Forgetting What Lies Behind - New Year's Day, 2024

It was something the apostle Paul said in his letter to the Philippians as he described for them the all-consuming desire that shaped his life. He said, “forgetting what lies behind,” that is, what lies in the past. His words instruct us as we begin a new calendar year—2024.

His full statement is found in Philippians 3:10-14. “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead. Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.”

Paul identified “knowing Christ” as the desire that shaped his life. “I want to know Christ” (Philippians 3:10). To know Christ was to participate in Christ’s life. It was to fully embrace and live out of Christ’s pattern of suffering, death, and resurrection (Philippians 3:10-11). Paul said Christ had claimed him—“Christ Jesus has made me his own” —so that he (Paul) could share in Christ’s resurrection life.

To know Christ, to participate in Christ’s pattern of living (i.e., suffering, death, and resurrection), to share in Christ’s life was the goal which Paul passionately pursued. “I press on to make it (this goal of sharing Christ’s life) my own” (Philippians 3:12). It was the prize to which God in Christ Jesus had called him (Philippians 3:14).

Like Paul, God has called us to know Christ and to share Christ’s life. We do so “by becoming like him (Christ) in his death” (Philippians 3:10). We embrace his pattern of death and resurrection as our way of life. We die to the way the world trained us to think and live. We die to the egocentric self we constructed by following the way the world trained us to think and live (Mark 8:34-35). We die to the values of the world in which we live.

God’s call to share Christ’s life includes God’s promise that—when God’s work in our lives is complete—we will share Christ’s character of self-giving love as our own. As we grow spiritually in the likeness of Christ, we participate in his life. We experience “the power of his resurrection” (Philippians 3:10). We experience the transformation of our suffering as the Spirit works in it to teach us and mature us into the likeness of Christ. We experience the Spirit’s work of bringing life out of death. We know by experience that God works in all things for our good, using every experience of life to conform us to the image of the Son (Romans 8:28-29). We experience Christ’s pattern of suffering, death, and resurrection.

Paul is quick to say that he has not perfected this way of living. “Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal” (Philippians 3:12). Rather, he intentionally, deliberately pursued this way of living. “I press on to make it my own” (Philippians 3:12).

Paul’s pursuit of becoming like Christ and sharing Christ’s life involved “forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead” (Philippians 3:13).

“Forgetting what lies behind” is an important part of spiritual growth.

Paul’s words do not mean the past is not important. Our experiences in the past are a huge part of how we learn and grow. We learn—hopefully—by experience. Unless we learn from our experiences, we continue to make the same mistakes over and over again. We get stuck in a destructive pattern that robs us of life. We remain stuck in emotional-relational-spiritual immaturity.

Paul’s words—forgetting what lies behind—remind us that the past has the power to sabotage the present. They are a warning that the past can thwart our spiritual progress, that the past can be a barrier to how God wants to work in our lives.

The past sabotages the present when it invades the present.

Regret and guilt and shame are one way the past invades the present. These invaders indicate experiences from the past—failures, mistakes, wrongdoing—that are unaddressed and unresolved. These experiences from the past—unaddressed and unresolved—are still alive inside us, robbing us of focus and energy and initiative.

Sorrow and grief are another way the past invades the present. Sorrow and grief are normal. They are how we process our loss. They are how we come to terms with a loss. They enable us to turn loose of what we loss, to move on beyond what was, and to begin to rebuild our lives. Prolonged grief, however, indicates we have not dealt with our loss. We are stuck—in our grief, in clinging to what was. The past is thus a barrier to any work we might do in the present.

Most of us carry old messages from our formative years. Most of them are shame-based messages—messages that say we are inadequate, that we are nothing but a screwup, that we are no good, that we are worthless, that we will never amount to anything, that we are not acceptable, that no one will ever love us. These old messages—living deep in our psyche, pushed outside our conscious awareness—shape how we think about ourselves as well as how we relate to others. They determine the patterns of our lives. In them, the past invades the present, sabotaging it.

