Until I’m done with the book I’m currently writing (which should be tomorrow), I’m posting some of my favorites posts from years past. Here’s one from 2004:

Living Between the Holidays

The week between Christmas and New Year’s Day is the oddest time of the year. Do you go back to work? You’re all out of sorts in terms of your schedule. Everything is just weird.

But life goes on for the living. Right now there are children being born. Right now there are families gathered in hospital rooms saying goodbye. Somebody got married today. Somebody else got divorced.

It seems like a lot of my friends are in pain this week. One friend’s mother had a stroke. Another friend’s mother is in the hospital with Alzheimer’s. One friend is struggling with addiction. One friend just lost a baby. One friend is suffering from some mysterious illness, suffering chronic pain that keeps him awake at night.

In the midst of all our Christmas spirit, we dare not lose sight of the Passion of the Christ. The strangeness found between Christmas and New Year’s Day is similar to that found between Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday. We live on Saturday. We live between the holidays.

In those in-between times is life — life with sickness, life with suffering, life with sorrow and confusion. Life as we know it. We yearn for the dawning of a new day — a day filled with promise — a day that will certainly be better than today. And that day will come; that much is certain.

But for now, we cling to the hope that the next holy day is on its way.

Until I’m done with the book I’m currently writing (which should be before the end of the year), I’m posting some of my favorites posts from years past. Here’s one from 2006:

Now What?

If your home is like ours, the post-Christmas hangover is in fullswing. We spent most of yesterday (and by “we” I really mean “my wife”) digging out from under all the boxes and bags and paper that managed to pile up in every imaginable nook and cranny. We cleared a path to the television first. Then we cleared a path to the fireplace. Then we actually got to where we could see the floor. It’s amazing how much space wrapping paper can take up!

One of my girls had a slight fever, so we spent a lot of time yesterday laying around and not doing very much. It was cold and damp most of the day, so there wasn’t much of an opportunity to go outside and play. There were a few games learned. There was a new movie watched. There was lots of doing nothing. Believe it or not, there were few complaints about being bored.

There was, however, a slight sense of anticipation. Christmas is over, now what? What’s next? When’s the next big event?

I went out to the grocery store for some juice, and I found all the New Year’s decorations up everywhere. Champagne and finger foods. Party hats and confetti. I guess that’s what’s next, and the world seems ready to move on now. Traffic was thick with post-holiday shoppers out trying to redeem gift cards or find that perfect item at the annual after-Christmas sale.

But I couldn’t get into any of it. I’m not ready to leave behind Christmas just yet. It’s like the feeling when you’ve eaten something wonderful right before bed. You’re not ready to brush your teeth and banish the aftertaste just yet. You want to linger over the taste and texture for a few minutes more.

My mind went to something in the Christmas story I’ve never thought of before: the day after. The Bible is silent about what happens after Jesus is born. Nothing more is known except that he was circumcised on the eighth day and redeemed in the temple in Jerusalem sometime before the one-month anniversary of his birth. There are a lot of gaps there for someone with a healthy imagination.

We know he was born. We know shepherds came to see him the night of his birth. I imagine they must have stayed in Bethlehem for a few days — Mary was probably not in any condition to climb back onboard a donkey for the trip home to Nazareth. I guess Joseph would have spent some time trying to find them better accommodations. Perhaps he found some family where they could stay.

It was traditional for family and friends to gather round and sing and celebrate for most of the first-born son’s birth week. They would slowly build towards the day of his circumcision — the day on which he would be officially named as well. Then they would throw a big feast.

We don’t know if anyone came to see the firstborn son of Mary and Joseph. The circumstances surrounding her pregnancy were suspect. Maybe the shepherds brought some of their friends. Maybe there were others who saw or heard the angels. Maybe Elizabeth came with her newborn son.

We just don’t know.

What probably happened was something normal. Jesus’ early life was remarkably normal. That’s one of the reasons people didn’t believe he was who he claimed to be. He was too much like the rest of us. His life smelled too mundane.

The day after Jesus’ birth, Joseph probably cleaned up the cave. After all, two unprepared novices would have made something of a mess trying to bring their baby into this world. He would have gone looking for food. He may have gone in search of something suitable to dress the boy in. Perhaps Mary needed a change of clothes as well. He would have seen something of the same hustle-and-bustle I encountered yesterday. People on the go. People looking for deals. People moving about, searching for whatever comes next without realizing that something miraculous, something earth-shattering had just happened.

