For some reason (haha! maybe because it’s January in Canada and here, late in the afternoon, it is already dark) I am remembering a beautiful day on the most beautiful beach I have ever seen – Grace Bay on the island of Provedenciales in the Turks and Caicos. It’s aptly named. Warm turquoise water, clean white sand, soft Caribbean breeze, no crowds, no hurry…. It’s a place graced with beauty.
On cold days like this it’s heart-warming to remember lying in the sun, listening to the rhythm of the surf. Eugene Peterson used the phrase “the unforced rhythms of grace” in his paraphrase of Jesus’ words in Matthew.
Jesus resumed talking to the people, but now tenderly. “The Father has given me all these things to do and say. This is a unique Father-Son operation, coming out of Father and Son intimacies and knowledge. No one knows the Son the way the Father does, nor the Father the way the Son does. But I’m not keeping it to myself; I’m ready to go over it line by line with anyone willing to listen.
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” (Matthew 11:27-30 The Message paraphrase)
The unforced rhythms of grace. I like that. Like breathing out and breathing in. No matter our circumstances, (or the temperature in our real world) living in grace means living freely and lightly.
But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart.
(Luke 2:19)
Grandmothers have them -little treasures labeled with memories- daughter’s first shoes, mother’s salt and pepper shakers, son’s first woodworking project. Depending on tolerance for visual clutter and willingness to dust, they may be displayed on a shelf or tucked in a box under the bed.
Folks caught in the flood in High River tell me their most painful losses were photos and personal trinkets and heirlooms irretrievably saturated in mud and sewage. At least they still have their memories. I watch my elderly father desperately grabbing for precious memories as they are sucked into the muddy mess of dementia. His frustration in trying to recall a name is because that name is attached to the memory of a person whose significance he realizes is fading. His memory treasures are being de-cluttered down to the essential ones -his wife, his children, his God.
It’s not necessary to have objects to help us remember, in fact when too many things carry memories for us we can easily become hoarders and block our own paths to the future with junk from the past. A lot of memories need to be tossed, but sometimes a jar that carried precious spice a magi gave your baby can be pretty special. I wonder if Mary kept it or if Joseph sold it to finance their sojourn to Egypt.
It’s really the memories of God-moments that Mary treasured. She pondered them, meditated on them, tried to understand the significance of them.
Sometimes God has shown up in my life and handed me something I don’t know what to do with, but know it’s significant, so I store it on a shelf in my mind. Sometimes I take it down and ponder it, looking at it from all sides, then put it back. Later, when I’ve almost forgotten, it comes in handy and suddenly makes sense.
About a year ago I had a dream in which I saw a leather-covered box with long leather tethers attached. In the box I saw pieces of paper with scripture verses written on them and I had a strong sense that I would need these. I pondered this dream when I woke up and realized the box was like the phylactery boxes orthodox Jews tie on their foreheads and arms. At the time I was waiting for O.R. time so my surgeon could do a biopsy on something that had all the signs of serious advanced cancer. Fear gripped my mind; it almost paralyzed me. I remembered all the promises and significant Bible verses that stood out to me in the previous few weeks and wrote them down on coloured sticky notes. I didn’t have a leather box, but I read them over and over applying them to my mind. Even when I had trouble hearing them -(By His stripes we are healed; Bless the Lord and forget not all his benefits -who heals your diseases and renews your youth; Trust in the Lord with all your heart... and many more) I tied them on my head figuratively speaking, as weapons against the monster of fear that waged war in my mind. Metaphorically I tied them on my arm as a reminder to continue to choose to act in the light of His words, believing in God’s faithfulness.
By the time the biopsy was done I was at peace. My doctor was totally surprised when the procedure revealed a benign growth that could be easily removed. God was not surprised. But this whole exercise was just a warm-up for the next battle.
Before we left to go to our granddaughter’s birthday I saw the pile of scripture verses on my dresser. They had become precious, ponderable treasures to me and for some reason I grabbed them at the last minute and tucked them in my suitcase. Later that week, when our son-in-law was comatose in critical condition and doctors were privately giving him 0% chance of survival, I pulled out the verses and read them over him in the hospital room. My daughter borrowed them and in the battle for his life read them as well. I sometimes saw her pull them out of her pocket and lay them (now worn and curled) on the counter with her keys at the end of a long day. I saw her faith grow. I saw my faith grow. Together we, and an entire community, saw God miraculously restore her husband to perfect health in away that totally defied all predictions.
Mary didn’t understand a lot of the things she witnessed and experienced in her life. It’s easy in hindsight to put the puzzle pieces together, but God didn’t give her the complete picture all at once. He told her she was highly favoured and that the message she carried in her body was for the salvation of the world. Who could possibly fathom how that would work? Who could possibly comprehend that the pain she suffered — the gossip and rejection, the refugee flight, seeing her son shamed and executed as a criminal– were all signs of God’s favour? So until the day when her son rose from the dead and became her own Saviour she treasured the promises and pondered the memories on the shelf. When the time was right, in God’s good time, they all made sense.