Paul knew it was important to forget what was behind. He described his life before his encounter with the Risen Christ (Philippians 3:4b-6). He had much in his past that could feed his egocentric self: a strong heritage, religious training as a Pharisee, a seemingly blameless life patterned after the scribal interpretations of the Law, a religious zeal that surpassed his peers. All of these things he set aside, viewing them as nothing more than rubbish (Philippians 3:7-8). (The Greek word Paul used literally means bodily waste, but the English translators sanitized his language in their translations.) Paul had discovered something of much greater value than any of these: the grace of God that provided a righteousness that came from God, claimed through faith, not a righteousness based upon conformity to the Law (Philippians 3:8-9). This gift of righteousness positioned him to know Christ, to experience Christ’s pattern of living, and to share Christ’s life.

Paul ended this section of his letter by calling everyone who was spiritually mature to embrace this attitude out of which he himself lived (Philippians 3:15): forgetting what lies behind, pursuing the goal of knowing Christ, embodying his pattern of living, and sharing his life.

As we enter a new calendar year, let us forget what lies behind as we press on toward the goal of being like Christ and sharing his life.

Joseph - the 7th Day of Christmas, 2023

The liturgical calendar reflects the wisdom that liturgical churches inherited—a wisdom embodied in its worship. This wisdom is seen in how it deals with Christmas.

In the liturgical calendar, Christmas is not a single day as it is in popular culture. Rather, Christmas is the second season of the liturgical calendar. It is a twelve-day celebration, i.e., the twelve days of Christmas—December 25 through Epiphany on January 6.

The twelve days of Christmas teach us that the birth of Jesus is more than an event in the past that is to be remembered and celebrated. Rather, the birth of Jesus embodies a profound mystery—something beyond our normal human understanding. This mystery invites us to reflect on it—to sit with it—to be still before it—to allow its truth to come to us. This mystery carries the promise of deep knowing that is more than human understanding.

Today is the seventh day of Christmas. As we continue to celebrate and reflect on the birth of Jesus, we shift the spotlight from Jesus to a member of his supporting cast: Joseph. Joseph’s story helps us reflect on the meaning of Jesus’s birth.

In the gospel of Matthew, the biblical writer tells the story of Jesus’s birth by telling Joseph’s story. His story is found in Matthew 1:18-25. In telling Jospeh’s story, the biblical writer first set the stage by presenting the situation. Then, the writer recorded three different movements in the story—three different scenes:  Joseph’s dilemma, Joseph’s dream, Joseph’s response

The story begins with the situation in which Joseph found himself. “Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 1:18). In this one verse, the biblical writer sets the stage for the drama that was to unfold.

Joseph and Mary were engaged—that is, a marriage contract had been arranged between them. Tradition would suggest this contract was made with Joseph by Mary’s father. In this engagement stage, Joseph and Mary did not yet live together as husband and wife, but they were committed to one another. Their marriage agreement was a legal, binding covenant. It could only be undone was through divorce. 

During this engagement period, Joseph learned that Mary was pregnant—and he knew the child she was carrying was not his. The news of Mary’s pregnancy created Joseph’s dilemma.

Scene 1—Joseph’s dilemma. Joseph would have been devastated by the knowledge of the pregnancy. The pregnancy represented a violation of the marriage contract—a betrayal of their covenant—a flagrant rejection of Joseph. It was an affront to Joseph’s reputation and standing.

In addition to the pain he felt, the pregnancy created a dilemma for Joseph: what was he to do?  According to the Law of Moses, Mary was to be punished by being stoned to death.

Rather than doing what the Law required, Joseph resolved to divorce Mary privately. His decision sought to protect Mary from public disgrace. “Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly” (Matthew 1:19).

In recording Joseph’s decision, the biblical writer used two phrases to explain Joseph’s decision to divorce Mary privately.

The writer described Joseph as “a righteous man.” The term meant Joseph was one whose life was patterned after the Law of Moses. He was a man who wanted to live a life that was pleasing to God. He dis so by living in obedience to the Law.

The writer also noted that Joseph was “unwilling to expose her to public disgrace.” Joseph did not want Mary to experience the disgrace and humiliation that accompanied being unmarried and pregnant in that culture. He wanted to protect her from that cultural shame. In this desire to protect Mary, the writer portrayed Joseph as compassionate. He was sensitive to what Mary felt. He was compassionate and merciful in the way he responded to her and her situation.

