Be Born in Us Today

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O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray;

Cast out our sin, and enter in, be born in us today.*

I find it fascinating that God chose to send His Son as a baby.  You know, Jesus could have just appeared, walking out of the desert one day as a grown man.  Or He could have descended from Mount Sinai amid thunder and lightning, like Moses.  He could have even busted through the heavens on a chariot, like Elijah.

But the Son of God had to be born, because He has to be born in us. 

Each year, I ask God to give me a new insight on the Christmas story, something to deepen my appreciation and keep it fresh.  I consider it my Christmas gift from Him, and He never disappoints.  This year, my gift came through a friend of mine who said, “Isn’t it something that God trusted us with a baby?”  Oh…my…    Just think of all the things that could go wrong: problems during delivery, ear infections, camel accidents, the terrible twos, teenager trials.  Just think of all the time spent waiting for Him to grow up and begin ministry: 30 years.  Wouldn’t it have been more efficient to send an adult Jesus and just get the thing done? 

But, no.  God trusted the world with a helpless, vulnerable infant who was completely dependent on sinners like me.  *Shiver*  God is still trusting us to let Him enter in and cast out our sin.  Today. 

 

*”O Little Town of Bethlehem”

Joy to the World

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Joy to the world, the Lord has come!

Let earth receive her King.

Let every heart prepare Him room…

In February, I expect to be making some phone calls and announcing, “Joy has come to our family!  Our first grandchild has arrived!”  Then I will hop on the next plane west and hurry to meet the little guy.  I will look into his sweet newborn face and receive him into my arms.  My daughter and son-in-law will wrap their firstborn in blankets and take him home, where there will be a room all prepared for him. 

When Jesus was born, the joy extended beyond the usual family and friends to the whole world.  That’s a lot of joy.  Yet, He didn’t get the warmest of receptions: a barn for a delivery room, a box of straw for a crib and smelly sheep herders for visitors.  It didn’t get any easier as Jesus got older, either.  The church folks hounded Him, the prostitutes and extortionists were His groupies, and His hand-picked band of brothers didn’t understand Him.  A rather chilly reception, I’d say.

Thankfully, every Christmas we are reminded that, yes, Jesus came because God so loved the world, but He really just wants to take up residence in each one of our hearts.  So it’s time once again to see if there’s room in there.  Have I crowded Him out or made Him feel unwelcome?  Have I prepared a place so I can receive Him with joy? 

 

 

Hymns

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As soon as Thanksgiving leftovers are stacked in the fridge, we start playing Christmas music at our house.  I love JT’s version of “Baby It’s Cold Outside”, Down Here’s funky “Good King Wenceslas” and Bruce Springsteen’s “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” but my faves are the carols found in my old red Methodist hymnal.  I started playing the organ in my small church when I was a sophomore in high school.  Although I never got the hang of the foot pedals, the keyboard was manageable and my limited skills seemed to be good enough for our rural congregation.  I spent a lot of time practicing hymns, which was pretty good preparation for my life as a pastor’s wife.

Hymns are funny.  They are familiar and comforting, yet they sometimes use words that are archaic and strange.  For instance, “bring forth the royal diadem and crown him Lord of all” leaves me wondering, “What exactly is a royal diadem?  And how is a royal diadem different from a regular diadem?”  Another example: “Here I raise mine Ebenezer, hither by thy help I’m come.”  I raise my what?  I mean, mine what?  And not one person I know ever says “hither”.  Why do we talk this way in church?

Yet the hymns have a richness that we often overlook.  In the old standby “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” the phrase “what a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer” always gets me.  Prayer is a privilege?  Many times I’ve thought of prayer as a duty or a discipline, but to look at prayer as a privilege gives it a new twist.  And there’s the Methodist hymnal’s famous opener, “O for a thousand tongues to sing my great Redeemer’s praise.”  Most of us have enough trouble with our one and only tongue, but Mr. Wesley wished for a thousand tongues so he could use them all to praise God.  What a concept!

Too many times, I just sing along during worship without giving any thought to what the words really mean.  So during this Advent season, I’m going to dig into some of the Christmas carols out of my old red hymnal and see what treasures are waiting there.  You’re welcome to join me!

Jesus Wept

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“Jesus wept.”  It’s the shortest verse in the Bible, and one of the dearest.

In typical biblical fashion, we don’t get a parenthetical commentary or a voice-over narration explaining what is going on in the mind of Jesus in John 11:35.  Although there are myriad reasons why Jesus might have gotten choked up at the grave of his friend Lazarus, the gospel writer saw fit to keep it simple with just two words: Jesus wept.

