Life is a changing constancy;
Ever a new face, new clothes—same substance.

The wind bring rain, which drains into the ground
til the earth is full—stuffed
—ready to explode
at a moment’s notice, bursting into green
grass and flowers and bluebonnets galore.

You’d hardly recognize that hill
if you saw it now in Spring:
there’s a new wrought-iron gate
over the ancient, rusty cattle guard,
and tall, straight pines now keeping watch around the tank.
The yard’s old barbed-wire boundary replaced
by a vintage white-washed fence,
and the dirt patch pitching mound we wore into the grass
now marked by a sturdy, promising oak.

I have to wonder: what’d this look like a century or four ago?
Would I have known as I stood on this soil
in knee high grass untouched by any man—
this hill, this dirt, this risen lump of ground—
that I was home?

The tides of time and the literal rivers
must have shaped and formed this plot of land
over who knows how many thousands of years.
But it was still this hill,
it was still this place and still this earth.
And this was ever my heart,
this was ever my soul and ever my song
—though I have yet to truly find the melody.

Everything has changed…in a sense
nothing stays the same…in the end
heaven is eternal…in our souls
when all is put to right we’ll finally know:
we are home, and have been all along.

1 Samuel 1

1There was a certain man of Ramathaim-zophim of the hill country of Ephraim whose name was Elkanah the son of Jeroham, son of Elihu, son of Tohu, son of Zuph, an Ephrathite. 2He had two wives. The name of the one was Hannah, and the name of the other, Peninnah. And Peninnah had children, but Hannah had no children.

3Now this man used to go up year by year from his city to worship and to sacrifice to the LORD of hosts at Shiloh, where the two sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, were priests of the LORD. 4On the day when Elkanah sacrificed, he would give portions to Peninnah his wife and to all her sons and daughters. 5But to Hannah he gave a double portion, because he loved her, though the LORD had closed her womb. 6And her rival used to provoke her grievously to irritate her, because the LORD had closed her womb. 7So it went on year by year. As often as she went up to the house of the LORD, she used to provoke her. Therefore Hannah wept and would not eat. 8And Elkanah, her husband, said to her, “Hannah, why do you weep? And why do you not eat? And why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?”

9After they had eaten and drunk in Shiloh, Hannah rose. Now Eli the priest was sitting on the seat beside the doorpost of the temple of the LORD. 10She was deeply distressed and prayed to the LORD and wept bitterly. 11And she vowed a vow and said, “O LORD of hosts, if you will indeed look on the affliction of your servant and remember me and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a son, then I will give him to the LORD all the days of his life, and no razor shall touch his head.”

12As she continued praying before the LORD, Eli observed her mouth. 13Hannah was speaking in her heart; only her lips moved, and her voice was not heard. Therefore Eli took her to be a drunken woman. 14And Eli said to her, “How long will you go on being drunk? Put your wine away from you.” 15But Hannah answered, “No, my lord, I am a woman troubled in spirit. I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the LORD. 16Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for all along I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation.” 17Then Eli answered, “Go in peace, and the God of Israel grant your petition that you have made to him.” 18And she said, “Let your servant find favor in your eyes.” Then the woman went her way and ate, and her face was no longer sad.

19They rose early in the morning and worshiped before the LORD; then they went back to their house at Ramah. And Elkanah knew Hannah his wife, and the LORD remembered her. 20And in due time Hannah conceived and bore a son, and she called his name Samuel, for she said, “I have asked for him from the LORD.”

Recently reading this, I was struck by the way Hannah prayed…

I read the first two paragraphs (v1-8) as a backdrop of the following couple of paragraphs. Even at the very beginning of the book in the second verse, we find a pretty blunt description of what’s going on: “Peninnah had children, but Hannah had no children.”

In the verses that follow, we find more on Hannah’s circumstances: Elkanah loved Hannah, and gave her a double portion on the day of the sacrifice (v5). On the other hand, Hannah experienced some emotional trauma when “her rival used to provoke her grievously to irritate her, because the LORD had closed her womb” (v6). This was an annual thing–Hannah endured year after year of provocation, which led her to such sadness that she “wept and would not eat” (v7).

Imagine being continuously tormented like Hannah was. She was (at this time) barren, and was provoked because of it. The interesting thing is that her physical condition was not something she had any particular control over–”the LORD had closed her womb.” This must have been pretty emotionally traumatic for Hannah. But how did she respond?

