanic. It’s all going to perish, so why bother with it?

That sounds kind of biblical. But it’s not.

See, our goal is this whole endeavor is not to be biblical. Our goal is to be Christlike. So, when our biblical analysis ends up making us less like Jesus, something’s gone terribly wrong.

Jesus left an environment so perfect we can only imagine it through pictures and analogies in order to enter a less-than-perfect world. He could have chosen to withdraw, but he did not. He engaged with people. He fed hungry people. He touched and healed sick people. He chose to live among us — even though he did not have to. He engaged with people who were of a lower status than he, and, in doing so, he elevated them. He left the world — temporary though it may be — a much brighter place than he found it. And he calls us to do the same.

The Incarnation — Christmas itself — is the opposite of withdrawal.

All the comments and email I’ve received point to a few major reasons why we withdraw from society. Mostly it’s because of fear, the belief that our engagement won’t actually accomplish anything and a gross misunderstanding of a few Bible verses.

To jump us further into this conversation, I’ll quote the following over-the-top story from a book I’ve been re-reading. Dick Staub was a nationally syndicated talk-radio host in Chicago for years. He tells this story in his book TOO CHRISTIAN, TOO PAGAN (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2000):

“The phone lines were jammed, and I owed it all to Ann Landers. Her column that morning told the story of a young man named Bob who was about to be married. Bob was asking if he should un-invite his father Jim’s “significant other” from the wedding ceremony. Fourteen years earlier Jim announced that he was gay and left Bob’s mother. Jim now lived with Greg, a man who by all accounts was a kind and thoughtful person. Bob struggled with his father’s decision. While he didn’t approve of his father’s choice, Bob had come to accept him. On occasion Bob and his fiancee Carol socialized with Jim and Greg.

“When Carol’s parents heard about this gay union, they were extremely upset and demanded that Greg not attend the wedding. When Greg learned of ths situation he said he understood and told Bob he would voluntarily withdraw from the event. But Bob’s dad was deeply offended and asked his son to reconsider. You be the judge. What would you do in this situation?

“The calls came fast and were intense. ‘The bride’s parents are bring ridiculous. If Bob and his fiancee let her parents make this decision, they’ll never stop interfering in this marriage.’ ‘Bob’s dad is just reaping the benefits of his sinful act. First he leaves his wife, and then he takes up with a man. He should get over his hurt and accept the consequences of his own actions.’ ‘I think what Greg is doing is admirable — this couple should accept his peacemaking offer as a wonderful gift.’

“Then Pete from Long Beach called. ‘Not only should they tell Greg not to attend, they should make sure only born-again Christians attend their wedding.’

“‘And why is that?’ I asked.

“‘Marriage is a Christian ceremony, a sacrament, and we shouldn’t pollute it with the presence of unbelievers.’

“‘Sounds like a pretty radical position to me!’

“‘That’s your problem, Dick, you don’t understand the importance of separation from the world.’

“‘Really! Tell me more.’

“‘The Bible makes it clear. We are to have no fellowship with darkness. Friendship with the world is enmity with God. Dick, if you believe this, why do you do movie reviews every Thursday on your show?’

“‘And what do movie reviews have to do with it?’

“‘We’re not supposed to love the world or the things of the world. The world is polluted with sin, and God is going to destroy is anyway! Movies are of the world! We shouldn’t waste our time talking about them, and Christians certainly shouldn’t be watching them.’

“‘Pete, just so I’m sure I understand you, would you invite movie-going Christians to your wedding, or are they on the non-invite list with all the gays and non-Christians?’

“‘A real Christian wouldn’t go to the movies, but you know what, Dick? You’re a jerk, and I don’t want to waste any more time putting my pearls in front of swine like you.’ Click. Pete hung up.” (pp. 34-35)

Anyone ever met Pete? Anyone have something constructive to tell him? How do you approach Pete and make a case that might change his mind?

I asked a question yesterday about why Christian often feel the need to withdraw from society. Michael wrote in and asked:

“By ‘withdrawal’ do you mean those who retreat to a monastic way of life? Those who remove themselves from the everyday “normalities” that you and I enjoy and choose to not interact any longer with culture?

Or do you mean those who refuse to vote, who don’t read the paper or ponder political questions or are afraid to talk to others about God?”

Now I’m wondering: what’s the difference? Withdrawing from society — whether to go live on a mountain top in a commune or continuing to live among the rest of the people but having nothing to do with them and refusing to get involved in processes that might make a difference — it’s the same thing, isn’t it?

Unless I’m missing something here, withdrawal is withdrawal.

And it’s practiced by too many Christians.