PB is often asked to perform funeral services for people who have no church home.  In many instances I am asked to play the piano and sometimes to sing a solo.  In our church, the piano player faces the congregation, not far from the front pew.  It’s a great set-up for leading praise music on Sunday mornings, but at funerals I find myself face to face with weeping mourners.  That’s what happened this week.

I didn’t know the elderly gentleman who had passed away.  I wasn’t acquainted with the family.  But right in front of me sat a young man who was deeply sorrowful and he couldn’t contain his tears.  Briefly looking up from my music, I caught a glimpse of his grief and I knew I was in trouble.  Suddenly, the notes on the pages of “Amazing Grace” became blurry.  At the funeral of a total stranger, I reached for the box of kleenex under the piano bench.  “Mourn with those who mourn” is an easy command for me.  I can’t seem to watch anyone cry without feeling the need to join in.

A friend of mine, who is going through an unimaginable time of deep sadness, came the other day.  I met her at the door, we hugged, then I grabbed the tissues and we sat down and cried together.  Sometimes it’s the only thing we can do.  Sometimes it’s the best thing we can do.

It’s comforting to know that Jesus doesn’t just see our tears, or hear our cries, but that He actually joins in and weeps with us in our times of sorrow.  As Joanna Weaver says, “Though Jesus knows our triumphant outcomes, though he sees the joyful ending just around the bend, he still gets down in the middle of our sorrow and holds us close, mingling his tears with our own.”*

You keep track of all my sorrows.
      You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
             You have recorded each one in your book.   Psalm 56:8

*Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World, page 134

Old Friends

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Some of my best friends are books.  Once in a while, I pull some of my all-time favorites off the shelf and re-read the highlighted sections.  (They wouldn’t be favorites if there weren’t highlights.)  It feels like a visit with an old friend.

You can’t highlight in borrowed library books, however, so years ago I started copying out portions of literature into notebooks.  I used a regular old spiral, college ruled notebook and wrote in longhand, old fashioned girl that I am.  Whenever I read a book, I kept a pencil in hand and made a slight mark in the margin when something seemed especially significant to me.  Then, when I finished the book, I went back and copied out all the sections that were marked.  Sometimes it was a sentence or two; sometimes a paragraph or two; occasionally a page or two.  If I realized that I was about to copy most of a book, I knew it deserved a place on my shelf and I bought a copy of my own.   However, writing the words out in a notebook helped me retain more of the information and made it easier to refer to later.

There is something about the scritch-scritch of pencil on paper that engages all my senses.  The feel of the pencil in my hand, the smell of the graphite and wood and paper, the sound of cursive letters being laid down, the language taking shape before my eyes.  Writing words down is like grabbing ahold of a fleeting thought and giving it a place to land, to nest. 

Now I have several notebooks full of excerpts and quotes.  And on quiet, rainy Sunday afternoons,  I might sit with one of my old friends and and have a visit.

…of making many books there is no end…  Ecclesiastes 12:12

Lazarus

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We said “so long for now” to Mary and Martha, (see September 30, 2011 post) but the sisters did have a brother whom we shouldn’t neglect.  His name was Lazarus, and although there is not one recorded word spoken by him in scripture, he had a pretty amazing life.  And death.  And life.  And death. 

I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for Lazarus.  Here was a man who had to die not once, but twice, thanks to a miraculous resurrection the first time around.  But I wonder, how thrilled was he to return to this old world?  What was it like for him to hear a voice come booming through the heavens, calling his name?  “Lazarus, come forth!”  After tasting heavenly splendor, how did Bethany look to Lazarus?  Once the grave-clothes were all unwrapped, did he have the same old aches and pains as before?  Did the smell of death and decay ever leave his nostrils?  What did Lazarus think about as he went to sleep each night?  How much he missed Home?  And what did he and Jesus talk about that day?  Were they like two people talking about a movie that no one else had seen?  Did they slap each other on the back and laugh til they cried?  Or did they just look at each other and shake their heads in awe?

For a man who experienced something truly out of this world, he sure was quiet.  Maybe he just didn’t have adequate words…..

Love Like That

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I have a dear friend who is Grandma to a little guy named Drew, a 14 month old sweet baby boy.  Drew has spent a lot of time in the hospital battling an aggressive cancer that has invaded his small body.  A few days ago, his mommy and daddy took him home to spend their last weeks together.  My heart aches and breaks for them.  Please keep them in your prayers. 

Thankfully, Drew has no concept of what is happening.  But the only thing he needs to know is that he is loved.  His parents don’t have to try to explain the diagnosis to him.  And although the little guy doesn’t understand why he’s the center of everyone’s attention right now, he’s soaking it up.  Drew’s family is pouring their love out on him.  The time is short.  Every moment counts.  These are sacred and holy times.

