Christmas 2021: Being Found

I’ve had it all wrong for too long and in too many ways. When I heard about shepherds leaving their flocks and going to Bethlehem and wise men traveling months to find Christ, I thought I, too, should journey in hopes of finding God. Such thinking has led me to wonderful people and places; it has also led me to look in all the wrong places, as the song goes. What I didn’t realize until recently was that there is a fundamental flaw in such thinking. This year I am going to try to see and do things differently.

To search for God can lead one to think of God as some sort of possession or object. We go in search of God, and when (and if) we find what we are looking for we hold tightly. We lift the fruit of our search above our heads with the pride of a tournament champion. We cling to God with pride as if we are as precious as what (or who) we’ve found. In some cases, we even use it to bash others over the head.

I now see the arrogance of such searching. I can see how it becomes all about me, about the journey and effort I make, and has little or nothing to do with the God who is above all things, beyond all efforts, and surpasses all understanding. 

I’m going to change the posture of my spiritual journey this year. Instead of setting out to find God, I am going to let God find me. I’m going to open the arms of my heart and wait for God to come and complete the embrace. I am no longer going to look to a distant place or time, but look for God right where I am. I am going to try to resist the temptation to read too much, to stop conjuring up images of a God of my own making (in my own image) and let God come in whatever ways God chooses. Like a friend who says, “Okay God, I look forward to seeing how you show up in my life today” each morning, I’m ready to be surprised.

I know God is right here, right not. I know God is as eager for a relationship as I. I’ve just been too busy searching.

Advent IV: Misspellings

It’s has always been an annual source of embarrassment. Made in third grade, I thought it was something special. I couldn’t wait to give it to my parents for Christmas and remember squirming in my seat as they opened it years ago. My mother lifted it from the wrapped box and held it up for my father and siblings to see. I was proud, until I hear the first snicker. “You spelt Christmas wrong!” someone pointed out. My face turned red, my pride withered, and I wanted to crawl from the room.

The cracker holder now belongs to me. Each year I bring it out and remember not that moment of embarrassment and shame so much as the way my mother displayed it proudly every year. She unpacked it from the Christmas decoration boxes with reverence, as if it was a sacred relic. In her hands, the imperfect cracker holder looked wonderful. “Don’t you dare!” she said loud and clear when I suggested correcting the misspelling. She didn’t just not mind the misspelling, she cherished it. “It’s what makes it you,” she reminded me often. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

The imperfect cracker holder has become special to me, too. Rather than being a reminder of my poor spelling ability, it reminds me of a parent’s love despite my imperfection. She didn’t ignore the imperfection, she embraced it. The misspelling is what made it unique, personal, genuine. No wonder she lifted it from the box the way she did each year.

I think God’s the same way. Despite our best efforts to conceal them, we are full of imperfections. God does not ignore them or look the other direction. He lifts and holds each of us like a sacred relic, smiling as only a parent can at the things that make us unique. In God’s hands, all our imperfections and things we’re embarrassed by look wonderful. I think, deep down, that’s why a child was born years ago. That’s why God didn’t wait until we got our acts together before taking his seat beside us in this thing called life. Despite our best (and continuous) efforts to hide or correct our imperfections, Christmas is a time to celebrate God coming among us and loving us the way we are.

Advent III: Fear Not!

Fear not! 

The words must have seemed like a joke. How could they be anything but fearful? One moment, they’re watching their flock by night. The next, they’re on their way to Bethlehem. I’m sure they were petrified as they walked toward that star, but fear is always the gateway, or doorway, to something new - particularly when it’s a relationship with God.

The shepherds weren’t the first frightened sojourners, of course. Abraham and Sarah had to conquer their fear. Moses, too. The list is long, maybe endless, and it would be easy to focus on all the fear and not what lies on the other side of that fear. Each courageous seeker found a deeper, more personal relationship with God, but first they had to wrestle with fear.

The words of the angels echo today, but maybe not in such dramatic ways. The person who leaves her high-paying job to follow a life-long dream of serving others can hear the angels: fear not! The student who decides not to follow his peers because of his emerging faith can also hear the angels: fear not! The couple who suddenly has to face an unexpected illness: fear not! The person who decides to live life without ever drinking again: fear not!

God is waiting for each of them, just as God is waiting for each of us. He may not be lying in a manger, wrapped in swaddling clothes, but He’s waiting just the same. All we have to do (and it’s a lot) is fear not. We need to take comfort that others have blazed the trail; we’re standing at a well-worn threshold. On the other side of our fear, there’s good news which shall be to all people, for unto us, this day (and tomorrow, and the next day) God’s waiting, wrapped in our ordinary lives. Like a baby, God’s waiting to be held. Like a parent, God’s waiting to hold.

Fear not!