These two descriptions would have been significant for those for whom the gospel was written. The term righteous points to the Law of Moses while the term compassionate echoes the call of the Hebrew prophets. Joseph’s life reflected the two major portions of the Hebrew scriptures: the Law and the prophets. Describing Joseph as righteous and compassionate, the biblical writer portrayed Joseph as one who, desiring to live a life that was pleasing to God, patterned his life after the teachings of Hebrew scripture.

In Joseph’s decision, compassion took precedence over obedience to the Law. The Hebrew prophets called for compassion and mercy. They denounced external obedience to the Law and prescribed rituals of worship when those practices were not accompanied by compassion and mercy. Joseph is portrayed as one who moved beyond the demands of the Law to live out of the compassion and mercy proclaimed by the prophets.

Joseph’s decision set the stage for scene two in the story: Joseph’s dream.

Scene two—Joseph’s dream. Having decided to divorce Mary quietly, Joseph had a dream. His dream reflects the struggle that was going on inside him. He had made a decision, but he was not at peace. He was still filled with inner turmoil.

In the dream, an angel of the Lord appeared to him. The angel instructed him to do two things, Matthew 1:20-21: he was to marry Mary; he was to name the child Jesus. In these instructions, the angel said two things about the child Mary was carrying. The child conceived in her was “from the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 1:20); “he will save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1:21).

The common Jewish belief, reflected in Hebrew Scripture, was the Spirit anointed select individuals whom God had chosen for a special work, e.g., prophets and kings. The Hebrew word messiah and its Greek translation Christ meant “the anointed one”—one anointed with God’s Spirit for a special work. The unusual twist in the angel’ message was that the child Mary was carrying was not anointed by the Spirit but rather was conceived by the Spirit. This child was brought into being by the Spirit. The language suggests the imagery in Genesis 1 of the Spirit brooding over the waters of chaos, bringing forth order and creation and life (Genesis 1:2).

This reference to the Spirit’s work in the child’s conception meant the child Mary was carrying was not just another child. In this child, God was calling into being that which had never been.

The name Jesus would have had significance for the original audience. It is the Greek form of the Hebrew name Joshua. The name means “Yahweh saves.”

The common Jewish belief was that God would work through the Messiah to save his people.  Just as God had saved the people from Egyptian bondage and from Babylonian exile, so God would use the Messiah to save them again. The unusual twist in the angel’s message was that this child that Mary was carrying would save the people from a different, greater kind of bondage: bondage to sin. “He will save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1:21).

We commonly understand the term sin as referring to personal failure and wrongdoing. In the gospel, however, the term probably referred to the sin of the nation—the nation’s failure as the people of God to live the ways of God. This child would teach them the ways of God and lead them to live the ways of God—ways that were different from what they were currently taught and which they sought to live, ways that centered on self-effort to conform to the scribal interpretations of the Mosaic Law.

The writer interrupted the flow of the story to point out how this child’s birth was the fulfillment of what was said in the Hebrew Scriptures. “All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: ^‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,’ which means, ‘God is with us’” (Matthew 1:22-23).

The common Jewish belief was that God was “with us.”  The Tabernacle in the wilderness had been built so that God could dwell among them. The temple in Jerusalem—which replaced the Tabernacle—was viewed as God’s dwelling place on earth. Thus, God dwelt in their midst in the Temple. The unusual twist in the angel’s message was that God would be “with us” in an unheard-of way: in this child. In this one, God would dwell in their midst—in the flesh, as a human being. 

While this 2nd scene appears to bring the child center stage, the writer’s emphasis continues to be upon Joseph—specifically on how Joseph responded to this message with its unusual twists.

Scene 3—Joseph’s response (Matthew 1:24-25). Joseph acted on the dream by doing what the angel had commanded him to do. He took Mary as his wife. He named the child Jesus.

In this scene, Joseph is portrayed as being obedient to God (as opposed to being obedient to the Law). He chose to be a participant in this unusual thing God was doing—a partner in God’s work. Although not told in the story, Joseph’s obedience would have been at great cost to himself. Throughout his life, he would bear the stigma of having a wife who was pregnant before they were married. In spite of what he surely knew his obedience would cost him, Joseph gave himself to—abandoned himself to—what God was doing. He sacrificed his own thoughts and will to the will of God.

