A Great Host For Christmas

Reading the Christmas story this year, I was reminded of Sister Sellers. Unlike what it might seem, this is not a sinister operation helping boys get rid of their pesky female siblings. Neither is it older Girl Scout alumni still peddling cookies, nor another installment of a popular Whoopi Goldberg film.  Clara Sellers was my Sunday School teacher for a number of years growing up. I never knew older people had first names until much later, because we always had to address them as Brother or Sister instead of Mr. or Mrs. I didn’t understand how that communicated respect, because I don’t think that is what I felt most for my brother or sister. But why the Christmas story made me think of this dear saint who somehow loved smelly, rambunctious boys enough to want to spend every Sunday morning telling them to sit down and color, has to do with how I picture the angels in the shepherd story. The best part of the Sunday lesson - because in those days we couldn’t imagine having snack, of all things - was the flannel graph.  And when Sister Sellers would come to the part of the angels praising God, she would place them on the flannel board high in the sky. After all, if angels have wings, they surely ought to use them.

I think our tendency to think of flying angels comes from several sources. It may make us think of Jacob’s dream of angels ascending and descending a giant ladder to heaven. Or maybe we are influenced by Isaiah’s vision of the throne room with winged seraphs flying as they praised God. And certainly our imagination has been shaped by films,art and animation that we have seen depicting the scene. But this year when I read Luke 2:13 I wasn’t reminded of flying angels on a flannel graph: “Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel praising God and saying “Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to men.” The phrase translated as “great company of the heavenly host” here literally means several troops of heavens armies, with the connotation that they are as numerous as the stars. These angels are different than the flying seraphs or the fiery cherubim, who are always mentioned being around the throne of God. Throughout the Bible, when angels appeared to people on earth, they never flew and they always had their feet firmly on the ground. So what must have the shepherds seen that evening? 

The image I now get is more similar to the appearance of the elvish armies in the movie The Hobbit 3. The people of Laketown turn around and suddenly there are thousands of formidable tall, armored soldiers in formation, surrounding them and ready for battle. Revelation tells us that Jesus will one day lead heaven’s armies against the Antichrist. Also, the sword wielding commander of the Lord’s armies who appears to Joshua is considered by many scholars to be a theophany, or an Old Testament pre-incarnational appearance of Jesus. Since Jesus is the captain of heaven’s armies, I imagine his troops were pretty concerned that their commander-in-chief was going to make his entrance into the world as a helpless baby. So it is in this atmosphere where Herod’s soldiers wanted to kill Him, as the Roman soldiers who filled the land would later also do, that heaven’s armies wanted to make a pretty impressive show of force.  One minute the shepherds are spoken to by a lone angel, and impacting as that may have been, the next moment they are suddenly overwhelmed by thousands of imposing, shining heavenly soldiers thundering a chant of praise and exaltation to their Lord and Commander, daring any force of hell or earth to endanger the vulnerable baby just born in a rickety cowshed nearby. No wonder the shepherds felt compelled to go and find Him and tell everyone about Him. And it is no wonder that their story was told with enough conviction and force to convince all that heard their tale. They still had the glow and authority of witnessing the forces of heaven on their face and in their voice.

For us this Christmas, this baby has grown into a Savior, died and rose a King, and still commands this great army of heaven. But now, our Lord leads His celestial soldiers to protect us and  battle on our behalf. We may sometimes feel as marginalized and uninfluential as the shepherds. But with a fresh vision of the armies of heaven that surround us, we too can be as bold and convincing as the shepherds that fateful evening to spread the word about Jesus, causing others to be convinced and amazed. 

Sister Sellers went to heaven a while back. So I am sure she knows now that most angels don’t fly. But she still has my respect. This little boy grew up to believe her stories and, like Mary, I still ponder them in my heart.

Rough Diamond

He was a diamond

Set deep within a prison

The wall of stone for years

keeping hidden

the innate value stamped there by the Creator.