Mother and Child Hooked rug by Margaret Forsey of Newfoundland
Mary did you know that your baby boy will one day walk on water?
Mary did you know that your baby boy will save our sons and daughters?
Did you know that your baby boy has come to make you new?
This child that you’ve delivered, will soon deliver you.
Mary did you know that your baby boy will make a blind man see? Mary did you know that your baby boy will calm a storm with his hand? Did you know that your baby boy has walked where angels trod? And when you kiss your little baby, you have kissed the face of God.
The blind will see, the deaf will hear and the dead will live again. The lame will leap, the mute will speak, the praises of the lamb.
Mary did you know that your baby boy is Lord of all creation? Mary did you know that your baby boy will one day rule the nations? Did you know that your baby boy is heaven’s perfect Lamb? This sleeping child you’re holding is the great I am.
I try to be positive. I really do. I usually appreciate any attempt at singing. Song is a free gift that can be enjoyed by anyone. But to me some songs are sacred, holy, set apart and meant to glorify God. They are not meant to be recorded by pop singers with no sense of phrasing, or breath control, who have inadequate diction and obviously no emotional connection to the lyrics, and then piped through the aisles of Stuffmart to create background noise for harried shoppers who don’t give a damn. I’ve threatened to go postal if I hear Santa Baby in the produce aisle one more time -but that’s just irritating. It’s hearing one of the greatest hymns/carols of all time massacred over and over that makes me want to plop down on the floor by the gift boxed baubles and weep.
(Rant over)
When I taught singing my students often asked if they could work on “Oh Holy Night.”
“Not for a few years yet,” I told most of them. “And when you do it will in the original language.”
“Why?”
“Because your voice isn’t ready and because you have heard it so often in English you can’t hear the words anymore. Most versions drop half the lyrics anyway. I want you to study it, to translate it, to concentrate and savour every note and every word.”
Like songs that are sung year after year and have lost their flavour like chewing gum on the bedpost overnight, we can become so familiar with the goodness of God we cease to grasp the depth and height and width of it. We fail to comprehend the massiveness of His love. We take it for granted. We develop a sense of entitlement, as if God owes us freedom, and deliverance from slavery to sin. We fail to pay attention.
Translations that have to fit the meter and accents of a set piece of music are never entirely accurate, but here is another English translation of Minuit, Chretien. Listen to the words again.
Midnight, Christians, it is the solemn hour, When God as man descended unto us To erase the stain of original sin And to end the wrath of His Father. The entire world thrills with hope On this night that gives it a Saviour.
People kneel down, wait for your deliverance. Christmas, Christmas, here is the Redeemer, Christmas, Christmas, here is the Redeemer!
May the ardent light of our Faith Guide us all to the cradle of the infant, As in ancient times a brilliant star Guided the Oriental kings there. The King of Kings was born in a humble manger; O mighty ones of today, proud of your greatness,
It is to your pride that God preaches. Bow your heads before the Redeemer! Bow your heads before the Redeemer!
The Redeemer has broken every bond: The Earth is free, and Heaven is open. He sees a brother where there was only a slave, Love unites those that iron had chained. Who will tell Him of our gratitude, For all of us He is born, He suffers and dies.
People stand up! Sing of your deliverance, Christmas, Christmas, sing of the Redeemer, Christmas, Christmas, sing of the Redeemer!
Attend ta Délivrance
From the English version:
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we, His power and glory evermore proclaim! His power and glory evermore proclaim!
Pilgrims waiting at the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem
O come, Thou Rod of Jesse,
free thine own
from Satan’s tyranny
From depths of Hell Thy people save
And give them victory o’er the grave
Rejoice!
Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee,
O Israel.
O come, Thou Day-Spring,
come and cheer our spirits
by Thine advent here
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
and death’s dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice!
Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee,
O Israel.
(From the ancient hymn, Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel)
When we were in Israel the behaviour of some of the people in the crowds surprised me. I realize the concept of standing in line and waiting patiently is not one common to all cultures, but some folks seemed quite desperate to touch sacred sites. They pushed and shoved and cut ahead as if they feared there might not be enough to go around and they had to get there first. I watched some women hungrily rub the stone in this church of the Nativity upon which (it is said) the Virgin gave birth. I watched as they traced the cracks on worn pavement and then rubbed their hands over their own bodies as if there was power in the place.
Jesus said his followers would worship, not on this mountain nor on that mountain, but in spirit and truth. He said people searched the scriptures looking for salvation, but the scriptures point to him. Today some people still practise rituals and recite certain prayers and seek miracles and wonders and signs hoping for salvation, but signs point to something -or Someone. They are meant to draw our attention to a person -Jesus Christ. John wrote that this is the sign of a true Christian, that they believe, they love, and they obey God because Holy Spirit lives in them.
