A Different Christmas

                                                      A Different Christmas


DaniRae had had it! She was fed up with all the gifts, all the parties, all the lights, all the food, all the sales, all the ads, and everything associated with Christmas. Even the church was getting on her last nerve with all their special services and projects that just piled on the fatigue and thinned out her patience. "They are supposed to preserve the true meaning of Christmas and they just vie for your attention like every store, TV special, kid and elf in the universe! I've had it." DaniRae swore to herself that next year Christmas would be different.

Her soul was at war and it seemed to be losing.

It didn't help that one of  the grandkids was in the high school football playoffs for the first two weekends in December and the other one that played basketball had a tournament the third weekend. Time to shop, decorate, cook, clean, or just breathe was spent driving 90 minutes to occupy a cold aluminum seat for over two hours. She tried to be happy and celebrate but DaniRae was just worn out. Fatigue steals gratitude. She was acting the part of a happy Christian, wife, mother, and grandmother. So far she felt she was in the running for an Oscar, but she seriously doubted she could hold it together much longer. She swore to herself again that next Christmas would be different--less stress, fewer gifts, less spent, just simple and quiet--different!

"If I can just get some good sleep, maybe I can just pull this Christmas off without turning into a Banshee woman."  She went to bed at 12:30 on the 22nd and woke up at 4:30 AM. Wide awake but with achy joints and a runny nose. "Thanks, God. Now cedar fever on top of it all." Her cough interrupted her complaint. So she got up and resented the fact that her husband just snored right on through. Into the den with a blanket to sit-up in the recliner...''maybe if I sit up I can still sleep a little." She was wide awake.

Then she looked around and noticed in the stillness, in the quiet, the manger scene on the hearth. It was still in it's  old popcorn can they stored it in. She hadn't even set it out yet. She moved quietly to the hearth and unpacked the contents. The camels, the wise men, the shepherds and sheep and even a cow was there. Preacher said something about there probably not being a cow in those days but who cares. Mary and Joseph were there and the angel to take her place above the stable, and the manger. No baby Jesus. In the semi-dark she searched. In the stable, in the popcorn can, no where. Maybe he was stuck in the legs of the animals, in the rafters of the stable. No where. This development was bothersome but she assembled the scene and promised to search again in the morning light. She plugged in the manger scene light, it had a star that lit up above the angel's head, and settled back into the recliner and hoped for a little sleep. DaniRae actually did feel a little sleepy now. It felt good to get the manger scene out. She began to gaze into it. The angel, the wise men, the wise camels, poor shepherds and dumb sheep.  In the glow of the star she thought she saw something. There in the tissue used to pack  and pad the popcorn tin.... she got up to investigate...there He was...wrapped up in the swaddling of old gift bag tissue was the missing Jesus.

DaniRae settled back down and thought  for a few minutes about what had just happened. For the first time this season, she rested, she de-stressed, she prayed. DaniRae knew this Christmas had been like the ten before and the next ten would probably be the same. But she vowed something to herself, maybe to God this morning with nose dripping, hacking cough and weepy eyes. She wouldn't necessarily try to make Christmas different next year, but she would first find the One who makes a difference and unwrap Him from the swaddling of cultural fluff and worship Him. If you want Christmas to be different, find the One who makes the difference. Find Him first, find Him often.

Merry Christmas,
Cos

How About a Fifth for Christmas?

                                            How About a Fifth for Christmas?


All Christendom that celebrates Advent is right in the middle of her celebrations, festivities, musicals, parties, and general busy-ness that takes place not only at the mall, but at the church. Churches work to add some routine, some reflection and some anticipation to focus on the birth of Jesus in the midst of the commercial juggernaut rolling over society at this time. The lighting of the Advent candles in the evergreen wreath focus on the hope, peace, joy, and love of Jesus. All is good and well. We need the stillness. We need the consistency. We need the reflection. We need the simplicity.

We need another candle.

Yes, I am messing with tradition. Yes, the church has done it pretty much this way for a thousand years. Shoot, if you count the early days of the 4th and 5th centuries when Advent was observed in Spain and Gaul as a season of preparation for baptism of new Christians at the Feast of Epiphany in January each year, then it goes back longer than that. Those really early days were more penance and reflection than celebration , however. But Advent evolved into the four Sundays before celebrating the Christ  Mass so a final four was somehow decided upon and they are hope, peace, joy and love.