The sparkling sheen

of unrealised treasure

yet to be seen

by searching eyes, who see better

see deeper, farther, clearer, later

He was cut out

from the bosom of granite,

the tools going deep,

the painful emerging, and it

left him with jagged edges.

Being cut, now he himself cutting

any who would want to touch

the stone still valued, precious.

But the cost to bring out the seeming

value, who could ever pay so much?

One who pursuing and redeeming,

His eye that of a buyer, so refined

saw in the future such 

a gem, there unhewn and undeveloped,

a jewel having only just been mined

So he bought it

from those hardened hands.

A shrewd purchase, costing everything

The distant, rather bigger, purpose

only He could understand.

To carve of this piece from the rock,

something to be highly appraised;

the process begun, the work ongoing

the hammer and chisel

sometimes hurting, sometimes testing

this work of the master Craftsman

done day after day.

And for what? Only for pain,

or just to make life hard?

O in His purposeful grasp to remain

is to one day display the brilliance

of eternal light’s beauty.

To stay and be sharpened

with patience and resilience

Beneath the crushing

and held to the light

means becoming that diamond seen long before

A piece of the earth,

great potential once encrusted

with the accumulation of life,
now revealed, a prized possession

and valued treasure;

now entrusted

to be the unhindered reflection

Of His glory and His pleasure

You Fill Me

You fill me

I find it's You who infinitely satisfies me fully,

who fuels and feeds my fire,

suppressing my flesh that so foolishly feasts on the foul fruits

that sometimes thrill me

but never fill me.

You surpass my finite mind that's flooded with 
frivolous facts, false fantasies and fruitless fiction.

Sating my starving soul,

going past fleeting infatuation to stirring up a passion

so that what I finally feel on the inside

is sheer satisfaction.

In fact, it's the lack

of love that lurked in my lonely unlucky past

that left me longing for something more than immoral lust.

I was looking for someone other than the normal loser 
whose mutterings were mere moralizing meanderings 
that never moved me. 
But more, a linguist whose lips could speak unlimited love languages 
to my languishing soul.

And that was You, immortal Lord.

You speak from your wealth of wisdom 

words that work to weave meaning and worth

into the worst of my situations. And like a wordsmith 

you spoke straight to my distracted and distraught heart so

I stopped straining to maintain a vain wish

that what I aimed and waited for couldn't be attained.

Because all of that actually abounds in You.

When your loving arms surround me 

it confounds the hurt and harm that has so marked me, 

countering the hissing lies of Satan that have hounded me

and fills my much too strong-willed, restless heart, 
now stilled and at rest from the wrestling match

between my past and Your promises.

My being abused used to trap me into utilizing the poor excuse

that others want to use me, and inevitably will bruise me,

But you so aptly infuse in me the beautiful and absolute truth 

that you are One in whom I can truly trust. 

So I refuse to maintain mumbling that mind-numbing mantra

stating maybe I was just meant to remain 
In an empty, sorry state of muted solitude.

I revel in the reality that in my Father's love 
I am found refreshingly fulfilled.

my famished heart feasting on His fathomless, fascinating fellowship.

It's You who fills me.

Finally. Fully. And forever.

Forum, Not Against 'Em

We had evangelism training the other day as a leadership team.  It took place at the community center in the middle of our French city where we all have chosen to live in proximity to each other. What was amazing about this training is that it was actually sponsored by the mayor's office. And the entire town came out to attend!

Before I mislead you into thinking we have had great revival in our suburb of Grenoble, let me explain that the "training" was actually the annual Forum des Associations. Every year in September, to coincide with back-to-school, most towns and cities in France organize a fair where all the clubs in each locality promote their cause or activity and invite people to join as members and volunteers. The tables at this year's forum in our commune had sign-ups for everything from the Friends of Palestine to hiking to Qi Gong.