As a society, we’re not very good at the day after. We’re too quick to tear down the decorations and move on to what’s next. As soon as the champagne corks pop there will be people somewhere putting up Valentine’s Day decorations. As soon as the Valentine cards are opened, there will be people somewhere putting up pictures of shamrocks and leprechauns.

St. Patrick’s Day will give way to Easter. Easter will give way to Memorial Day. Memorial Day fades into The Fourth of July fades into Labor Day gives way to Halloween and Thanksgiving and we’re back to Christmas before we know it.

But were we ever really at Christmas in the first place?

In our haste for what comes next, in our search for an answer to the never ending question (“Now What?”) I wonder if we’ve missed what just happened.

I hope not.

“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

In the beginning, God created absolutely everything, and it was all perfect. When everything was ready, he took a deep breath and said, “Watch this.” A man and a woman blinked their eyes at each other, and the grand romance was set in motion.

But people ran away for some reason. And God spent the next several thousand years chasing down his beloved. Every time he’d catch them, they’d cry and have a grand reunion. But it never lasted long. Pretty soon, people would get bored or just tired of the same, old thing.

But this God — he never gave up.

And when the time was perfect, he actually came down here — wrapped himself in an earthsuit and planted himself as a tiny seed in a teenage girl. It was a rough and bumpy landing, to be sure. Nothing would be very smooth for him during his brief stay here. But he did it.

And because he did, people — not all of them — but some of them — finally relented. He has won our hearts, this tiny baby born in Bethlehem.

Tonight, I pray that you will enjoy perhaps the greatest gift of all: to sleep in heavenly peace.

Until I’m done with the book I’m currently writing (which should be before the end of the year), I’m posting some of my favorites posts from years past. Here’s one from 2007:

A Baby?

God does a lot of things — many of them seem strange to our admittedly limited perspective. Without a doubt, the single most unsettling, irrational, illogical thing he ever did was come to earth…as a baby!

If God came to earth as a fully-grown man, we could understand that a little better. If he came to earth as an angel, a ghost, an apparition or a disembodied voice, it might make more sense or fit our expectations a little better.

But a baby? He was totally helpless. He couldn’t feed himself or talk or walk or control his own bladder.

And have you ever been to a live birth? There’s blood and sweat and mucous and screaming…and that’s just the dads! The whole process is uncomfortable to say the least. It’s unseemly. It’s unsanitary. As much as we may not want to think about this, birth — for all of its wonder and amazement — is a yucky process, and there are parts of it that we don’t even like to think about, let alone imagine.

This is how God chose to enter the world.

He could have chosen any way he wanted — something miraculous and exceptional, regal and majestic. But he chose the ordinary way.

Worse than that, he chose the peasant’s way. He could have chosen a major city with doctors, nurses or midwives and their sterilized equipment. Instead he chose a barn in a backwater town with no one but a carpenter’s rough and calloused hands to usher him into the world. There were probably more animals than people present at his birth.

No, this doesn’t make much sense to many people. The God of the universe humbling himself in such a way, emptying himself of so much to gain so little in return.

We would understand if royal officials were there eagerly awaiting his arrival. No one important showed up save a few dirty shepherds — oh and some strange men from the east that got there several months later.

But the Bible leads us to believe that this is exactly the way God wanted it.

A young couple, miles away from home, are unable to find a decent place to sleep. They’re forced to spend the night in a stable when she goes into labor and delivers this baby that has caused so much pain and would cause even more in his attempt to bring true peace, true healing, true joy. She wraps him in strips of cloth to keep him warm as her husband makes room in the feed trough. They’re both unaware that magi are headed their way or that shepherds are receiving the shock of their lives in the form of a heavenly chorus.

This is our God, this tiny baby with fists for hands and squinting eyes, depending upon and trusting in two scared newlyweds for his survival. He risks everything in order to maintain his own integrity and rescue the people who have never been able to keep their promises to him.

The storyline doesn’t make much sense to us, because it is we who are so out of synch with the way things ought to be.