We need another candle. I pastor a church with about ten different denominations worshipping and working together. (Don't ask me how it works 'cause if I knew I'd probably mess it up.) I could probably tell the church that there are a few denominations that have a fifth candle in the wreaths and we need to include one in ours so as not to make them feel left out. That, however, would be a lie and lying's not on the Advent calendar. Just ask Santa Claus.

But without lying I'd still like to lobby for a fifth, candle that is. Why is there no candle of faith? Faith\trust is integral to everything in our relationship with Jesus. We place our trust in Christ and He gives us reason to hope. Frankly, we often have to look back through the lens of scripture and see in our own lives, in the lives of other Christians, and certainly into the rich history of the church and know our hope is secure even if current events cloud our vision for this day. We trust that God is in control, that His promises are true, and that His Spirit gives peace to each believer. We trust peace is not the absent of outer conflict but the real presence of Jesus in our hearts.  We have joy because our faith in Jesus is born and borne out in daily living with confident assurance that Jesus was, is, and will be victorious as He moves us and history to His appointed ends.  Thus the joy of the Lord is our strength in facing daunting circumstances just as," for the joy set before Him,"  Jesus endured the cross. And love,  no love-relationship is ever built or grown without trust at the bedrock of that relationship. Jesus has loved us and we trust His love and respond in kind, loving Him back.

I want a fifth candle. I won't get one. But even with no wax, wick, or flame,  faith is no less real. In a few days the Advent wreath will be put away for another year. We won't put away hope, peace, joy or love in our lives and I trust faith will not be on a shelf in the closet either. I suppose if we got to counting properly there would be an aspect of God's character that could be honored, celebrated, worshipped, and served every day of the year and in multiples. Yeah, I know, that would be too many candles for a wreath, but not too many lights for a heart. Maybe that's how He lights our way.


Cos

December Flies

                                                December Flies


Quick, pesky, out-of-place. He should have frozen by now. But now he is crawling on my bald head, before on my arm, a jump and he's on my computer screen. SHOO!

Momentary relief... now he's back. December Fly mocks me. He crawls on my hand and I shake him off. He lands on desk inches from my hand poised to strike. I flinch, and he's gone again. He is spreading his germs, grime, and growing my agitation from book to Bible to to paper to phone. The pest takes on predator dimensions. I strike out in frustration. Miss! Why for the 60 days that he lives has he invaded this desk at this time? Shouldn't he be looking for food or a female fly? Maybe he is a she and that't why it is so persistent.

December Fly's by the window now. He can stay there and I'd be happy. Happiness in this world is short lived. He has moved and I don't know where. He will soon dive-bomb me and I am anxious about when.
There! He has flown to the desk and landed on 'The Wit and Wisdom of Abraham Lincoln.' I pick up an Advent devotional book on the other side of the desk and slowly, quietly rolled it up. December Fly's found a speck, a smell, a trace of something on the book that has captured his attention, or maybe he just likes Lincoln. He is still. The Advent devotion is steady now above him. WHACK!

Then the irony hits me. Between a book of quotes about the man who freed this nation from the disease of slavery and was cut down prematurely and a booklet on the Prince of Peace, December Fly's ushered into eternity. 

I feel a bit sad. For the first time I've killed a fly and had some regret by linking the tiny creature to larger events in human history. Isn't this pretty much what we did to Jesus? His truth pestered us about our sin, our lack of relationship with Him, our pride, our spiritual independence, our need. Instead of facing it we shooed Him to the cross. Be gone. 

Now December flies by and in the rush and hustle we may very well shoo the One we celebrate into the irrelevance of gifts and lights and ornaments and food and parties. Just stay in the manger, Jesus and don't fly to our hearts and minds with grace, forgiveness, and change. We like flies  Jesus on our terms and as December flies we need You to stay in the manger scene and be small and quiet. 

Oh for crying out loud, it was just a stupid fly. I lift the Advent devotion book up to reveal the carnage and brush away the remains of the day. There is nothing there.