We asked each of our team members to check out the offerings at the forum and commit to join  a club that interested them in order to be more  involved in our community, make friendships and rub shoulders with unbelieving, unchurched people. We have also asked each of our student leaders to launch an affinity group among their friends and classmates that gathers regularly around a shared interest, such as role games, scrapbooking or movies. We still have our weekly worship gatherings and discipleship groups. But we don't necessarily expect your average French person to just walk in our doors.

This coincides with some pretty interesting statistics I came across the other day:
    - 73% of French say that religion plays no importance in society
    - 45% of French do not believe in any God, higher being or life force with only 25% believing that a God  exists.

To most in France, the church is not relevant and God is not real.  So we need to do a better job of  living and believing together as Christ-followers among our culture in a way that pleasantly surprises a jaded and suspicious society.  And we have to answer the question of how we can see God's loving presence in this world become an undeniable reality that invades the consciousness of those who have neither the room nor the need for God in their lives.

Making the church relevant is what many intelligent leaders have been trying to accomplish for quite awhile now. But it doesn't seem like our efforts are impressing our post-modern, secular culture much.  Part of the problem is that many  Christians have zero non-Christian friends.  We know, live next to and work with unbelievers. But I am talking about spending quality time, getting deep into people's lives, and being trusted to share in their private, every-day reality.  It is a fact that 65% of all Muslims, Hindus and Buddhists say they do not personally know even one Christian. No wonder these faiths contain the largest numbers of unreached people groups in the world.

The chance to invite people to love and follow Jesus often comes at a price of investment of time and relationship with those who need Him. Caring deeply, listening well and highly valuing people for who they are, as they are, takes emotional energy. No one wants to feel like a project or a promotional target, which is often what  flyers and tract distribution communicate. We want to take people seriously. So as a result, some of our team will be cooking or painting or playing volleyball with others in our community most weeks. Hopefully we'll make some good friends, have them in our homes and also get the chance to hear about what is really important to them. And if we care with enough sincerity, maybe they will in turn care enough to know about Who is important to us.

Some of these "unbelieving", rational, secular people we will be spending time with are also those who have  no issue with visiting a psychic or spiritual healer if they have a physical or emotional problem. These sometimes militantly secular people read horoscopes faithfully and proudly display Buddha statues, crystals, Hindu goddesses and African shaman masks in their homes. It's not that they are closed to religion, per se. They've just decided that western religion has nothing worthwhile to offer them, while remaining partially open to the enticement of spiritual connections elsewhere.

We are looking forward to one day earning the privilege  to pray for our new friends when they have a need and see God's power undeniably revealed to them. Like when our next-door neighbor, and avowed atheist, ran to our door to ask us to come and be with her son who had just experienced a terrible seizure. As we prayed for Him in the Spirit and saw his symptoms subside, we also learned that this young man had a burgeoning faith in God, to his mother's chagrin.

We won't downplay our speaking in tongues or belief in prophetic utterances. We will jump at the chance to  speak blessings over homes and businesses and pray for people to receive freedom from spiritual oppression, sleep disorders and addictions. Fully engaged in serving and loving our community. Fully engaged in revealing a powerful, mystical God to a community infatuated with the exotic and spiritual. All in the context of organic, authentic, daily relationship. It's our effort at being culturally connected as well as spiritually engaging.

Want to make Christ relevant? Join the club.

The Grave (Slam)

The Grave
It's a space where they place
The dead. Where those displaced from the ranks 
     of the living go to taste the regrets of time wasted.
Encased in a dark and dank resting place 
     that doesn't rest well
     with the rest of the human race,
Who ALL face the inevitable, ignominious, and imminent departure 
     from the face of this terrestre
Where we are said to embrace what some boldly, 
     but others barely and naively believe
     is just another, but much better, place.

We're marked by the stark and bold foreboding shadow cast 
     by the cold grave over young and old. 
     Over plans of life that end too fast
     and, as it turns out, don't last
     like fool's gold.