Until I’m done with the book I’m currently writing (which should be before the end of the year), I’m posting some of my favorites posts from years past. Here’s one from 2005:

The Shortest Day of the Year

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. 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.

Until I’m done with the book I’m currently writing (which should be before the end of the year), I’m posting some of my favorites posts from years past. Here’s one from 2004. This really captures what I’m feeling right now and what I’d say to me if I wasn’t me (hope that made sense):

For Those Who Don’t Really Feel Like Celebrating

Christmas is nearly on top of us now. We’re in the home stretch. Last minute shoppers are frantically searching for that perfect gift, every night brings another of those animated Rankin/Bass Christmas specials, the airports are packed to the rafters and my kids are actually counting the days.

And here’s something I’ve noticed this week: Some people are really looking forward to Christmas. Life is good. Jobs are terrific. Finances are secure. The kids are healthy, making good grades and keeping their rooms clean. Blood pressure and cholesterol are down. Stocks are up. It’s been a great year for them, and they’re really looking forward to next Friday.

But not everyone is.

I’m thinking of my friends who just found out that they’re going to lose the baby she’s carrying. It’s just a matter of time. They’ve told everyone she’s expecting. Now they have to go back and tell everyone their tragedy. Their only prayer now is that it won’t happen on the 25th.

I’m thinking of the family who ex-communicated their son several years ago. They were following the advice of their church — make of that what you will. But now they’ve just discovered that their son has been killed in Iraq. They didn’t even know he was there. And now he’s gone.

I’m thinking of the father who wonders how in the world he’s going to do Christmas with his kids now that his wife is gone.

All around us people are busy shopping and decorating and baking and attending parties. On the surface we may join in the festivities, but deep down we just don’t feel like celebrating this year. Many of us find ourselves resonating with old Scrooge’s sentiments:

“What’s Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in ‘em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you?”

Some of us are struggling through relationships and wondering if we’re going to make it through the holidays intact or stay together in the new year. Some of us are out of work and nervous that we might not be able to pay the mortgage. Some of us are facing illnesses and worried that this might be the last Christmas we spend with someone we love. Some of us are battling addiction and the added stress of the holidays seems to make it impossible to resist.

Seven hundred years before Mary and Joseph ever thought of going to Bethlehem, the world was also crashing down and falling apart. The nation of Israel had divided into two kingdoms, Israel in the north and Judah, with its capital — Jerusalem — in the south.

Armies from conquering nations were forming an alliance to destroy Jerusalem and carry the people off into captivity. Ahaz, who was king in Judah, had turned away from God. The situation seemed hopeless, and the people were in distress.

Into that scene God sent the prophet Isaiah with a promise. Isaiah began by declaring that despite how horrible and hopeless the situation seemed, “Nevertheless, there will be no more gloom for those who are in distress” (Isaiah 9:1).

How could he say that? Because here’s the promise: “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned” (Isaiah 9:2).

Notice who the promise is for: People walking in darkness — people living in the land of the shadow of death — people who probably wouldn’t feel very much like celebrating.

That describes a lot of us. We are often the people walking in darkness, the people living in shadows. We need light desperately because in so many ways we live in a dark world. We live in a world of poverty and hunger, violence and death. We live in a world where nations oppress people — where war and terrorism are a part of everyday life for too many.

We live in a world where people steal and are unable to control their sexuality — a world where abuse occurs and families are torn apart. This is a world where people step on others in order to get ahead, people lie to win cases in court, people cheat and lie and hurt. People intimidate and disappoint. People are full of selfishness and pride and bitterness.

We could go on and on, but the Christmas story promises that in this land of darkness a light has dawned. A few verses later, Isaiah describes what that coming light would look like: “For unto us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6).

Wonderful Counselor. Mighty God. Everlasting Father. Prince of Peace. When you think about it, isn’t that exactly what we need? Aren’t these the things that we hope for and long for, but sometimes fear that we’ll never find? Perhaps you feel like you’ve been waiting a long time for wisdom or acceptance, for an experience of God’s power and peace. At times we feel like we’ve been waiting such a long time for the dawning of the light Isaiah promised. Some of us are waiting in darkness, clinging by a narrow thread to this promise that the dawn will come.

