Make us holy . . .

Holy. It is a word that, for me, is packed with significance. I’m not sure of all the meanings for this word, but one of the most common, from a New Testament point of view, is “set apart”.

If you are a Christian, do you often think of yourself as “holy”? I find that somewhat foreign to my day to day thought processes. But I know by faith that I am set apart, I am holy. God in his love and grace sets us apart, puts us on display, uses us, even in our weakness, to glorify him. If you are his child, you are holy.

But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.

– 1 Peter 2:9 (ESV)

Notice the words used here by Peter: “chosen”, “royal”, “holy”. And, of course, we are. We are holy. And we did not gain this holiness, this royalty, through anything we’ve done. We were chosen and adopted. Being adopted by the King makes us royal.

I don’t know if I understand all of this, frankly. But as I ponder the meaning of Christmas, I understand this anew: Christ came to earth to make us holy. We could not do it on our own. But he chose us and he has made us a royal priesthood, a holy nation, and we belong to him.

It started on the holy night of Christmas. Can you hear it? In the darkness of a quiet night a baby cries. And the demons quake. It has begun: the Holy One has come to earth to set apart for himself those he has made holy. And nothing will stop him from accomplishing his purposes: to veil himself in the injured flesh of humanity, to walk with us, to be our Immanuel, to free us from the bond of sin. He is calling to us, to come out of the darkness and into his marvelous light.

So that we might be made holy!

I really like this song.

It’s almost midnight, and I should be sleeping. I have a big weekend coming up and rest would help me do better. But somehow I find the composition of these late night posts somewhat therapeutic.

Of course, as blessed as I am, I shouldn’t need any therapy. But I’m also a member of the human race, which should just about clear up any questions about my mental health. We’re all crazy, you know.

Band practice was rough tonight. I think I need a miracle to play well tomorrow night. I’m not even sure I care if anyone else thinks I’m playing well. God hears me. And I’d like to play well for him. I believe God likes it when we do our best for him.

And our best can be very, very humble sometimes. Like the manger. The Lord of all the Universe visited us, and we stuck him out back with the cattle. But, as the song says, we didn’t really know. I wonder what it would be like to have been there! The shepherds were, indeed, granted a great honor. In all the re-enactments we see and songs we sing regarding the birth of Christ, I think sometimes we overlook the fact that God specifically and purposefully sent his heavenly host to herald the birth of his son . . . to shepherds. It would be like God coming to earth today and the first people that get the news are all the guys sacking the groceries. Wouldn’t we think that was strange?

Strange to us, because we’re bent and don’t understand what true greatness really is.

“Bring your peace into our violence, bid our hungry souls be filled”

Christmas is . . . enormous! Not because of the spectacle and the stuff. It’s enormous because God brought the Prince of Peace into this violent world, knowing that the brunt of our violence and hatred would fall on him. He brought the Bread of Life to the whole world, to feed our hunger. We have only to accept his peace and his filling.

Something started that dark night, in a stable in a crowded city, while shepherds passed what they thought would be another boring night watching their flocks. It was something enormous, something wonderful! The Word of God was spoken in flesh and blood. And Heaven’s silence was broken by the beautiful and – think of it – frightening sound of angels singing of God’s glory and his promise of peace on earth.

May this be an enormous Christmas for you. Merry Christmas!

Sometimes I get so homesick . . . for website that writes essays the Home I’ve never seen.

It’s the Christmas season, and these lyrics reminded me tonight of the crushing weight of exile we humans have known since the fall. I believe that the Christian feels it most of all. We are strangers and aliens here.

At the time of the birth of Jesus the people that he came to were experiencing the silence of God. They were exiles in their own land, experiencing the oppression of the occupying Roman army, and the oppression of sin, and of creation itself, under the curse of the Fall.

Christmas is not just a time of gifts, although through gifts we remember the Gift our Father gave us. So much more, Christmas is a remembrance and celebration of rescue, of the first days of the invasion of divinity in bodily form into our human condition. It is the birth of Immanuel, come to ransom captive Israel. And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

That’s Christmas. It’s the celebration of the humbling of Christ, a humbling beyond our comprehension that finds him as a baby in a dirty stable. And we who are exiled adore this precious little one, so small and yet sent to rescue us all. The love, the grace, the infinite power of God was delivered to our doorstep in such a small package!

I hope your Christmas season finds you happy and among friends and family. But if you feel the loneliness of exile and the oppressive weight of your brokenness, know that you are not alone. I’ve felt it too. And when I did, years ago, I knelt and received the gift of Christmas, the Christ who died for me even when I was his enemy.

Kneel by the stable and adore. For, behold, though just a baby, here is your Champion who fights for you. He is the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world. He lived, he died, and he lives again, ever ready to save.

May I remember these truths this Christmas season.

Welcome to our world, Lord Jesus!

The Magnificat

And Mary said,

“My soul magnifies the Lord,

and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant.

For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed;

for he who is mighty has done great things for me,

and holy is his name.

And his mercy is for those who fear him

from generation to generation.

He has shown strength with his arm;

he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts;

he has brought down the mighty from their thrones

and exalted those of humble estate;

he has filled the hungry with good things,

and the rich he has sent empty away.

