But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ–by grace you have been saved– and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.

– Ephesians 2: 4-10 (ESV)

This is in no way a response to or rebuttal of anything said in this post. But all this talk of art and creation and creativity got me thinking.

Do you want to know what the most wonderful work of art is, to me? Now there are many great works of art that I love. Beethoven’s adagio is poignant and sweet, and it makes me bow sometimes. The writings of J.R.R. Tolkien lift me up to the heights. I’m absolutely amazed by great sculptures, beautiful paintings, and expert photography. I sometimes lose my breath when listening to an amazing musician or band (Nickle Creek anyone?).

But there is absolutely nothing that compares, for me, to the workmanship of a life redeemed and changed completely by the Lord. I absolutely love being around people who aren’t afraid to shine. The joy of the redeemed is like sweet wine. The devotion and worship that comes from a pure heart is beautiful. Compassion expressed in action to heal the hurts of others leaves me in awe. The wise interpretation and application of Scriptural truths from an unpretentious soul encourages me no end. The sweet humility of seeing one take the lower seat, unnoticed, humbles me. Mercy in action fills me with hope. Steadfast faith in the midst of tragedy or a dark night of the soul makes me want to stand alongside the faithful one in battle. And, always, I find myself praising Jesus when in the presence of those living the life.

There’s nothing like God’s workmanship: the beautiful work of art that is the redeemed human soul.

[Note: I dual-blogged this on Thinklings]

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

– Philippians 4:4-7 (ESV)

So much to say about this passage, so little time!

Yesterday and today were downer days. Not days of tribulation, or suffering, just days where my soul was a bit downcast (I’ve never really known tribulation, by the way). And this morning brought new issues to think about and worry about. Externally, all is well. But on the inside hope and joy are diminished.

Yet we are commanded to rejoice always. Always. I am ashamed that even in times of the low-level blues I have trouble rejoicing. Yet Paul makes the point, from prison, of all places: “again I will say, Rejoice”. Again, just in case we didn’t catch it the first time.

There is a promise in this passage; a promise of peace. The calming of those reckless waters of worry that splash and swirl, sometimes violently, in our thoughts. This is a peace that passes anything we can understand. It’s not just a feeling. It is a strong guard for our hearts and minds.

I have much to write, and not least about that middle passage: “Let your reasonableness [some translations: gentleness or gentle spirit] be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand;”. Perhaps later.

But I get to go to work now. And I don’t mean that sarcastically. I almost wrote “I have to go to work now”. But the thought hit me – I get to! There are people all over the world, well, all over this city for that matter, who would love to have the job I have. People who would love to have a job.

I’m commanded to rejoice. I’ll start with what’s before me: my commute.

Rejoice, always. That’s the game-plan, that’s the command. I pray that today is a day in which you find it easy to rejoice.

I wonder if I have ever truly suffered. When Paul wrote the words above, he wrote as someone who understood suffering, intimately. He lived in a world that was hard, full of swift death and prolonged hardship. He bore the marks of suffering on his scarred body.

And he rejoiced in it!

I wonder if I have ever truly suffered. And yet I see in passages such as this that suffering for Jesus can produce some fruit that makes little sense in a natural man’s context, and yet makes perfect sense when placed in the context of supernatural God’s loving work in the life of one of his servants.

Suffering produces endurance. And character. And hope. And waving goodbye to shame, forever.

Only through God’s love being poured into the heart of one of his servants could intense pain, want, and hardship produce these gems.

I wonder if I have ever truly suffered. I don’t think I have. In my flesh I am quite sure I don’t want to. Yet I hope that I am made ready for it, when it comes.

“More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings . . .”

You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you.

– John 15:16 (ESV)

This passage was read in church today, and it immediately impacted me. It spoke to a longing in my heart that is, at times, somewhat desperate.

Children of the King are chosen and appointed to bear fruit for his Kingdom. Fruit that abides. Fruit that lasts.

As children of God we should be able to point to Kingdom fruit that is lasting. If there is no tangible fruit resulting from our lives there is reason for great concern. That being said, I’m convinced that a faithful Christian – one not just “doing good things” but actually living naturally as the workmanship of God – produces a lot of fruit he is never aware of and won’t be shown until the last Day.

There is an element of faith here that I, as a wavering and unsure servant of God, have to cling to. The true fruit of the Kingdom, the true works, are those actions that work a permanent change, both in ourselves and others. We don’t always see them. We have setbacks and disappointments. And yet we believe, as we yield to God, open ourselves up for his correction and teaching, and surrender ourselves to his will, that fruit will result. And that it will last forever, if it is in God’s hands.

And sometimes it’s there, and we don’t know it, because it hasn’t yet broken through the surface of the soil . . .

“And every day when I get up

I see folks trading in their crowns

For all these paper or plastic lives

An opiate for the masses’ hounds”

– Caedmon’s Call, Standing Up For Nothing

I woke up a few minutes ago with that lyric ringing in my head. Actually, the line repeating over and over was simply “paper or plastic lives”. I couldn’t remember the reference and had to google it.

I wish it didn’t seem so appropriate, but I struggle with the same discouragement as the writer of that song. It’s the lot of the student minister (and even those of the “used to be” category, such as myself) to see those you once influenced grow up and make their own choices, some of which, at first glance at least, look less than wise.

All you can pray is that through it all they’ll cling to Jesus.