We find in verse 10 that “[s]he was deeply distressed and prayed to the LORD and wept bitterly.” Read her prayer:

11 And she vowed a vow and said, “O LORD of hosts, if you will indeed look on the affliction of your servant and remember me and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a son, then I will give him to the LORD all the days of his life, and no razor shall touch his head.

It was curious to me that she would say “if you will indeed look on the affliction of your servant and remember me and not forget your servant…” And she eventually confesses that “[she had] been speaking out of [her] great anxiety and vexation” (v16).

Matt Chandler commented once that it is in God’s mercy that he would allow us a “thorn in the flesh” (2 Cor. 12:6-8) for the sake of our humility. And this is certainly the case in Hannah’s situation. She was barren and emotionally traumatized, but she brought her trouble humbly before the Lord, petitioning for a child according to his will, while promising to be faithful. Eventually she left convinced of God’s faithfulness, and “went her way and ate, and her face was no longer sad” (v18).

When we have requests, let us bring it humbly to the Lord, asking them according to his will, promising to be faithful no matter the circumstance. And let us be convinced of God’s faithfulness–we can be assured that “for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose” (Rom. 8:28).

It seems that rather soon, God provides Hannah with a child. How does she respond? She commends it to the Lord. She says, “I have asked for him from the LORD” (v20).

When God responds to our requests, let us commend it to the Lord, again remembering that “for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.”

The next day the large crowd that had come to the feast heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem. So they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet him, crying out, “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, even the King of Israel!” And Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it, just as it is written, “Fear not, daughter of Zion; behold, your king is coming, sitting on a donkey’s colt!”

His disciples did not understand these things at first, but when Jesus was glorified, then they remembered that these things had been written about him and had been done to him. The crowd that had been with him when he called Lazarus out of the tomb and raised him from the dead continued to bear witness. The reason why the crowd went to meet him was that they heard he had done this sign. So the Pharisees said to one another, “You see that you are gaining nothing. Look, the world has gone after him.”

John 12:12-19

Sometimes they strew His way,
And His sweet praises sing;
Resounding all the day
Hosannas to their King:
Then “Crucify!” is all their breath,
And for His death they thirst and cry.

Tomorrow is Palm Sunday, marking Jesus’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem and to his betrayal. How do you imagine this picture of Christ’s humility? That he our King would ride to his suffering and his death upon the back of a donkey, all while being lauded by the same people who would later demand his crucifixion.

Q. 27. Wherein did Christ’s humiliation consist?
A. Christ’s humiliation consisted in his being born, and that in a low condition, made under the law, undergoing the miseries of this life, the wrath of God, and the cursed death of the cross; in being buried, and continuing under the power of death for a time.

I started writing something about Ash Wednesday. I remembered reading something on the Scriptorium Daily a while ago, so I found it, and it says all I struggled to say.

Today is Ash Wednesday, 2009, and I thought it would be good to reflect a bit on the meaning of Lent.

It seems to me that while Easter has escaped a lot of the ravages of Christmas (yes there are Easter eggs and bunny rabbits, just as there are Santa and reindeer during Christmastime, but Easter has largely remained unscathed from consumerism and greed), it seems that Lent has suffered more than Advent.

Advent is usually quite beautiful as we light candles and prepare our hearts in anticipation of the birth of the Messiah. Lent, however, becomes more of an exercise in giving up things (what we can do) and less in looking forward to the death and resurrection of Christ (what Jesus can do). In true Dantean fashion, let me break this down into six fallacies (one less than a number of perfection, which symbolizes shortcoming):

First fallacy of Lent: fasting is just an excuse to splurge at the end.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard people give up chocolate or coffee or some other food vice, only to completely gorge themselves on what they’ve been deprived of for 46 days come Easter Sunday. Is that what Easter is meant for, a debauchery fest? What a way to celebrate Christ’s resurrection!

Second fallacy of Lent: fasting is just an excuse to splurge at the beginning.
Many people think it’s OK to indulge their sins right before their time of deprivation/Lent. This is how Mardi Gras in New Orleans, and Carnaval/Karneval in Rio de Janeiro (Brazil) and Cologne (Germany) got their origins. But this is like men who are about to get married who think that it’s OK to go to a strip club or hire a prostitute at their bachelor party because it’s their “last chance at freedom.” It completely ruins the spirit of discipline if this is how you begin! This is based on their false thinking that debauchery is a joy while discipline is drudgery. If marriage is drudgery and a restriction of their freedom to have sex with whoever they want, why even bother marrying? And similarly, if Lent is drudgery, why do it?