And Jesus won't stay where we put Him either, unless it is on the throne of our hearts. I'll try to remember that as December flies.

That Magnificent Emptiness

                                                  That Magnificent Emptiness


Ninety percent of the folks gathered didn't want to be there. No, it wasn't a church meeting. The twenty or so, the number kept changing, had gathered to see their doctors, a group of neurosurgeons. It was the Thursday before Thanksgiving but on this day it was a day of misgivings and questions of  'what ifs' and 'what will be'.

 People were there because of accidents, genetic weaknesses, poor decisions, unknown factors, and the wear and tear of living life. They were trussed up, braced up, taped up. They limped, waddled, shuffled on feet, canes, and walkers. A few claimed a wheelchair as their steed.   Most were slow but a few strode confidently,quickly and seemed happy. Their treatment or surgery had worked. You could read the relief on some people's faces when they came out from their appointment compared to the concern in their eyes before they went in.

Back, brain, limb and neck troubles didn't seem to be very discriminating. There were black folk, white folk, Asian, Latino and middle eastern folk there. People's age didn't seem to matter a lot either. A few were young, a few old, mostly they were in the middle somewhere. Some were obviously poor, others middle class and a few, at least looked wealthy. Just about as many men were present as ladies.

Despite their differences they all had at least a few things in common. They were in the same waiting room. They were seeing the same doctors. They all had a story to tell and about a third were busy telling them to another third. The remaining third were silent, except for the eyes. The biggest common denominator was pain. They had all been broken, and they needed help. They were all there with some degree of fear. And they were there, every one, waiting in hope.

As a group they were pathetic and at the same time magnificently noble. Mixed with the pain, fear, silence, grief, resignation were strength, joy, resolve, and faith. The scene was familiar, but not just from the thousands of waiting rooms in which I have sat. Where else had I seen this scene, these faces, this pain, this nobility, this strength mixed with fear and carried by hope? Then it hit me--this is our world, our hearts.

This is where and why Jesus came.

And He is why Thanksgiving is possible at all. It is not just because someone else may have it worse, but even in the worst, He brings hope, He brings Himself. It is not that healing will come to every brain, back, or bone in time but that ultimately every heart and life can be whole when time is no more. Some people in waiting rooms will get good news that the back is healed, the bone is mended, the legs can walk, the cancer is gone. For that they can be thankful. But Thanksgiving moves to another plane when it is realized that one day even death will die.

And it is here, into this magnificent mess that Jesus came and why He came. One day, He will empty every waiting room and every grave. And the grace that empties the graves is as indiscriminate as the pain--it is for all who believe.

For that magnificent emptiness we give thanks.

Cos

Confession:Chuckles Has Died

                                         Confession: Chuckles Has Died


I have a confession. With the confession comes an apology. Some days when the world is falling apart or being blown apart or or seems to be missing some parts my sin is more acute, at least on those days I am more aware of it than on light, sunny days. With the increase of technology that allows me to hear about and in most cases view the multiplied tragedies around the world there seem to be fewer of those light and sunny days when grandkids laugh at being tickled, kitchens fill with heavenly aromas, when hugs are long and kisses are deep.  I can hide my sin most days but many times I feel like the Mary Tyler Moore character who attended the funeral of 'Chuckles' the clown. (yes, the two young people who read this blog and the six very old people have no idea what I'm talking about---so take a look: go to youtube and search for Mary Tyler Moore show Chuckles the clown funeral---you will see what I mean....) Okay, so here's the confession:
I am a happy Christian.

There, I said it. It's out now. I feel better. I know I am suppose to be burdened, incensed, appalled, and rage with righteous indignation as I launch into action. I see people every day who are hurting, grieving, struggling, stumbling, and grasping at life in the throes of death. And some days those people are me. I literally weep in prayer times or driving alone or lying in bed. And then something hits me and I laugh. I am so sorry for being happy in a sick, fallen, and dying world. I just can't help myself. It's not that I don't get sad or burdened or mad or sick with the pain of this world. It just doesn't overcome me more than a few hours or days. And with further confession, most days they are interspersed, mixed, rotating, and roller-coastering along. Chuckles has died, and I giggle.