This scene portrays Joseph as one who was open and receptive, as one who was responsive to what God was doing. He is portrayed as being open, not closed to new ways of thinking, as being teachable, not rigid in his thinking. When God acted in new and different ways—in ways different from the past—Joseph did not question or reject the new thing he was told. Rather, he was receptive to and responsive to that work. 

Joseph's story is the story of one who—patterning his life after the teachings of Hebrew scripture, particularly after the prophets—was compassionate and merciful, of one who was open, teachable, and responsive to what God was doing, of one who abandoned himself to God and God’s will.

Why did the gospel writer focus upon Joseph, making him center stage instead of Jesus?

The gospel of Matthew was written for a Jewish audience—specifically, Jewish Christians after the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 C.E.  After the destruction of Jerusalem, only two religious groups survived:  Pharisaic Jews and Jewish Christians. Both worshiped in the synagogue. The synagogue was under the control of the Pharisaic Jews. Using the threat of excommunication from the synagogue and shunning by the community, these Pharisaic Jews pressured the Jewish followers of Jesus to live in obedience to the scribal interpretations of the Law, i.e., to be disciples of Moses rather than disciples of Jesus.

The followers of Jesus for whom the gospel was written were faced with a difficult dilemma. If they were to be disciples of Jesus rather than disciples of Moses, they would be excommunicated from the synagogue and abandoned by their families. They would pay a high price to be followers of Jesus. In Joseph’s dilemma and struggle, these believers would see their own. They would have identified with Joseph and with his struggle. Joseph would have been for them a model for how to live as a faithful follower of Jesus. 

Joseph’s choice to move beyond rigid obedience to the teachings of the Law, to live out of compassion would have called them beyond the Law as taught by the synagogue. It would have called them to live out the compassion and mercy that Jesus taught and lived in his embrace of the outcasts—lepers, sinners, children, Gentiles, women.

Joseph’s openness to the new thing God was doing in Jesus—abandoning himself to that work even at great cost to himself—would have called them to be faithful in living as followers of Jesus, bearing the cost.

In the same way, Joseph’s is for us a model of how to live as the followers of Jesus today: allowing the teachings of scripture and the compassion of Jesus to shape our lives so that we too are compassionate people; seeking to be open to, receptive to, and responsive to what God is doing; abandoning ourselves to God’s will and work.

Our inclination is to make the baby Jesus center stage in our Christmas celebrations. Doing so makes us passive recipients of what God is doing, sitting in the audience observing.  By putting Joseph center stage, Matthew’s gospel calls us from being passive recipients sitting in audience to being on stage ourselves. In Joseph, the gospel writer calls us to be faithful disciples whose lives are shaped by the teachings of scripture, who go beyond external obedience to rules to being compassionate and merciful, who are open and teachable, receptive and responsive to the new work God is doing in us and among us, who abandon ourselves and our agendas to what God calls us to do.

As we move through this Christmas season, may God help us move out of the audience onto the stage!

What Child Is This? - Christmas Day, 2023

There was nothing about the child that distinguished him from any other newborn—other than his situation, that is.

His mother was a young peasant girl, barely old enough to be married—which, according to the story, she wasn’t. She was engaged to Joseph, but not yet formally married (Luke 2:4-5). That fact—that his mother was pregnant before she was married—was a stigma that followed him like a shadow, even into adulthood. He was not the only person, however, who was the child of an unwed mother.

He was born in a stable—a shelter where the various kinds of livestock were housed to keep them out of the elements. Not many people can boast of being born in a barn. His first bed—his baby bed—was a feed trough lined with straw. These humble circumstances suggest the poverty in which his family lived. He was not the first child—nor will he be the last child—born to a family living in poverty.  

Other than these unusual circumstances, he was like any other newborn. Perhaps that is the point—or a point—of the story. He was just like us. He was one of us. He was as fully human as each of us.

Yet, over two thousand years after he was born, we still remember and celebrate his birth.

What Child is this?

The prophet Isaiah called him Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace (Isaiah 9:6).

The writer of the gospel of Matthew identified him as the Son of David, the Messiah (Matthew 1:1). He was Emmanuel, God with us (Matthew 1:23).

The angel who announced his birth to the shepherds said he was the Savior, the Messiah, the Lord (Luke 2:10-11).