But now the waiting time is over. The Christmas Story tells us that the Light of the World has stepped out into the darkness with unfailing love and full redemption so that the hopes and fears of all the years are met in him. And the good news of Christmas is that the light Isaiah promised is available to you and me right now. The Light is here for those who are merry and for those who don’t really feel like celebrating.

Until I’m done with the book I’m currently writing (which should be before the end of the year), I’m posting some of my favorites posts from years past. Here’s another one from 2006:

The Irony of the Incarnation

How bizarre it is that the thing that makes Christmas so magical for you when you’re a child is the very same thing that threatens to ruin it for you when you’re an adult.

I’m talking about expectations.

When you’re a kid, you have such high hopes for Christmas. At some point in time you find a catalogue and circle a number of items, hand it off to your mom or dad and wait. In that long and drawn-out period of waiting, all sorts of expectations form in your mind. You dream about what it will be like to come downstairs, wiping the sleep from your eyes, to find a pile of presents. Or maybe you dream of a smaller, more sedate Christmas, choosing to avoid the feeding frenzy atmosphere in favor of a quiet and modest one.

But you just know that the one thing you want most of all is going to be there. Your parents may play some sort of trick on you. You know, the kind where they wait until all the other presents are opened before saying, “Hey, what is that over there hiding behind the television?” But you know it’ll be there.

You have these expectations for Christmas when you’re a kid. And it seems (maybe there’s some false nostalgia at work in memory) that Christmas always meets or exceeds your expectations.

At least it does when you’re young.

When you’re a grown up you still have these expectations. And they often go unmet. That’s when Christmas gets difficult. What do you do when you’re forced to admit that Christmas just isn’t everything you hoped it would be? Or what do you do when Christmas looks like it’s all going south?

Lots of folks move into control mode and try to force people into meeting their expectations at that point. Others just try to pretend that everything’s fine while they’re secretly dying inside. Still others resolve to be miserable and to take as many people down with them as possible.

Those expectations that make Christmas such a magical time in a child’s life threaten to ruin the whole Christmas season for grownups.

But here’s the real irony: All the dysfunction, all the brokenness, all the baggage and hostility — all of that is why there’s a Christmas in the first place.

At this time of year, there’s always a lot of debate over the true meaning of Christmas. You’ll hear it on Larry King and Glenn Beck. They’ll argue about it on the evening news and in the editorial pages of The New York Times. And lots of people will fall back on the old bumpersticker slogan: Jesus is the Reason for the Season!

And there’s probably some merit to that. But it’s not the whole story.

See, all that junk, all that jealousy, the lack of forgiveness and understanding that we experience, the distance between those who are supposed to live in intimacy, the war, the politics, the every-other-Saturday, the she-started-it-and-if-she-wants-to-apologize, the commercialism, the anger, the bitterness — that’s the reason for the season, too.

If you ever were able to have the perfect Christmas, where everyone got along perfectly, where no one complained or grabbed or got jealous or greedy or bullied or got abusive or passive-aggressive, if you were ever able to pull off world peace, there wouldn’t be any need for Jesus to come to earth.

So, this weekend, when that special someone starts really grating on your nerves, when you’re tempted to say, “See, this is what I was talking about. It’s always like this. I hate it when people do that.” — think to yourself: That person who is driving me nuts is the reason for the season.

When you get cut off in traffic and the person flips you off for honking at them, remember: that driver is the reason we have Christmas.

When you look in the mirror and can’t believe you ate the whole thing, remember: your lack of self-control is one of the major reasons why Jesus came.

Your mother-in-law who criticizes your cleaning. Your brother-in-law who always asks to borrow money. Your sister-in-law who wants to show you her new diamond. The cranky guy next door who complains about the cars parked on the street. The wayward child who ran a thousand miles away from home and won’t come back even for a visit. George W. Bush. Nancy Pelosi. Oprah. Rosie. Bono. Perez Hilton. Pat Robertson. Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Tiger Woods. Sam Harris. Richard Dawkins. You.

These are all the reason for the season.

That’s the irony of Christmas.

I pray yours is merry and bright, and that you remember why it exists in the first place.

As I mentioned yesterday, I’m up against my deadline for the book, so that’s eating up all of my time lately. Until I’m done (which should be before the end of the year), I’ll post some of my favorites from years past. Here’s one from 2006:

Pax Romana vs. Pax Christiana

When Dr. Luke tells us the Christmas story, he gives us some background information to set the stage. He begins, “In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world” (Luke 2:1).