And he came to the disciples and found them sleeping. And he said to Peter, “So, could you not watch with me one hour? Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

– Matthew 26:40-41 (ESV)

It’s common this time of year to make lists of resolutions. I can think of a dozen things I’d like to do better in 2006 than I did in 2005. Not one of them is unattainable.

In fact, from my observations many of the goals we set for ourselves are very attainable, including that most commmon goal among adults (you guessed it): “I want to lose weight”.

Heck, I’ve lost weight before – and I know for a fact that enduring that gross Atkins taste in my mouth for 2 1/2 months would shed twenty pounds (as it did two years ago. Yeah, I gained it all back).

We all resolve to do better at work, in our marriages, in our tending of our physical temple, in school, etc. And yet it’s so easy to . . . to do exactly the same in the upcoming year as the year before.

And what of the highest goal, the goal of knowing God better, walking with him more closely, and glorifying him more?

We want to do this. I want to do this! The spirit is so willing.

But the flesh is weak! Weak, weak, and treacherous, this flesh we’re clothed in! And it wants to loaf, to waste time, to do a thousand things besides that which benefits my spirit and the Kingdom.

In searching for an analogy for my own bad self, I was reminded of this scene from that profound work, The Emperor’s New Groove:

Kuzco: I snatched you right out of the air!

“Oh, I’m a crumbly canyon wall, and I’m taking you with me.”

Well, not today, pal!

Uh-huh. Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh. Uh-huh.

Yes, my flesh is a crumbly canyon wall, and it wants to take me with it.

Man! To be able to say “not today, pal!” But there’s only been one human being in all of history who perfectly mastered his flesh and kept it in perfect submission to the Father’s plan.

May I call upon Jesus, my strength and my rock, this year. I know that without him my ideas of improvement will not happen. And I need to improve so badly, in so many areas. I feel this more deeply this year than I have in a long time. But only by the power of the Holy Spirit do I have the slightest hope of doing better. Because no matter how much my spirit wants to, I have my crumbly canyon wall to deal with.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.

– 2 Corinthians 5:17-21 (ESV)

“The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.”

Aren’t you glad God brings newness into our lives? Even to rebellious outlaws like we were, reconciled to God through Christ, who for our sake was made to be sin so that we might become the righteousness of God!

I’m praying that I can become more of an ambassador for my King in 2006. I’m not even sure I know what that means, but this scripture tells me that’s what I am – I have been entrusted with the message of reconciliation.

I hope I live that out better next year than I did this year.

“Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.”

– Isaiah 40:1

I don’t have much to say, other than what this verse has just spoken to me:

Comfort to the whole earth. The King has arrived.

Comfort to those who are poor. Your King is among you, is one of you, and he calls you blessed.

Comfort to those who mourn. Your King mourns with you. He weeps over the nation; he weeps because of the unnaturalness of death and corruption. He weeps for our desperate state.

Comfort for the guilty. Your King brings forgiveness of sins. He is not ashamed to be seen with you. He is your friend. And your sins he takes upon himself, and they are no more.

Comfort for those who are lame, blind, deaf. Your King comes with healing in his hands. He is not afraid to touch you, or to breathe the air you breathe. He has come to make you whole.

Comfort for the lonely, for loneliness is a crushing weight for many during this season.

But our King has come, and he has come to be with us, and to give us family and brothers and sisters and friends and, most importantly, his beautiful presence. You are his beloved.

Immanuel is here.

Comfort, comfort my people!

From James S. Robbins’ excellent recount of Christmas in 1864 comes this backstory to Longfellow’s poem I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day:

Far to the north in Cambridge, Massachusetts, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow reflected on the day, and Christmas days past. The season had held no joy for him for the past three years – not because of the war, but the tragic death of his wife Fanny in the summer of 1861. She was the love of his life, and they were splendidly happy, but on July 9, 1861, while sealing a letter with paraffin, Fanny dropped the match on her summer dress, which burst into flames. Henry heard her screams and ran to her, trying to help smother the fire and burning himself severely in the process. Fanny died the next day. In December 1862, Henry noted in his journal, “A Merry Christmas’ say the children, but that is no more from me.” He spent December 1863 helping nurse his son’s wounds; Lt. Charles Appleton Longfellow, who had run away to fight for the Union, was severely wounded at the battle of New Hope Church, Virginia, and Henry had rushed south to bring him home. The following spring, Longfellow’s lifelong friend Nathaniel Hawthorne passed away unexpectedly n his sleep. These had been difficult times for the poet; but sometimes it is only through great adversity that the promise of hope makes itself felt most strongly. Longfellow began to write:

I heard the bells on Christmas Day,

Their old familiar carols play.

And wild and sweet the words repeat

Of ‘peace on earth, good will to men.’

I thought how as that day had come

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along th’ unbroken song

Of ‘peace on earth, good will to men.’

And in despair I bowed my head:

“There is no peace on earth,” I said,

“For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of ‘peace on earth, good will to men.’ ”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,

With peace on earth, good will to men.

Till, ringing, singing on its way,

The world revolved from night to day,

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

The poem was put to music by Jean Baptiste Calkin in 1872, and became the familiar carol “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.”

“Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,

With peace on earth, good will to men.”

Amen. God is active and alive in our world, and his plans will not be deterred. He has come, the Prince of Peace, to dwell among us, to be our Immanuel, our Savior.

I’m praying that we will all hear that message this Christmas, and that the joyful bells of our quickened spirits will ring the news. He is born!

Merry Christmas!