The writer of the gospel of John identified him as the Word made flesh, the one who made known to us the heart of God, the one from whom we have received grace upon grace (John 1:14, 18, 16). He was the true light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it (John 1:5, 9).

The writer of Colossians described him as the visible image of the invisible God in whom all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell (Colossians 1:15, 19).

The writer of Revelation called him King of kings and Lord of lords (Revelation 19:16).

What child is this?

This child is Emmanuel—God with us. He is the Son of God who reveals to us the heart of God (John 14:8-10). Through him, we know that God is love. Through him, we are claimed as beloved children of God (1 John 3:1). Through him, we experience God’s grace. Through him, we know God’s forgiveness, God’s acceptance, God’s glad welcome. Through him, our hearts are changed, our lives are transformed, and we are conformed into his image (Romans 8:29). In him, we are a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:20). Through him, God is establishing God’s reign on earth, creating a new heaven and a new earth that is patterned after God’s own character and follows God’s servant ways of grace. In him, we are God’s partners in this eternal, redemptive enterprise, working and praying for the kingdom to come on earth as it is in heaven. All of this—and more—is what the angel meant when he proclaimed, “To you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord” (Luke 2:11).

No wonder we remember and celebrate his birth. We remember and celebrate his birth because we have opened our hearts, our lives to him and to the God of love he revealed—and in doing so, we have experienced grace upon grace.

What child is this?

His name is Jesus (Matthew 1:25).

Mary, the Mother of Jesus - Christmas Eve, 2023

The angel Gabriel addressed her as “Favored one” (Luke 1:28). His word, in the original, described her as one who had received grace and was immersed in grace and would always be surrounded by grace. The word carried the idea of chosen. She had been chosen by God to be the mother of the Messiah. In the song of praise she sang—according to the gospel of Luke—Mary acknowledged that she would be called “blessed” throughout all generations (Luke 1:48).

The reality of her experience was far from the honor and privilege most expected for the mother of the long-awaited Messiah. It was not what most people would call “blessed.”

Rather than being honored as the mother of the messianic king, Mary bore the stigma of being pregnant and unmarried. That stigma would have included being shunned and shamed by the community in which she had grown up and, possibly, by her own family. (Other than her cousin Elizabeth, the gospels do not speak of her family.) She would have had to endure the whispers and the stares, the glances over the shoulder as people moved past her without acknowledging her, the isolation as childhood friends treated her as though she were a leper, the loneliness of having no one with whom she could share what she knew. Her isolation and loneliness would have been compounded by the anger and resentment, hostility and rejection she endured from Joseph to whom she was engaged to be married—emotions and reactions rooted in the sense of betrayal he undoubtedly felt.

Yet she was—as the language of the angel Gabriel suggested—surrounded by grace. Before the shunning and shaming began, before she experienced the isolation and loneliness, before she faced Joseph’s hurt and anger, God prepared her. God gave her one who was compassionate and understanding, one who was supportive and affirming. That one was her cousin Elizabeth. After the visit from the angel Gabriel, Mary “went with haste” to the home of Elizabeth and Zechariah in the Judean hill country (Luke 1:39). There, Elizabeth—drawing on her own experience of an unusual pregnancy (Luke 1:8-25) and on the response of her unborn child to Mary’s greeting (Luke 1:41)—validated Mary’s experience and affirmed her understanding of Gabriel’s message. Elizabeth’s validation and affirmation prompted Mary’s song of praise in which she reflected on her experience of God’s grace in being chosen to be the mother of the Messiah—“from now on all generations will call me blessed” (Luke 1:48). Her song also spoke of the world-renewing work the Lord would do through the child she carried in her womb (Luke 1:46-55). 

Armed by her time with Elizabeth and the confirmation of her understanding of the angel’s message, Mary returned to her hometown where she would encounter the shaming and shunning, the isolation and loneliness of being pregnant and unmarried.

The gospel of Matthew records another gift of grace Mary received when she returned to Nazareth. That gospel tells the story of how an angel appeared to Joseph in a dream, explaining Mary’s pregnancy. The angel’s message moved Joseph beyond his sense of betrayal. He embraced Mary and her pregnancy, taking her as his wife (Matthew 1:18-25). In Joseph’s embrace, as in Elizabeth’s care, Mary was wrapped in grace.