Third fallacy of Lent: fasting is an excuse to show off.
If you’re going to fast, don’t go around bragging about it! (This includes nonverbal signs exhibiting your suffering, hoping that somebody will ask you what’s wrong). If you do that, truly you have received your reward in full. This is not to say you can’t tell people what you’re fasting from (if you give up something that interferes with your ability to function normally in society but don’t explain it to people, it might attract unnecessary attention to yourself rather than helping people understand what you’re trying to do). I think the principle is not that you can’t tell anybody, but you shouldn’t let it draw attention toward yourself, and instead let it point toward Christ.

Fourth fallacy of Lent: fasting is suffering.
C’mon, do you really think giving up Nintendo Playstation is equivalent to Christ’s Passion? Not even close! I think we trivialize what Christ went through if we think our petty sufferings are anywhere near what he experienced. That being said, we shouldn’t not fast, but rather let every reminder of what you’re giving up emphasize the greater reality of what Christ did (much as the simple bread & wine are but dim reflections of Christ’s broken body & shed blood).

Fifth fallacy of Lent: think about all the benefits I get from fasting.
Yes, you may lose calories by not eating your favorite junk food, or even on a spiritual level it may help you to be more disciplined in prayer, but that’s not the end goal. Though the benefits may be good psychological assistance along the way to help you stay on track, secondary benefits pale in comparison with the ultimate end of Easter. Let not the minor obscure the major.

Sixth fallacy of Lent: fasting is the point of Lent.
No it isn’t! Fasting is a sign that points to the goal, which is identification with the crucified and risen Christ. If you fast but don’t have that as your goal, it is merely a human-centered activity. It is not the giving up of a thing itself that sanctifies you, the sanctification comes from the One who is infinitely greater than any troubles than you can possibly go through. Each time we remember what we give up, it should cause us not to think about ourselves (e.g. “Oh, I’m so hungry”) but remind us to set our faces toward the Risen Savior.

Here’s a tip: it’s fine to give something (or more than one thing) up for Lent, but instead of thinking about Lent as negation, think about it as a positive. Not what you can abstain from, but what opportunities abound for you with your extra time/money/attention! With your extra time, focus more on prayer and service, for one. With your extra money, give more to church or the needy, for two. And all this should flow not from your own strength but from an overflow of what the Lord has done for you. Be practical, rather than just theoretical, with your Lenten journey. Need a suggestion? My Bible study group is doing this, which I think rocks.

A Reminder of What Lent is All About, by Allen Yeh

Well, I tried to write a creative, borderline-humorous intro to this, but I just couldn’t seem to make it work.  So instead I’ll just jump straight in, and speak directly from the heart.  Well, and the mind too, but that goes without saying.

Something I’ve been learning lately (and if we’ve had a serious conversation in the past few weeks, I almost guarantee that you’ve heard this entire little spiel that’s about to follow), is that sanctification works totally upside down from how we (American Protestant evangelicals, and probably other kinds of Christians too, but I don’t really know anything about that) view it.  Here’s what I mean.

The general/default view of what a perfect Christian looks like is someone who is so far above sin–so holy–that they aren’t even tempted by it, and so “God-minded” that they never cease to be in perfect, unhidered communion with him.  And I suppose there’s some truth to this, and my realization about how sanctification works is not necessarily going to contradict that.  But the problem with such a view of the ideal Christian is that it seems to lure us into thinking that somehow we’ll be able to chart our progress of increasing holiness on a scale, and the more holy we become the higher up on the “just like Jesus” scale we’ll be.

However, I have found, and the Scriptures clue us in to this, that it’s quite the opposite.  The fact of the matter is, the more holy we become–the more we hate sin, and the more we defeat it–the more we see our wickedness.  And the closer we get to being like Christ, the clearer we see just how impossibly far away from him we are.  In a lot of ways, it’s like climbing a ten foot wall, only to discover at eight feet that it’s really a hundred foot wall.  And then at a ninety feet, you see that it’s a thousand feet.  And so on and so forth, for as long as we live.  It’s kinda discouraging sometimes, when you think about it.  But it makes me wonder: perhaps the purpose of sanctification is not just to make us more holy, but to bring more glory to God, because as we become more holy and then see how much more holy Christ is, the loftier our view of God becomes.  And I believe Piper is onto something when he says that the primary way we glorify God is by “enjoying Him”–by exulting in how much greater He is than us.