He has helped his servant Israel,

in remembrance of his mercy,

as he spoke to our fathers,

to Abraham and to his offspring forever.”

– Luke 1:46-55 (ESV)

This passage was the text of the sermon today in church. I have long loved the Magnificat, and have always been intrigued by Mary, this young woman upon whom fell both the highest honor and blessing of God and also a crushing sorrow that would pierce her heart.

Who was this woman? She was not one of high stature in her society. She would never live in a palace or, in her lifetime, be famous. And yet

[H]e has brought down the mighty from their thrones

and exalted those of humble estate

Mary understood God’s loving mercy, the strength of his arm, and the absolute certainty of his promises. She understood this as someone whom the outside world would consider a nobody. Yet she carried within her body the Gift that would change the world forever.

As I pondered this passage tonight I realized that Mary’s words are also my words.

My soul magnifies the Lord,

and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant.

For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed;

for he who is mighty has done great things for me,

and holy is his name.

It is no stretch to share the singing of this song of praise with Mary. I believe through the uncounted eons of eternity every child of God will surely be able to say “from now on all generations will call me blessed”. We will marvel, in ways we can’t even imagine now, at the grace and blessing that our Father has showered on each one of us. We will know, intimately, all the millions in the family of God from all races, cultures, and times, and we will indeed call each other blessed, forever. Because he who is mighty has done great things for us!

I realize an Easter post during Advent might seem a little strange. But I’ve always loved this Eugene Burnand painting. It depicts Peter and John running to the sepulcher on Sunday morning – running to the tomb where Jesus’s body has been placed following the horrible events of Friday.

Oh to have been there! To be on the brink of having everything that you ever thought you knew about your present reality thrown into glorious and hopeful confusion. These men have spent two days in despair spiritually and in hiding physically because heir Lord, the Rock they have held to for three years, is dead. They know this.

What they do not yet know is that they are wrong. He is already alive, and every single aspect of their lives is about to change forever.

It isn’t over. Not even close. They are on the brink of a wonder they never expected, running toward the tomb into the sunrise of a bright Sunday.

As we enter into Advent, we remember the stable and the tomb; both humble in appearance but made sacred by the blessed Word become flesh who filled them with his glory.

He lives!

Now on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark, and saw that the stone had been taken away from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” So Peter went out with the other disciple, and they were going toward the tomb. Both of them were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. And stooping to look in, he saw the linen cloths lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen cloths lying there, and the face cloth, which had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen cloths but folded up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the Scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples went back to their homes.

– John 20:1-10 (ESV)

I’ve always loved the glimpses of Joseph, the earthly father of Jesus, that we see in Scripture. He is only mentioned or described in a few places, but I like what I read when I read about Joseph. I like this man. Joseph is my kind of saint. I have little of Peter or Paul in me; no one has ever said “Bill reminds me of John the Baptist”. I’m not a son of thunder, I’m not a zealot, I don’t much resemble James, Philip or Stephen.

But I can aspire to be a Barnabas, or a Silas, or a Joseph.

Scott McKnight over at Jesus Creed is doing a great series on Joseph right now for Advent. This post is so good I’m going to quote it almost in its entirety:

Christmas meant that Joseph practiced a rare combination: both righteousness and mercifulness (1:19)

The text says Joseph was “righteous.” Now this translates a Greek term (dikaios) which translates a Hebrew term (tsadiq) — and all these terms point to one thing: Joseph was known for doing whatever the Torah said. To do it, he had to know it. So, he was a man who had studied the Torah — either by listening and memorizing or by reading and memorizing. But, he knew it.

And that means he knew that he could take Mary to court for what was now known: she was pregnant, and Joseph knows that he is not the father. He immediately thought of the laws in Deuteronomy 22 — stone both the seducer and the one seduced or stone the rapist — the laws are clear and they are unavoidably clear. Here’s the text and its rulings that he would have known – and I’m asking that you read this carefully because following this text is exactly what Joseph would have equated with doing God’s will.

[Scott here quotes Deuteronomy 22:23-30]

Joseph is a tsadiq (I make much of this in Jesus Creed). This means his reputation is at stake: if he follows the Torah, and puts Mary away, he will uphold his reputation. If he does not, he will lose his reputation. (I like to say that the claims of the Cross were faced by Joseph [and Mary] before Jesus was born.)

Joseph, however, chooses another option — an option that must have set the agenda for Jesus learning how to respond to those stuck on the horns of a legal ruling that called for mercy. Joseph decides to put her away quietly — that is, instead of disgracing her (which he could have done) he chooses to be kind to her by divorcing her without publicly disgracing her.

Joseph must have impressed the same upon Jesus and the rest of his family: act in mercy; avoid humiliating others; you never know, you may be wrong in your discernments and judgments.

Scott writes “I like to say that the claims of the Cross were faced by Joseph [and Mary] before Jesus was born”. I hadn’t ever considered that and I think that’s a great point.

And his last statement is wonderful: “. . . act in mercy; avoid humiliating others; you never know, you may be wrong in your discernments and judgments.”

So true. May I live that out.