Oh, to love like that. 

To pour love out onto people like it’s their last day. 

Time for Thanks

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Thank you, Lord, for the sound of the clock ticking.

 You don’t hear the sound of ticking clocks much anymore, now that everything has gone digital.  We have a digital clock on the DVD player, on the stove, on the microwave, on the radio and on the coffeemaker.  I can sit in one place and see all five of these readouts at once.  But when I want to know what time it is, I always look above the mantel to the old Regulator.  My mom bought the antique when I was young, so  I grew up with the sound of that clock ticking away.  Then my kids were raised to the steady rhythm.  It is the heartbeat of our home.

Visitors sometimes have a hard time with our clock.  They say it’s pretty loud, but I don’t even hear it.  In fact, I don’t notice the clock unless it stops; then there is an eerie quiet in the house that feels empty.  So every five days or so, I perform the ritual of past generations.  I take the key out, wind up the mechanism and give the pendulum a little push.  Tick-tock.  Tick-tock.  All is right with the world.

I’m thankful for the sound of the clock ticking because that means I’m still ticking.  Yes, time is ticking away, but every tick is a moment to appreciate and every tock is life…life… life…life.

My times are in Your hands.  Psalm 31:15

 

Virtuous Cycle

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One evening awhile ago, PB and I went out to dinner with another couple.  They are good friends and we enjoy their company.  There is just one problem with them: they always insist on picking up the tab.  This brings out the competitive nature in PB, who does not like to be out-done.  In the midst of the evening’s conversation, a coming theater performance was mentioned.  We all agreed that it sounded like an interesting event and that it might be fun to go.  PB nudged me;  I patted PB’s knee.  We were thinking the same thing: here was our chance to finally do something for this generous couple.

The next morning, I stopped in at the theater and bought four tickets to the show.  We made the call and invited our friends to join us.  Hooray!  We were thrilled to be givers at last!

As we were waiting for the curtain to rise on the night of the show, I complimented my friend on her pretty blouse.  I sincerely appreciated how nice she looked and instead of just thinking it, I told her.  It was just a passing comment.

Later that week, a package was delivered to my door.  I didn’t remember ordering anything, so I was curious about the elegantly wrapped box.  I pulled back the tissue and inside was a nicely folded blouse, just like the one my friend had worn; just my size.  I was stunned!  What a surprise!  How very thoughtful!  A note was tucked in the box thanking us for the night out together. 

I immediately called and left a message on her phone, attempting to express my gratefulness and joy over the unexpected gift!  The next day, my friend emailed me, thanking me for being so excited about the blouse.  A week later, I sent her a hand written thank you note, letting her know that every time I open my closet and see that blouse, I am blessed all over again. 

I can’t stop this thing!  I can’t seem to out-give my friend!  But I’m sure going to keep trying!  The more she gives, the more I want to give.  It’s a virtuous cycle. 

“For God so loved the world, He gave…” (John 3:16)  God is the one who started this whole giving thing and although I will never be able to out-give Him, His generosity stirs something up in me.  God has picked up the entire tab for my ticket to eternal life.  How do I respond to that?

For the month leading up to Thanksgiving, let’s just see how grateful we can be.  Please chime in with your thankful thoughts.  Jump into the virtuous cycle and create a whirlwind of gratitude with me.

Ten Reasons Why

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Ten Reasons Why Baseball Is the Best Sport Ever

1.  A .300 batting average is considered to be really good.  Which means you can fail 70% of the time and still be amazing.

2.  If it starts raining, baseball players go inside and wait until the rain stops before going back out. 

3.  Baseball players get to chew great big wads of gum and they get to spit sunflower seeds all over the dugout.

4.  From April to September, thirty teams each play 162 games which means there are 2430 baseball games to entertain us all summer long, unlike football players who only give their fans 521 regular season games.  I’m just saying….

5.  There is singing at baseball games. Where else can you join in with a choir of thousands belting out “God Bless America” and “Roll Out the Barrel”?

6.  Baseball is not a slow game.  A 90 mph fast ball takes approximately .4 seconds to reach the batter. The batter gets about .2 seconds to decide if he’s going to swing or not. 

7.  Baseball players don’t have to huddle up after every play and talk about what they are going to do next.  They know what they are going to do: hit the ball, run fast. 

8.  There’s no hitting or tackling or blindsiding people in baseball.  But you can stand toe to toe with the ump and yell your heart out, as long as you don’t spit or say bad words.

9.  Baseball players are polite.  If the fans are cheering like crazy after a big home run, the slugger will step out of the dugout and tip his hat to the crowd.  Football players never tip their helmets.  Just saying….

10. God loves baseball.  Genesis 1:1 – “In the big-inning, God created…”