'Why is this so?' I ask myself. I look for answers. I try to keep my reactions context appropriate.  I defend myself: "God made me that way." But did He?  "I choose to be that way." Why then is the happiness so spontaneous and ever-present? I get theological. Maybe I get the "joke" that Jesus pulled on the devil--Incarnation, who could see that coming? The God\Man Jesus dying on the cross for the sin of the world? Come on, how could you not laugh at what that did to Satan's plans? The Resurrection? Are you kidding me? Free grace; forgiveness; cleansing; power over death and sin; purpose for living even in pain; HEAVEN! The poet-song writer summed it up by saying "How can I keep from singing?" and I say how can I keep from laughing? Those last facts have brought me in contact with grace-filled moments, love filled people, joy filled hearts, hope that just doesn't quit, even when I have. Chuckles has died and I giggle.

Thankfully, I don't bear this burden alone. There are others in the underworld of grace. Let me share with you a few lines from Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts, (buy it!) a wonderful little book on counting your blessings in a truly meaningful way from a very gifted writer: "I know there is poor and hideous suffering, and I've seen the hungry and the guns that go to war. I have lived pain, and my life can tell: I only deepen the wound of the world when I neglect to give thanks for the early light dappled through leaves and the heavy perfume of wild roses and the song of crickets on humid nights and the rivers that run and the stars that rise and the rain that falls and the good things that a good God gives. Why would the world need more anger, more outrage? How does it save the world to reject unabashed joy when it is Joy that saves us? Rejecting joy to stand in solidarity with the suffering doesn't rescue the suffering. The converse is true. The brave who focus on all things good and all things beautiful and all things true, even in the small, who give thanks for it and discover joy even in the here and now, they are the change agents that bring the fullest Light to all the world."

Well said, Ann V. You express thanksgiving and joy.  I don't have your beauty of language to express the depths of what I think and feel, but I can confess to being happy. And please try to be forgiving of me when I remember that Chuckles has died and I giggle.

Cos
Phil. 4:8

ordinary god

                                                 ordinary god


ordinary  god     At first glance you don't like those words. When first written I didn't either. Questions arise, defenses kick in, assessments are offered. "Why didn't he capitalize 'god'?" " There is nothing ordinary about God!" "Cos must be a liberal!"

We jump too quickly, we decide without knowing. We see a blank canvas, we see a completed theology, and a full statement of life.  ordinary god   is none of those things but it could be all of them. We don't know for one simple reason.  ordinary  god   is not punctuated. There are no capitalizations, there are no commas, pre-fixes or suffixes.  There are two words thrown on a page. The words have great potential for meaning but there must be punctuation and rules of grammar applied before we know----anything.

Let's play god with  ordinary  god. Let's capitalize the g.  ordinary God. That's a start but now we have a bigger problem. The capitalization now means the God, the big, real, true God who, out of respect, people of faith capitalize his name. Now we have an adjective 'ordinary' describing 'God.' Looks problematic.  Let's add a suffix---'ly.'  ordinari-ly God. That's better. Maybe we are saying how we understand God to normally act. 'ordinarily God does this or that. Or maybe we are saying some things about ourselves and our actions with 'God."  Let's add a comma, too.  It could be like this: ordinarily, God, I go to church on Sundays, but today I'm going fishing.'  We are not sure if that is the best way to punctuate  ordinary  god   but it is at least honest.

Let's try a prefix. Let's add 'extra' to ordinary. "Extraordinary God."  We like that. We have capitalized 'god' and made him 'extra-ordinary' with a prefix. Now God is extraordinary. That looks right. We feel better. But how do you know how to punctuate 'ordinary' and 'god'?  We chose punctuation that reflects our understanding, our theology. There are dozens of other ways to punctuate  ordinary  god.  We may only know a few.

Consider two points: all our points and grammar do not actually punctuate God. He has declared, "I AM WHO I AM!"  Try as we might we will never in completeness punctuate God.  He is already whole, complete and perfectly declared. Our punctuation can only show our ignorance or, best, some growth in understanding.  Secondly, it is we who are punctuated by the hand of God.  ordinary  man.... ordinary   woman....   ordinary   human.  He punctuates our lives with a comma slowing us down long enough to see Him work. He punctuates our lives with a period or exclamation point.  Where he puts a period we do well not try to add a question mark or move beyond where He says 'stop.'  He capitalizes words, time, people in our lives adding emphasis and respect. He adds the prefixes of life to add definition and meaning. He adds the suffixes of life to add the hows and whys as He knows we need them. At times the points are light (.....) and times they seem heavy (!!).  He will dress our   ordinary   man   as He deems right, as we submit our will, our very lives to His pen strokes.