So we look longingly for something longer 
     than these short-lived dreams 
     and shortened dramas
     dragged down by thoughts that dredge-up 
     an undesirable and undelayable death
     and dwell on the demoralizing details of an unknown, 
    dreaded after-life.
But for those chasing after life, life after death is just an afterthought,
     cause they thought that after this life we just stop living.

The Grave; Don't say, "C'est pas grave" 
     because the gravity of its finality
     lingers and clings to us like a maladie,
     its grave reality engraved on our conscience.
This consciousness we've been given 
     of a mortality that ends our livin'.
For every one of us
     it's the one thing ahead we most dread -
     the unconscionable thought of ending life dead.
     It's messin' with our head,
     enough said.
     Where's the hope?

I'm glad you asked
Because by asking, we stop acting like members of a cast 
     in costumes and masks,
     and instead start facing the facts
That there's someone who adores me, who already went before me
My Messiah, the Sign o'God's desire 
     to save us from the fire, a Redeemer,
     my ransom's buyer with an eye on my plight, who fought my fight
     so I don't have to face the grave alone.

Cause what Jesus did when He died was he didn't stay dead, 
     but His greatest deed went down the day He was dealt 
     the death blow by his destiny.
     You see, the devil desired to defeat Him
     by delaying him from the tree, 
     determined to undermine him and demoralize him.
     Even those who had wanted to immortalize him
     would later cry out, "Crucify him."
     But you can't hold down or outlast the everlasting.
     That's the last thing ever
     you can try and do.

See, He was the Firstfruit, bringing to fruition from the past
     the plan of God that a perfect man, called the First and Last,
     should cast himself into the calloused hands of sinful man,
To fulfill the promise to take our thirsting, fallen lives 
     and make them fruitful,
The Firstborn from among the dead, throwing down his crown, 
     adorned by a wreath of thorns, 
     endowed and re-crowned with power,
     now and forever,
     his renown gone out for how He overpowered
     mighty sin and the grave.

Being God, He who loved human beings with all of His being, 
     was laid in a tomb like a seed sown in the soil.
Unseeing behind the stone,  
they closed Him in that dark empty room..
It seemed that the tragic scene that had seen Him bleeding and beaten, 
     berated and naked
     had now ended in being sealed in a soiled shrowd of shame.

But the Forerunner, foreknown as the One who would go before us, 
     this author and finisher of our faith, 
     when His blood had sufficiently finished running down,
     all poured out,
     Shouted, "It is finished". He routed
     and finished off the whisperer, 
     the accuser of the brothers, the sisters.
Cause what followed three days and nights of silence and sorrow 
      was that death was swallowed up in life.
Mortality, decay, and destruction clothed itself in immortal reality.
       Reduced to a formality of life,
       the finality of death never ever again having the last word.

'Cuz the buzzards that used to hover above have been plucked
     and that swarming buzz of fear that used to linger
     in your ear is no longer heard,
     cause death has lost its stinger.

The grave's victory is now history.
Death is no longer menacing, missing meaning in inscrutable mystery, 
     cause the ministry
     of our High Priest achieved for us an ability
     to live for eternity.

His resurrection rectified everything defiled by the Fall,
      finally effecting everlasting living 
      for every breathing being 
      who puts their belief in Him.
The fruit of His affection
     for those who used to be left bereft by the effects of death
     is that we think in a new direction;
The fear of the grave is no longer a perplexing infection. Upon reflection,
     our future is now sure, and though surely 
     we share pain and sickness and 
     there be shadows and questions,
be assured of the lesson of the grave, now empty:

We were dead,
Christ died,
He rose,
we rise,
It's Paradise.