The reality of Mary’s experience of being blessed continued to defy the popular meaning of the word.

A decree by the Roman emperor required her to journey with Joseph to Bethlehem during the last days of her pregnancy. Her journey would have likely been by foot although our modern depictions of the journey reflect her riding on a donkey. Because the couple could not find a place to stay in Bethlehem, her delivery room was a shelter used for livestock—a stable. Was there a midwife or some other woman to assist her during this critical, intensely personal time? Our traditional nativity scenes do not suggest the presence of anyone but Joseph. Having given birth to her son, she used a feed trough for his bed (Luke 2:1-7). Surely no other mother of a king has ever endured such harsh conditions for the delivery of her son.

Yet even there, in the lowliest of places, God’s grace was poured out. Reaffirmation came to them in the form of shepherds with stories of angels announcing the child’s birth (Luke 2:8-20). The affirmation continued as, eight days after his birth, they took the child to the temple to dedicate him. First Simeon, then Anna spoke to them about the child’s identity as the Messiah (Luke 2:25-35).

Simeon spoke of the revolutionary role her child would play in the life of the nation. His work would draw opposition as he challenged those in positions of authority, both in the religious and political realms (Luke 2:34). His work would strip away the veneer of the nation’s religious life, exposing “the inner thoughts of many” (Luke 2:35). As the Messiah, her son would challenge the status quo, calling the nation back to the ways of God proclaimed by the prophets. Though proclaimed as good news, his message would be viewed as a threat to all who enjoyed position and power, status and affluence within the nation (Luke 1:51-53).

Being the mother of a revolutionary would bring its own pain. It would bring misunderstanding and confusion (Mark 3:20-21). It would bring fear and dread. It would bring its own isolation and loneliness. It would bring soul-wrenching grief. Simeon spoke of this pain when he said to Mary, “A sword will pierce your own soul too” (Luke 2:35). As she cradled her newborn in her arms, nursing him at her breast, Mary could not foresee the day when she would cradle his dead body in her arms at the foot of a Roman cross.

This Christmas Eve our focus is on the child born to Mary—and rightly so. He is the Chosen One, the Messiah. He is Emmanuel—God with us, God for us, God at work for our good. He is the Word made flesh—God robed in human flesh (John 1:1-5, 10-14). He is the Son of God through whom God is made known (John 1:18). In him, we—like Mary—have received grace upon grace (John 1:16-17). In him, we too have received grace and are immersed in grace and will always be surrounded by grace.

As we remember this child of Mary who was/is the child of God, let’s not forget Mary. Even though we cannot begin to imagine what it cost her to be chosen by God—to be blessed—let’s not overlook her. In remembering her, perhaps we can learn from her what it means to be “the servant of the Lord” (Luke 1:38).

 

Joy and Peace - 3rd Sunday of Advent, 2023

Joy. Joy is the dominant emotional tone of the Christmas season—at least, on the surface. It is also the traditional theme of this 3^rd Sunday of Advent.

The liturgical readings of Advent tie joy to the birth of the Messiah who would usher in the messianic kingdom of universal peace. In keeping with those prophesies, at the birth of Jesus, the angel of the Lord proclaimed to the shepherds “good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord” (Luke 2:10-11).

Indeed, joy is the emotional tone of the Advent and Christmas seasons. “Why can’t the joy and goodwill of the Christmas season last all year?” is a question that is commonly asked during this time of year.

For the followers of Jesus, joy is not just a seasonal experience. It is—or, it can be—the emotional tone of our lives. According to the apostle Paul, joy and peace—two of the nine traits listed as the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22-23)—make up the inner disposition of the followers of Jesus. We live out of a spirit of joy, rooted in a deep sense of peace. Joy and peace position us to choose to love as Jesus loved—under the guidance and power of the Spirit, of course. They are the spring out of which love flows.

As with every aspect of our spiritual lives, we live with the tension that exists between our human condition and how we are called to live as the followers of Jesus.

The innate emotional tone of our human condition is made up of anxiety and fear along with frustration (anger) and angst. These emotional reactions—they are more than just emotions—are logjams to joy and peace. Anxiety and fear rob us of peace. Frustration and angst squelch joy.

