This is my Montgomery Advertiser column for December 2009:
“I’ll be home for Christmas.” This is one of my favorite contemporary songs of the season. It was supposedly written by a sixteen-year-old, homesick college student who wanted to paint a picture of the perfect Christmas with the people he loved.
Home is an enduring image of Christmas. For some of us, Christmas memories warm our hearts, and for others, Christmas brings additional stress we’d rather do without.
These images of home can be tinged with something bittersweet. As we get older the images and traditions are not quite the same as they used to be. We no longer come running down the stairs on Christmas morning with screams of joy. The thrill of being a child at Christmas fades into the realities of adulthood. We realize that something or someone is missing and it can even be us. For many, there is a feeling of loss around the holidays.
Christmas is a time where, in the midst of the business of life and the joy of the season, many are keenly aware of someone who is not here. There are those who have died. We can no longer enjoy their company and the traditions we once shared. And in the middle of a festive evening, we find ourselves staring out into the great beyond and thinking, “I wish they were here…”
But these feelings also involve those very much alive. A grown son or daughter is spending the holiday with their in-laws and it hurts our hearts that they are not with us. It could be a child working far off who never visits, never calls and is no longer present on Christmas and the holiday is simply a reminder of that absence.
These feelings of loss have been a part of the human condition forever. We see them in the Scriptures involving the birth of Jesus Christ. We read about Bethlehem, what we might call a Podunk town by today’s standards. How could anything good come out of a place like that? We also have the shepherds. They were a marginalized group in society at the time. They were treated as dirty, necessary yes, but unwanted in most settings. And then we have Joseph and Mary who leave home and family to have a baby. They were probably filled with fear about being excluded by friends and family because of their circumstances. They were not able to share the joyous birth of their first born.
And yet in the midst of these feelings of marginalization, fear, need and loss – God entered. And not where people expected, like a palace or the temple. It happened in a manger. God broke into the backwoods of life. His grace came crashing into this world in the middle of a situation no one would have chosen.
God’s love operates from the point of human need. It is when we grieve the most and when we feel the greatest joy that we are brought to the manger and to the meaning of Christmas. God is with us when we celebrate the joys of life. God is also with us when we suffer, our heads hung low with rejection and our hearts are heavy. God, through Jesus is with us in the flesh of our lives. That is a comfort, but there is more to it. God is also on our side – saving us. He frees us from those places in life where we can’t free ourselves. It is freedom from the bondage of regret, guilt and loss. It is replaced with new life—life with God.
We’ll be home for Christmas, this year and every year, because we make our way this holy season to the manger, where the miracle of new life began. There we are joined with all of God’s children, those in flesh and spirit- and we can marvel that heaven has crashed to earth in places and ways that always amaze us. We can also know that wherever we are at this point in our lives, good or bad, God’s hand gives strength, comfort and freedom from whatever loss that may reside in our hearts.
“O great little one, whose all embracing birth – Brings earth to heaven and heaven to earth – O Come let us adore you!” As the angel said to the shepherds and sings to us this season: “Fear not: for behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.”(Luke 2:10-11).
Joy to the world.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Success, Failure and the Choice of Christ
This is my Montgomery Advertiser article from February 2009. I am going to try to post all of these over the next few days.
Who won the Academy Award for Best Actress in 1983? How about the Best Actor winner from 1991? Can you list the last eight Heisman Trophy winners or a dozen Nobel Laureates?
All of these names represent some very talented people. They were, at one point, at the top of their fields. They were headliners and it seemed that everyone knew who they were and their accomplishments. And then it happened. They slowly faded into memory.
Here are another set of questions. Can you list three teachers who had an impact on your life? How about naming two friends in the last few years, who helped you through a difficult time? What person has recently made you feel appreciated and special?
This second set of questions is much easier to answer. These folks may not be famous, in fact they may not be known outside of your community, but they made a difference in your life. They called you by name and chose to reach out and in the process transformed you in some way.
So why is it that we feel we must do something extraordinary to make a difference or impact those around us? We make it so intricate with multiple hoops to pass through and hurdles to jump. If it’s not big and complicated it must not be worth doing at all. We often believe we must do this or accomplish that in order to have our life matter. We create intricate hurdles that we must conquer on the obstacle course of meaning and merit. We all know those who had life mapped out at an early age-do this by 20, that by 30 and this by 40…and then when life doesn’t meet their dreams suddenly it loses meaning.
I was talking with a friend recently and she mentioned a man who recently had a set back in his career. He had accomplished a great deal and at one time was a headliner in his field. He also had a good marriage and two wonderful children. And yet, he was plagued with feelings of inadequacy and failure because of his recent set back. So much of his identity and what the world told him was valuable was wrapped up in his accomplishments. When compared with those he admired, his work heroes, he had accomplished very little and certainly not what he wanted. I wonder what his children would say about that.