How has He punctuated your life? Consider what superlatives He has added with just His presence- mystery, wonder, glorious, majestic, eternal- added to our lives they take on new meaning. He adds the suffix 'ful' to almost everything He punctuates in our lives--joy-ful, prayer-ful, hope-ful, peace-ful, thank-ful.   Review the run-on sentences , those partially done ideas and commitments, He has corrected, overcome or let stand for us to learn from their failings.  Notice the mistakes He has erased, if, in His grace you ever knew them.  Remember that in all the punctuation added or subtracted, His pen is filled with the ink of grace and each stroke is made with love.
And each mark is made

In His Blood,
Cos

Rain

                                                                      Rain


I have always been partial to rain. I have been nuisanced by it, but rarely. Attribute it to a rural rearing where crops and cow pastures were dependent on it or the fifteen years we spend in west Texas that averaged less than 15 inches a year, I like rain. I probably picked up early a subdued communication from my parents and other farmer-families around us how important it was for our livelihood. By the prayers at church, the great attention given to meteorologists Dale Milford and Harold Taft morning, noon, and night, longing looks to the sky, the furtive hopes on mumbling lips, rain signaled its importance. So early on I learned to tolerate its cold, its muddy remnants, its washing out fences and its occasional poor timing with hay bales on the ground or crops ready to be harvested. Rain was a blessing.

There were times it seemed to be a greater blessing than others--nearly anytime in July, after a long, hot summer, a few days after planting, and after the harvested crops had been plowed- it was as if the farmers who held their breath, breathed again. So did their wives. I think even the land exhaled and breathed deeply its own aroma. Rain was a blessing.

Rains seems to have their own personalities at times. There are violent rains with angry winds. There are incessant rains bent on washing and filling everything, everywhere. There are rains that fall hard and fast with hateful drops you swear are hail and there are sneaky rains that in their unrelenting-ness wear you and your defences down 'til you find you are in trouble. They can be drippy, drizzly. They can be steady, controlled. They can be schizophrenic having several personalities in one storm. Some rains are good for napping, sleeping. They signal a time to rest, to receive a blessing. Some rains pound you like an Old Testament prophet bent on scrubbing you until you repent, and you do. Some rains show the fallenness of the world, some show grace and refreshment.

The Bible uses its word for "rain" and its relatives about a hundred times. In looking forward to Jesus the Psalmist says "He will be like rain falling on a mown field, like showers watering the earth." (72:6) A king's favor is described "like a rain cloud in spring."( Prov. 16:15) The bible speaks of its destructive force (Is 28:2; Matt.7:25), its blessing (Is. 30:23; 44:14), it likens God's word and teaching to "showers on new grass, like abundant rain on tender plants (Deut. 32:2).  The lack of rain corresponds to a parched soul neither knowing nor obeying God (Ezekiel 22:24; Jude 1:12). The lack of rain can even speak to judgement showing men what their lives are like without God (Ezek 11:11-13; Jeremiah 14:4).

Our area was blessed with a good, soaking, gentle rain over the past few days. The air is scrubbed. The ground is full. The plants soak in its luxuriance. It was a blessing. I slept well. There remains a rain that has fallen but not noted very well. It is a horror to miss a good, rain, a needed rain. It happens daily and not just in our lands but in our souls. Hear how Isaiah tells of this life giving rain: "You heavens above, rain down righteousness; let the clouds shower it down. Let the earth open wide, let salvation spring up, let righteousness grow with it; I, the Lord , have created it. (45:8) Weather patterns and fickle winds cause us to miss earthly rains. There is no reason to miss this rain of righteousness. All you have to do is ask the Son and let Him reign in your life.

That reign is a blessing.
Cos

BTW: If someone were to describe you as a rain storm, how would your presence in their life be described?