A Peace of My Mind

     Spring is beautiful in Grenoble. Gray gives way to green and the surrounding mountains cut a fantastically sharp horizon against brilliant blue skies. Enjoying this panoramic view today,  I was mowing the pitiful piece of greenery in front of our door I generously refer to as our lawn.  The smell triggered a very powerful springtime childhood memory of being on the baseball field and taking in the intoxicating, refreshing aroma of newly cut grass.  As I was reminiscing about my early years when a love for baseball was instilled in me, a few images from America's national pastime ran through my mind. One was rather horrifying, considering I am a diehard San Francisco Giants fan. Like a painful memory dredged from the depths of my subconscious, this dark secret I have kept in lonely silence all these years surfaced suddenly and sent shudders of shame through my soul. When I played little league baseball in my small hometown of Quincy California, my team for three of those years was, and it pains me to say it,  the Dodgers. That's right, I actually wore a blue Dodgers uniform each summer, one identical to my Giants' most bitterly hated Los Angeles rival. The realization almost made me sick to my stomach, but a few chants of "Beat L.A." uttered under my breath restored my resolve to push past the pain and finish my yard work.

    A more pleasant memory was of my favorite player growing up - Johnny Bench. He was a catcher, and so was I. He wore number five, and I did the same. I wanted to play just like him. He played for the Cincinnati Reds, whose dominance of the league from 1970-1976 won them numerous world series and league championships, as well as the name "the Big Red Machine". Bench is a member of the Hall of Fame now, and is widely considered one of the best catchers of all time.  His equally famous teammate was third baseman Pete Rose, who today is banned for life for having bet on baseball while a player and manager. Despite having the most hits, games played, and at bats of any player in history, and being voted an all-star 17 times, he is still not part of the Hall of Fame nor allowed to participate in any league activities. Despite many appeals, Major League Baseball has never once seriously considered forgiving him and lifting the ban. To the commissioner of baseball charged with upholding the image and sanctity of the game, Pete Rose is enemy number one. But imagine if one day, Bud Selig or the commissioner that will soon follow him, decides that even though he is guilty, they will no longer hold this punishment over him. Imagine if Pete Rose is forgiven and reinstated. Do you know what that would be like? Like us experiencing peace with God. We were guilty and enemies of God. Even though we deserve punishment, He doesn't want us to remain separated by a ban or an old mandate of justice. He wants to reconcile with us and let us back in the game, like former enemies who forget the past, are forgiven, and become reconciled. I hope it happens one day for old Pete. And I hope it has already happened for you, too.

    Another vivid baseball image for me is of the home plate umpire There is no worse feeling than watching  a ball whiz past you, hearing the thud in the mitt of the catcher, followed a "Stee-rike" thundered by a much older and less athletic masked man behind you. With almost a feeling of poetic justice,  I recently saw an umpire get hit with a ball that had deflected off of a bat. As he was leaning in close enough to smell the catcher's brand of shampoo, he took a fastball to the shoulder and came away wincing. But that is a hazard of the job of carefully considering every decision on every action of a  game where balls are thrown at you in excess of 90 miles-per-hour, with fairness and an eye for precision. The umpire hovers just behind the catcher, making a call whether the ball just thrown is on target (a strike) or out of the strike zone (a ball). He also makes the call at the plate to decide if a runner sliding into home plate is safe or out. Either way, his call must be clear and loud enough to be heard by all. And just in case one is hard of hearing, his ruling is accompanied by one of a variety of demonstrative gestures indicating the call.  His decision is definitive and binding. Well, that is, until this season when they decided to introduce instant replay, but that is another subject entirely for this baseball purist. When Colossians 3:15 says "Let the peace of God rule in your hearts", it is this image of an umpire that is being used. The peace of God hovers close and gives a definitive ruling on the small and big decisions of our life, helping us to know whether a job, a marriage, a move, or any of a million possible actions and activities, are "safe" or "out", on target, or outside of the approved zone. We can argue or dispute the call, but God's ruling needs no instant replay. He gets it right every time.

   So the next time you are either watching baseball or catch a whiff of freshly cut grass, let it remind of you of God's peace.  Peace with God and the peace of God. That's a pastime we can all not get enough of.