Anxiety and fear are emotional reactions rooted in past experiences. These experiences date back to our formative years and the relationships that shaped us. Anxiety is a form of fear. It is archaic or old fear. Anxiety is the fear of what might be that is based on what has happened to us in the past. We experience it as a nebulous feeling of inner dis-ease that lives just beneath the surface of our awareness. It stirs a frantic need to do something. It leads us to attempt to control what happens as well as what other people think and do—both of which are beyond our ability to control. (Ironically, attempting to control what we cannot control only produces greater anxiety and fear.) When anxiety and fear invade the present moment, they rob us of peace.

Frustration and angst are expressions of anger. They are commonly triggered when things do not go the way we want. They are emotional reactions to situations in which we feel out of control and, consequently, powerless. Frustration and angst stifle our capacity for joy.

Just as joy is inseparably tied to peace, so anxiety and fear are inseparably tied to frustration and angst. The frustration we experience when things do not go the way we want and the angst we feel at being powerless to change it trigger the unconscious fear of once again being hurt—anxiety.

The Spirit-generated emotional tone of the follower of Jesus—joy and peace—stands in contrast to the innate emotional tone of our human condition.

Living out of a spirit of joy and peace requires that we move beyond the emotional tone rooted in our innate human condition—an inner disposition shaped by anxiety and fear, by frustration and angst. Moving from anxiety and fear into peace, from frustration and angst into joy is possible through the guidance and power of the Spirit. We do not manufacture joy and peace through self-effort and resolve. The Spirit produces them in us.

The Spirit produces joy and peace in us as we exercise what the apostle Paul called self-control—the ninth trait listed in the fruit of the Spirit. I speak of self-control as self-management. Again, like joy and peace, self-control or self-management is what the Spirit produces in us. We cannot manufacture self-control through resolve, self-reliance, or self-effort. What we can do is place ourselves in a position for the Spirit to produce peace and joy within us.

We place ourselves in a position for the Spirit to work through prayer. Prayer is how we open ourselves to the Spirit and to the Spirit’s work.

Self-control or self-management is rooted in self-awareness—the awareness of the inner dis-ease of anxiety and fear, of frustration and angst that are at play in the present moment. Such awareness is a call to place ourselves in a position for the Spirit to work. It is a call to pray. Even this call to prayer is the work of the Spirit—a part of the Spirit’s work to produce peace and joy within us.

As we pray, we confess to God what we are experiencing—both the situation and the anxiety and fear, the frustration and angst it has triggered. I find it helpful to follow my breathing as I pray. Inhaling, I pray “Fill me with your peace;” exhaling, I pray “Cleanse me of my anxiety and fear.” I continue to follow this pattern of prayer until I experience peace within. Whenever the anxiety returns—and it generally does, I again place myself in a position for the Spirit to produce peace within. I return to this pattern of praying. When peace comes, joy can flow.

Peace is often accompanied by clarity about the underlying issues that are producing the anxiety and fear, the frustration and angst. These underlying issues are always old issues from my formative years. Until issues are recognized and addressed, they remain unresolved. As long as they are unresolved, they continue to invade the present moment in the form of anxiety and fear, frustration and angst.

Joy—the emotional tone of the Advent and Christmas seasons—does not have to be limited to a seasonal focus. For the follower of Jesus, joy and peace can be the emotional tone out of which we live—through the guidance and power of the Spirit. A spirit of joy and peace is a spiritual muscle we can develop as the Spirit trains us to live with self-awareness and self-control.

May the joy of this Christmas season and of this third Sunday of Advent remind us of the joy and peace that the Spirit produces in our lives as the followers of Jesus. May Spirit-generated joy and peace be the inner disposition out of which we live in every season of the year.

The Path to Peace on Earth - the 2nd Sunday of Advent, 2023

The prophet Isaiah envisioned a world filled with peace—endless peace (Isaiah 9:7)—a world free from the ravages of war (Isaiah 2:2-4; 9:2-7; 11:1-9; 65:17-25). His vision sets the traditional theme for the 2^nd Sunday of Advent.

In a world that has never been free from the ravages of war, the vision of peace seems unrealistic. It is easy to dismiss the vision as hopeless wishing for the impossible. Yet, surrendering the vision leads to resignation to the way things are—and sometimes to despair. It allows us as the followers of Jesus to ignore the factors that produce war, leaving them unaddressed.