Just like so many other things about the Christian walk, this truth is at once offensive and liberating.  It’s offensive because, really, who thinks it’s good news that arguably the greatest Christian ever called himself the “chief of sinners”?  And who finds it encouraging that the closer you get to your goal, the further away the goal gets?  And who finds joy in thinking about how miserably sinful our old natures are?  (Obviously, the answer here is “nobody”.)  But flip the lens, and see how liberating it is to embrace the truth that no matter how close we get we are never close enough.  It means that we don’t have the burden of being “almost there” and not being able to finish.  It means that every time we fall short and fail, and feel like we are in our greatest weakness, we are actually at our greatest strength.  It means that the Gospel is THAT much more beautiful, and God’s love for us is THAT much sweeter.

Indeed, His grace is sufficient for me.  May it never cease to be.

I know this topic is somewhat taboo (what can of worms am I opening?!), but I think that it is incredibly relevant (see the recent revokation of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell and what it has conveyed to the LGBT community). Today, LGBTs are lobbying for more ‘rights,’ acceptance, and recognition. And the ‘freedom’ that America is touting is stuck in a strange tension in resolving this. In light of this, the sexual brokenness ensued by homosexuality (but also sexual brokenness in heterosexuality, which I will not explicitly touch here) must be addressed by Christians, lest our views fall to the cultural norm.

And please note that I want to disclaim any authority on the matter–only (mere) reflection–and am, therefore, petitioning your opinion and discussion. And really, I’m just asking questions to get your thoughts as I have some tentative.

EDIT: many of these considerations use the word ‘homosexual’ and its derivatives applied to implied meanings of the practice of homosexual acts as well as same-sex attraction.

–

First of all, I am not entirely confident in Christianity’s response to homosexuality–I wonder, does it even exist? How have Christians responded to the cultural approval of homosexuality?

Before you answer those questions, I want to ask this: how many people in your church do you know deal with homosexuality?

I know only of one. But wait–isn’t the church a gathering of sinners? Isn’t it a body of those who acknowledge their sins in repentance and hope in Christ’s completed work on the Cross? If so, why aren’t there more people in the church who struggle with homosexuality?

I have a couple of (not exhaustive) proposals for the answer to that last question.

1) People who struggle with homosexuality are universally withdrawn from the church.
2) There exist people who struggle with homosexuality within the church, but are not entirely open with their burdens.

I tend toward the idea of the second–I think that there are Christians who are struggling with homosexuality. Let me pause for clarification here: I think that there are Christians, who acknowledge that they are broken and sinful, burdened with the temptation of homosexuality, but have faith in Christ’s justifying work on the Cross, and are now living in repentance and the sanctifying work of the Holy Spirit. But where are they as we sit in pews among liars, thieves, gossips, and adulterers? Have we really welcomed those who struggle with homosexuality into our church? Or have we scared them into thinking that they are somehow worse than the rest? Have we scared them into thinking that they cannot live in the love of Christ because of their sexual brokenness?

I know not how to phrase it any differently, but I think we have scared those who struggle with homosexuality by not really loving them. And if we’re scaring struggling Christians, how can we reach the entire nation of those struggling with homosexuality outside the church?

Respond as you will, but if I can conclude with my questions in a somewhat ordered matter, you may like following that:

1) How has Christianity responded to homosexuality?
2) How many people in your church do you know struggle with homosexuality?
3) Where are the ‘homosexuals’ in the church?
4) Has Christianity’s response to homosexuality been one of love?
5) How do we respond?

Or even more summarily:

1) How should Christians approach homosexuality?

These are some meditations on the significance of the Incarnation from John 1:1-18 (full text posted here). For a semi-introduction to why I picked John for my Christmas meditation, see this post.

(4) In him was life, and the life was the light of men. (5) The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not overcome it….(9)The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.