Caesar Augustus was a fascinating character who did two remarkable things. First, he had himself declared “Savior of the World”. That takes some…uh…guts.

Second, he declared World Peace (it was known as the pax romana). In 27 BC he closed the temple to the Roman god of war, and, in doing so, made a statement: There will be no more war.

Interestingly, the way he maintained the peace was to kill anyone who stepped out of line in the most violent ways imaginable.

We’re going to have world peace if I have to kill every last one of you!

That’s one way of doing things. And it continues in some places today. I don’t just mean governmentally or militarily. I’m thinking of households where peace is kept through manipulation, bullying and violence.

We all want peace in our homes. We want peace on earth this Christmas. And one way of going about it is to simply declare it and rule with an iron fist. But there is another way — a better way.

Later in the same chapter, Luke tells us about the shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night. You remember that part, right? It’s the part Linus reads in “A Charlie Brown Christmas”. Notice what the angels say to the shepherds: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests” (Luke 2:14).

Peace to whom? Those on whom his favor rests.

Jesus comes into a world where the people in charge are screaming, “We will have world peace if I have to kill every last one of you!” And the One who is the true Savior of the World brings peace through acceptance, unmerited favor, grace.

Who deserves this favor from on high? Absolutely no one.

Who gets this favor from on high? Absolutely everyone who will receive it.

Caesar Augustus offered to kill in order to get this peace.

Jesus of Nazareth offered to die in order to get it.

Guess whose peace is still around.

I’m sorry I haven’t been posting here on the blog regularly. I’m up against my deadline for the book, so that’s eating up all of my time lately. Until I’m done (which should be before the end of the year), I’ll post some of my favorites from years past. Here’s one I wrote just after I started blogging:

Have a Scandalous, Stress-Filled Christmas

No one ever wishes you that, do they? But that’s one I can handle. It’s one I could actually accomplish without much effort.

I’ve had lots of conversations lately about how simple Christmas should be — how we’ve made too much of a production out of it. Maybe it’s time to reform Christmas.

But in doing so, are we running away from something fundamental and inherent in Christmas itself? Think about how stressful that first Christmas must have been for Joseph. He’s a good guy — “a righteous man” the text calls him. He was known among the people in the village for how strictly he upheld the Law. It was more than just a descriptive term; it was a title. Joseph was a tsadiq — a “righteous one”.

But now he’s got a problem: his fiancee is pregnant, and he’s not the father. That’s unacceptable. The text literally says, “Being a righteous man, he wanted to avoid a scandal.” Most translations miss this and end up making Joseph nicer than he was and less upright at the same time. Probably the best way to translate that sentence is: “Although he was a righteous man, he didn’t want a scandal.”

Talk about stress! Joseph knew that the right thing to do (under the old system) was to expose the scandal. Sinners should be excluded, standards should be upheld. The righteous people should be separate from the sin and the sinners.

Yet, in spite of the fact that he was a “righteous” man, Joseph couldn’t bring himself to do it. He would just divorce her quietly. That way he could avoid a big mess and still maintain his status as a righteous man.

But Joseph, with the help of an angel, decides to embrace the scandal. He does this knowing that his reputation may never recover from it…and it doesn’t. By marrying the girl who got pregnant while they were engaged, everyone believed what we would believe today: Joseph did it.

So, this very first Christmas probably wasn’t much like we imagine: quiet and peaceful. Obviously, unexpected — unimaginable — blessings came in the wake of this stressful scandal, but don’t kid yourself. It was stressful and scandalous, and it leads me to a theory.

I have a theory — it’s probably not original to me. But I think I know what Jesus may have written in the dirt when they presented him with that adulterous woman in John 8. I think he may have written one word:

Mom.

Maybe in that moment, Jesus thought back to a scared 13-year-old pregnant girl in a scandalized village. Maybe he thought of a strong young tsadiq who gave up his reputation in order to stand by that girl’s side.

Maybe this is what he had in mind when he said, “I tell you the truth. Unless your righteousness (your tsadiq-ness) exceeds that of the Scribes and Pharisees, you will not enter the Kingdom of Heaven.”