And this is his command: to believe in the name of his Son, Jesus Christ, and to love one another as he commanded us.The one who keeps God’s commands lives in him, and he in them. And this is how we know that he lives in us: We know it by the Spirit he gave us. (1 John 3:23, 24)
Paul wrote: And you also were included in Christ when you heard the message of truth, the gospel of your salvation. When you believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit (Ephesians 1:13)
The purpose of many festivals and holy days in Old Testament times was to help people remember the One who brought them out of slavery and tyranny. With Christ living in us, going to the sites of so many wonderful Bible stories can be a wonderful enriching experience. Without Christ, the trappings of religion become tyranny themselves.
Emmanuel means “God with us.” He came to set his people free.
My Daddy could sing. His voice was as warm and comforting as the man who sang this song on the record we played at Christmas time. Daddy never sang a solo anywhere that I recall. His concerts were just for the family.
Soft as the voice of an angel,
Breathing a lesson unheard,
Hope with a gentle persuasion
Whispers her comforting word:
Wait till the darkness is over,
Wait till the tempest is done,
Hope for the sunshine tomorrow,
After the shower is gone.
Whispering hope, oh, how welcome thy voice,
Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice.
The very quality of your life, whether you love it or hate it, is based upon how thankful you are toward God. It is one’s attitude that determines whether life unfolds into a place of blessedness or wretchedness. Indeed, looking at the same rose bush, some people complain that the roses have thorns while others rejoice that some thorns come with roses. It all depends on your perspective. -Francis Frangipane
I was surprised when I first dared to tell people about some of the answers to prayer I have seen. I expected a negative reaction from people whose worldview doesn’t give them a grid for things that don’t fit into an observable/measurable/repeatable frame. Frankly most people who demand evidence will usually dismiss or ignore it when you do go to the trouble of fetching documentation anyway. At best they may grudgingly offer a “not-yet-explained.” Fine. Not my job.
The people who surprised me were the church-type folk or nominal Christians who accepted the possibility of miracles, in theory, but became suddenly angry when told of something way beyond the norm that happened — to someone else. They brought up examples, either personal or involving poor children elsewhere, which ended tragically. One person said, “What kind of God would heal a sick, rich Canadian kid when thousands of poor kids die in third world countries every day?” Then the real issue, “Why did he answer your prayer and not mine? I guess God shows love -but not for me.”
The temptation at this point is to jump in and try to defend God’s reputation.
Not my job.
Who knew God’s love could be so offensive? Millions of words, written by thousands of people more credentialed than I, attempt to address this topic of disappointment with God. I have only three words: I don’t know.
We can say, “It doesn’t hurt to ask,” but yes, sometimes it does. Asking raises the possibility of risking hope and even the Bible says that hope deferred makes the heart sick. One of our greatest fears is the fear of disappointment.
For some reason this week I met several people whose hearts long for a soul mate. Some suffered enormous disappointment when the one who swore to love them abandoned them. Others are tired of being overlooked because they don’t fit society’s ideal standards of beauty, or status, or the mystery “it” factor. A lot of great people can relate to the classic Gershwin song, sung by Eileen Farrell, “They’re playing songs of love -but not for me.”
Now there are some obvious factors that could be blocking romantic love, but when lovely unmarried friends ask, “Why am I still alone when I have prayed and prayed?” I have to say — I don’t know.
I do think God cares more about our character than our comfort, but he is not opposed to giving his children good gifts like health and loving embraces by someone with skin on. To say someone is not receiving an answer because they haven’t cooked up enough faith, or because they have some character flaw he can only fix by throwing something nasty at them, is just cruel, in my opinion. On the other hand, it doesn’t take much faith or hope, or perseverance to look around and see pain or suffering or loneliness or poverty. When I talk about the good things I have seen I am not oblivious to pain and suffering. It does require effort to look at God’s marvelous actions and not be offended by them. It would be easy to sing, “They’re playing songs of miracles –but not for me,” but those kind of thoughts focus only on our pain. They keep us from raising our hopes.
All I can say is that I know God is good and that I have noticed that people who doggedly pursue a relationship with him, believing he is good, who are not offended when he answers someone’s pleas and not their own -but rather who genuinely thank God for his goodness to them, see more of his active intervention in their worlds than those who don’t pick up the broken bits of hope and push through the pain of disappointment to find the treasure beyond the valley of trouble. I realize that talking about things I have seen and experienced may cause some people pain, but I have to give glory to God for what he has done. My intent is to offer hope.
I was struck by Paul’s prayer in Ephesians 3 this week.
I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit.Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is.May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God. (vs. 17-19 NLT)
Jesus admitted he was a stone of offense to some people. It takes strength and power to be able to perceive and receive his love and not be offended by it. He doesn’t play by our rules. He wants relationship. He wants us to ask him the hard questions. We can pound on his chest in our pain and frustration and he won’t love us any less -or any more.
Charis: Subject to Change 