I think of Naaman, the big shot military hero who was a headliner with one big problem. He has leprosy. He finds out about the prophet Elisha and heads off for a cure. Elisha isn’t exactly what Naaman expects and the cure he gives insults Naaman’s sense of importance. Elisha doesn’t even come out of his house, but rather, tells Naaman through a messenger to wash in the River Jordan seven times in order to be restored. Naaman complains mightily about the simple cure, the measly river and Elisha, but eventually, on the urging of a servant, goes and washes in the river and is made clean. (2 Kings 5:1-19). Naaman found healing in an unexpected way from an unlikely source. It was not a king or other headliner of his day. It was a simple cure from a simple man.
We are often like Naaman. We scan the horizon for the big cure, the headliner or the grand scheme. If it is not big in the eyes and by the norms of the world somehow it isn’t effective or valuable. We look at ourselves the same way. If we are not this or that we can’t touch a life. We forget that our children, our friends, our families don’t care if we a headliner, they simply want our friendship, our touch, our hearts.
Jesus reaches out to us this day and says to us what he said to the leper in Mark’s Gospel before touching him with his healing hand, “I do choose.” (Mark 1:41). He chooses us and gives us healing, sustenance and hope in order to use us in mighty ways. It is through Jesus Christ that we make a difference in everything that we do large and small, success and failure.
Who won the Academy Award for Best Actress in 1983? How about the Best Actor winner from 1991? Can you list the last eight Heisman Trophy winners or a dozen Nobel Laureates?
All of these names represent some very talented people. They were, at one point, at the top of their fields. They were headliners and it seemed that everyone knew who they were and their accomplishments. And then it happened. They slowly faded into memory.
Here are another set of questions. Can you list three teachers who had an impact on your life? How about naming two friends in the last few years, who helped you through a difficult time? What person has recently made you feel appreciated and special?
This second set of questions is much easier to answer. These folks may not be famous, in fact they may not be known outside of your community, but they made a difference in your life. They called you by name and chose to reach out and in the process transformed you in some way.
So why is it that we feel we must do something extraordinary to make a difference or impact those around us? We make it so intricate with multiple hoops to pass through and hurdles to jump. If it’s not big and complicated it must not be worth doing at all. We often believe we must do this or accomplish that in order to have our life matter. We create intricate hurdles that we must conquer on the obstacle course of meaning and merit. We all know those who had life mapped out at an early age-do this by 20, that by 30 and this by 40…and then when life doesn’t meet their dreams suddenly it loses meaning.
I was talking with a friend recently and she mentioned a man who recently had a set back in his career. He had accomplished a great deal and at one time was a headliner in his field. He also had a good marriage and two wonderful children. And yet, he was plagued with feelings of inadequacy and failure because of his recent set back. So much of his identity and what the world told him was valuable was wrapped up in his accomplishments. When compared with those he admired, his work heroes, he had accomplished very little and certainly not what he wanted. I wonder what his children would say about that.
I think of Naaman, the big shot military hero who was a headliner with one big problem. He has leprosy. He finds out about the prophet Elisha and heads off for a cure. Elisha isn’t exactly what Naaman expects and the cure he gives insults Naaman’s sense of importance. Elisha doesn’t even come out of his house, but rather, tells Naaman through a messenger to wash in the River Jordan seven times in order to be restored. Naaman complains mightily about the simple cure, the measly river and Elisha, but eventually, on the urging of a servant, goes and washes in the river and is made clean. (2 Kings 5:1-19). Naaman found healing in an unexpected way from an unlikely source. It was not a king or other headliner of his day. It was a simple cure from a simple man.
We are often like Naaman. We scan the horizon for the big cure, the headliner or the grand scheme. If it is not big in the eyes and by the norms of the world somehow it isn’t effective or valuable. We look at ourselves the same way. If we are not this or that we can’t touch a life. We forget that our children, our friends, our families don’t care if we a headliner, they simply want our friendship, our touch, our hearts.
Jesus reaches out to us this day and says to us what he said to the leper in Mark’s Gospel before touching him with his healing hand, “I do choose.” (Mark 1:41). He chooses us and gives us healing, sustenance and hope in order to use us in mighty ways. It is through Jesus Christ that we make a difference in everything that we do large and small, success and failure.
Compare and Contrast
Below is my Montgomery Advertiser article for November.
“He who dies with the most toys wins!” I saw this slogan on a bumper sticker the other day. I remember seeing it quite a bit about ten years ago when the economy was better, but I haven’t seen it as much lately. It’s a humorous statement relating to people and their toys—an offshoot of the joke, saying the difference between men and boys is the price of their toys. The person who has accumulated the most non-essential things in life wins. In order to be the best, you have to have the most stuff. Nice clothes. Nice house. Nice car. Blah. Blah. Blah.
It reminds me that some things, even in difficult times, don’t change. The human animal loves to compete. We always want to compare our lives and the blessings we have with those of others. We often do this by making life a race and looking ahead, or over our shoulder to see which neighbor is more successful, or which one we are outpacing. It sets the stage for a life of comparisons and gives new meaning to the term “rat race.” It can also strip the joy out of life and instead of gratitude for what we have we are left with the hollow feeling that there has to be more. We look for new life in the next thing only to find when we arrive that it is just a little farther down the road – just a little more of whatever it is we think, or the world tells us, we want.