“in him was life”: It’s easy, at least for me, to just brush over phrases like these assuming I know what they mean, but never really stopping to consider exactly how they work out. What does it mean for life–an abstract concept and yet our most concrete reality–to be in something or someone? It sounds sort of like Life is contained inside of the Word, like when we say that there is water in a container. But then, we also say that there is water in the ocean, and what do we mean by that other than that the ocean is composed of water, that the substance of the ocean is water. And so in that sense, the Word not only contains life, but he is Life. And thus from him also flows Life.
“the light of men”: The metaphor John introduces here seems a little strange at first, but let’s think together for a second about what could be the significance of the Life of the Word being the light of men. First of all, without light, everything dies. If the sun ceased to shine, the world would cease to function. And if the light of men did not come into the world, so would the world cease to function. Secondly, without light we can perceive nothing, and thus we are totally blind. And when we can see nothing, we can know nothing. If the light of men did not come into the world, we would be spiritually floating around in a pitch-black vacuum, with no reality to cling to. And so we see that darkness–the absence of light–is presented here as a metaphor for death.
“the light shines in the darkness”: But the opposite of darkness is light, and the beautiful thing about this contrast is that dark and light are not equal powers vying for control. In fact, dark is no substance at all, but wherever the light shines, there is darkness totally defeated.
“the true light…was coming into the world”: When the Word, whose life is the light of men, came into the world, darkness was crushed in a single blow. Perhaps we have not yet seen all the effects of this victory yet; perhaps there are still shadows and unlit corners of our world; perhaps our vision is still dull and dim, as the clouds of our fallen world hide the direct light of the sun. And yet–and yet–Light has won, and one day very soon the triumph will be complete. But even now, the coming of the kingdom of light has been inaugurated. With light, there IS life. With life, we CAN see. The presence of light is the absence of death.

(16) And from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.

This is one of the greatest, if not the single greatest mystery of the Incarnation: that we–rebels, enemies, God-haters; homeless, helpless, hopeless–that we “should gain from his reward”. Just take a minute to let this soak into your heart and mind. The Word became flesh for us. Now that is incredible.

(14) And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have see his glory, glory as of the Only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.

“the Word became flesh”: Oh, may this never cease to blow our minds every time we read or hear or think about this! May we never lose the wonder of Immanuel–God with us!
“and we have seen his glory”: But the mystery does not end there. For God did not come to us in some ethereal, only spiritual way. He was not just “in the midst of us” as he was with Israel in the cloud and fire, or in the ark, or through the prophets. He was here with us AS ONE OF US! But more than that, he was not just here in the physical sense. Christ did not give up his Godhood when he came to earth, nor was his glory somehow lessened when he put on flesh. But think about what this verse means when it says “we have seen his glory”. In the Word become flesh, the Glory of God was clothed in flesh not to hide it, but to reveal it!

(18) No one has ever seen God; the only God, who is at the Father’s side, he has made him known.

In the Word become flesh, man can literally see God. We can finally truly know God. In the Incarnation, God is no longer to us merely the Force that created and sustains the universe, but a Person. A Person that the disciples could see and touch and hear, and a Person that even now we can interact with and love and be loved by and communicate with–that we can really know. Had God not become a Man, we would never have been able to know him; but not only that, we would never have been able to know Reality. In the Incarnation, God bridged the uncrossable chasm between the physical world we breath in and the spiritual world our souls inhabit. When the Word became flesh, he restored the marriage between soul and body which was broken by the Fall–something we could never have done on our own.

Without the Incarnation, we are not only doomed to eternal Hell because of our sins, but all of creation would have remained under the dominion of darkness, which is death. Without the Incarnation, even the sun would not rise. But praise be to God that the Sun has risen indeed, and he has come with healing in his wings.

Merry Christmas and glory in the highest to Emmanuel!

As I thought a little bit more about the first chapter of John, I realized that perhaps it would be better to just post the first 18 verses, and let you meditate on them yourself, and let them sink into your mind and heart, before I try to share my limited view of them. So I’ll post some aids for meditation tomorrow (Christmas morning), but for now I strongly encourage you to take some time to read through and think about this introduction to John’s history of Jesus life and ministry. I think you will find it rewarding, as I have.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness, to bear witness about the light, that all might believe through him. He was not the light, but came to bear witness about the light.

The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him. He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him. But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John bore witness about him, and cried out, “This was he of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me ranks before me, because he was before me.’”) And from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God; the only God, who is at the Father’s side, he has made him known.