Some comparisons are good and help us make important decisions. Others are filled with idle speculation and ultimately put roadblocks in life’s path. We often allow negative comparisons to influence our lives and relationships. Even the holidays are not exempt from the practice. We barely finish comparing this year’s Thanksgiving feast to last year’s before we look around to determine whose Christmas party or decorations are the best and how we measure up.
The negative comparisons can have serious implications for our lives. They can make us feel unworthy and unloved: “How can anyone love me when I am not like this or that?” Insecurities can leave us with a feeling of self-righteousness: “Look at what I do, compared to others.” These comparisons can also paralyze us: “Why even try to change since nothing ever seems to roll my way and I can never hope to be like that?”
Jesus warns us about comparisons. He tells the story in Luke’s gospel of a Pharisee and a tax collector going to the temple to pray. The Pharisee enjoyed great respect as a man of religion in his society, while the tax collector was commonly loathed and considered dishonest.
As the Pharisee prayed, he started comparing his life to that of the tax collector. “God, I thank you that I am not like other men – robbers, evildoers, adulterers – or even like this tax collector.” (Luke 18:11). Blinded by his own life, he talked to God about himself as he thought of all that he was and did. The tax collector made no comparisons but simply prayed, “God have mercy on me a sinner.” (Luke 18:13). He recognized his need for God and God’s place as the source of all blessings.
When we make comparisons, we turn in on ourselves, and the light inside us dims. When we receive negative comparisons either from others or those of our own making, they inhibit us in action and relationship.
This Thanksgiving, let’s pause and give God thanks for the blessings and bounty of life. At the end of the day, when our time on this earth is over, we can’t take any of those toys or accolades we wanted to win with us. Let’s look at ourselves, and those around us, not with the eyes of the world, but with those of Jesus Christ. And as we do, let’s remember that we, and that includes everyone, are children of the living God, created in His image, whether we are large, small or in between. God’s hand is on us as we walk into the world. When we are tempted to join the rat race of unhelpful comparisons keep in mind that we are blessed with the one gift that matters and the only one that truly leads to life.
“He who dies with the most toys wins!” I saw this slogan on a bumper sticker the other day. I remember seeing it quite a bit about ten years ago when the economy was better, but I haven’t seen it as much lately. It’s a humorous statement relating to people and their toys—an offshoot of the joke, saying the difference between men and boys is the price of their toys. The person who has accumulated the most non-essential things in life wins. In order to be the best, you have to have the most stuff. Nice clothes. Nice house. Nice car. Blah. Blah. Blah.
It reminds me that some things, even in difficult times, don’t change. The human animal loves to compete. We always want to compare our lives and the blessings we have with those of others. We often do this by making life a race and looking ahead, or over our shoulder to see which neighbor is more successful, or which one we are outpacing. It sets the stage for a life of comparisons and gives new meaning to the term “rat race.” It can also strip the joy out of life and instead of gratitude for what we have we are left with the hollow feeling that there has to be more. We look for new life in the next thing only to find when we arrive that it is just a little farther down the road – just a little more of whatever it is we think, or the world tells us, we want.
Some comparisons are good and help us make important decisions. Others are filled with idle speculation and ultimately put roadblocks in life’s path. We often allow negative comparisons to influence our lives and relationships. Even the holidays are not exempt from the practice. We barely finish comparing this year’s Thanksgiving feast to last year’s before we look around to determine whose Christmas party or decorations are the best and how we measure up.
The negative comparisons can have serious implications for our lives. They can make us feel unworthy and unloved: “How can anyone love me when I am not like this or that?” Insecurities can leave us with a feeling of self-righteousness: “Look at what I do, compared to others.” These comparisons can also paralyze us: “Why even try to change since nothing ever seems to roll my way and I can never hope to be like that?”
Jesus warns us about comparisons. He tells the story in Luke’s gospel of a Pharisee and a tax collector going to the temple to pray. The Pharisee enjoyed great respect as a man of religion in his society, while the tax collector was commonly loathed and considered dishonest.
As the Pharisee prayed, he started comparing his life to that of the tax collector. “God, I thank you that I am not like other men – robbers, evildoers, adulterers – or even like this tax collector.” (Luke 18:11). Blinded by his own life, he talked to God about himself as he thought of all that he was and did. The tax collector made no comparisons but simply prayed, “God have mercy on me a sinner.” (Luke 18:13). He recognized his need for God and God’s place as the source of all blessings.
When we make comparisons, we turn in on ourselves, and the light inside us dims. When we receive negative comparisons either from others or those of our own making, they inhibit us in action and relationship.
This Thanksgiving, let’s pause and give God thanks for the blessings and bounty of life. At the end of the day, when our time on this earth is over, we can’t take any of those toys or accolades we wanted to win with us. Let’s look at ourselves, and those around us, not with the eyes of the world, but with those of Jesus Christ. And as we do, let’s remember that we, and that includes everyone, are children of the living God, created in His image, whether we are large, small or in between. God’s hand is on us as we walk into the world. When we are tempted to join the rat race of unhelpful comparisons keep in mind that we are blessed with the one gift that matters and the only one that truly leads to life.
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