I’m going to suggest something that most people would probably consider somewhat outlandish. I’m going to suggest that this Christmas we not focus on trying to retell all the details of the Christmas stories–angels and shepherds and wise men and all that. And in fact, I’m going to go so far as to suggest that we not give our attention in any serious degree to any of the narrative surrounding the birth, or the even the life, of Jesus.

Instead, here’s what I recommend for us to do this Christmas as we celebrate what this year is all about: let’s read John’s introduction to his gospel (chapter one, verses one through eighteen), taking it in phrase by phrase, and stew on the profound truth of the Incarnation that John expounds so brilliantly and elegantly, yet so simply.

Thinking about the Incarnation from the narrative perspective can be very helpful, because the story reveals many facets of God’s character and His love for us. We see in the virgin birth God’s sovereign and omnipotent hand; we see in the dirty manger God’s utter disregard for the world’s value system; we see in the helpless infant Jesus the unfathomable paradox of the Vulnerable Almighty. And there is so much more. But if you grew up in church like most of us here at Mere, the Christmas story, and even its more profound applications, can easily fade into tradition and rote regurgitation of something we think we already understand. And the minute we begin to think, even subconsciously, that we understand Emmanuel–the minute we lose our awe at the concept of the God Man–we have at that moment lost the significance of Christmas. And when our Christmas celebrations get reduced to tradition and unthinking liturgy, we have totally wasted the immeasurable riches implicit in the Christmas holiday. The whole purpose of Christmas is to help us to meditate on the wonder of the Incarnation, and if we get so lost in the Christmas story (not to mention gifts and parties and “holiday cheer”) that we forget to meditate on God-with-us, we have wasted Christmas.

For that reason, I suggest that we try to think about the Incarnation a different way this year, and really devote ourselves to meditate on its mystery, and what it means for us, for the world, for the church, and even for the whole universe. On Christmas Eve and Christmas Day I’ll post some of my thoughts on a few different parts of John chapter one which I hope might help us to consider anew some aspects of the Incarnation that are often overlooked. And ultimately, my prayer is like Paul’s prayer for the Ephesians (found in Ephesians 3:14-21), that we might better comprehend the love of God.

For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.
Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

In the beginning was the Word…

Have you ever stopped to consider this opening sentence of John’s Gospel, not from a literary or historical or philosophical or doctrinal or hermeneutical perspective, but simply thinking of John as a real person, a regular fisherman from Galilee, when he first sat down to write his gospel? I can just imagine him pacing distractedly across a room, a younger disciple sitting by attentively, waiting to take down John’s dictation. The words are swirling through his head, on the tip of his tongue but ever so elusive–like minnows scatter when your hand touches the water, and just when you think you’ve got one in your grasp it slips away…–and then finally. He spins around on his heel and begins, quickly: “in the beginning” (a quite unoriginal phrase, perhaps, but a fitting echo of Genesis 1) then pauses for a moment, as if to let the importance of what he is about to dictate sink into his own mind. Then slowly but confidently he exhales: “was the Word”. And after that first monumental sentence he resumes his pacing and his dictating, but this time more slowly–and more deliberate–as the thoughts begin to coalesce in his mind, stilling–like ripples in calm water quickly fade into peace: “…and the Word was with God, and God was the Word…*”.

Or maybe that’s not how it happened. Maybe there was no scribe after all, and John was sitting at a table, parchment spread out, writing utensil in hand, carefully choosing his words. Or maybe the thinking was all already done–it had been stewing in his mind for years and years–so that one day he sat down and without hesitation penned the whole book at once. I don’t know how it happened. And most likely I never will. But as we approach Christmas–the day we set aside to celebrate and remember the beauty of the Incarnation–Emmanuel–I can think of nothing more fitting than to consider the wonder and reverence and ecstasy that the disciples must have had when they thought back on that great mystery which they were blessed to behold, and to live with, and walk beside, and listen to, and love.

Let us not waste this Christmas by leaning on old platitudes about “Jesus birthday” and “silent nights” and all such unhelpful, if not totally untrue sayings. Rather, let us steep ourselves in meditation on the dirty, sublime, incomprehensible, certain, bloody, divine mystery of GOD WITH US. And may we ever kneel in awe-struck worship before the newborn King–Son of God, Son of Man: Emmanuel.

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen His glory, glory as of the Only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.