The prophet not only spoke of peace, he also identified those things that would produce peace. He outlined the path to peace. His proclamations spoke of (1) a Spirit-anointed and Spirit-guided king—the Messiah—who would (2) follow the ways of God—righteousness, justice, equity, faithfulness. A third factor he identified is often overlooked: under the leadership of the messianic king, (3) the people of God (the nation of Judah)—following and embodying the ways of God—would “stand as a signal to the peoples” (Isaiah 11:10). The other nations of the world would turn to Israel to learn from them the ways of God (Isaiah 2:2-4; 11:10). The knowledge of the LORD and of the ways of God would spread—from the messiah to the people of God to the nations of the world—until “the earth will be full of the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the sea” (Isaiah 11:9). As a result, “they will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain” (Isaiah 11:9).

We as the followers of Jesus identify Jesus as the messianic king of whom Isaiah spoke. Each Christmas, we celebrate his birth. Our celebration raises yet again the promise of peace tied to his messianic reign. We are reminded that he is the prince of peace (Isaiah 9:6). We join together in singing the song the heavenly host sang at his birth, “Peace on earth” (Luke 2:14).

Sadly, it seems to me, our celebration falls short. It fails to recognize the path to peace that Isaiah identified and which Jesus followed. In addition, we fail to recognize our role in that path.

Jesus was the messianic king of whom Isaiah spoke—the foundation of his vision, the essential key to the path to peace. In addition, he lived and taught the ways of God Isaiah identified—the ways of righteousness, justice, equity, and faithfulness.

Jesus was Immanuel, God with us. He was the in-the-flesh embodiment of who God is. In him, we catch a glimpse of the heart of God. He proclaimed the kingdom of God—a world shaped by the character of God and the ways of God. He lived and taught the ways of God that lead to peace—the ways of grace and forgiveness that views and values, accepts and embraces every person as a beloved child of God. He proclaimed and embodied the servant spirit that lies at the heart of God—what the Johannine community called love. Jesus interpreted and expanded Isaiah’s path that leads to peace.

The third dimension of Isaiah’s path to peace is what, it seems to me, is lacking—the people of God (i.e., those of us who are the followers of Jesus) following and embodying the ways of God, offering to the world an alternative to war.

As a Spirit-shaped and Spirit-guided spiritual community, the church is to be a working model of what God’s ways look like and how they work.

Living out of a Spirit-engrained servant spirit, we challenge the world’s way of using power—over, down against, for personal benefit, at the other’s expense. Following this way of using power is the path that leads to war. Guided by the Spirit to view and value, accept and embrace every person as a beloved child of God, we challenge the us-them mentality the world taught us to use to establish our identity and reinforce our sense of superiority over others. (“I’m not like them; I’m better than them.”) As a result, our spiritual communities transcend the cultural and social distinctions around which we commonly segregate ourselves (Galatians 3:26-28; Colossians 3:11). Following the ways of grace and forgiveness, we embody a workable alternative to the world’s spirit of harbored hurt, anger, resentment, and retaliation. Living out of the peace of Christ (John 14:27), we move beyond the innately human inclination of projecting our unaddressed and unresolved inner pain and turmoil onto others. We move beyond judging and condemning, rejecting and excluding. We offer a place of unconditional acceptance and forgiveness in which individuals can address their unresolved issues and pain. We build a community that fosters healing and growth, leading to emotional-relational-spiritual maturity. In additional to addressing personal issues, we address the societal hurts of our local community—the pain of the situation along with the factors that create the situation.

As a spiritual community living the ways of God that Jesus taught, we fill our role in the path that leads to peace. We provide a foretaste of peace on earth.

The path to peace on earth is shaped by the servant ways of God. God does not come down to impose God’s ways on us. (Some theologies about the second coming of Christ follow this power-over way of thinking.) Rather, God comes to us, living among us as Immanuel, God with us. As Immanuel, Jesus teaches us the grace-based, servant ways of God, inviting us to embrace them for ourselves. As we open our lives to God and God’s grace, the Spirit—God with us today—transforms our hearts and minds, healing the pain of unrecognized, unaddressed, and unresolved issues from our past. The Spirit empowers us to live the ways of God so that we love as Jesus loved. We love those Jesus loved. We become God’s partners in creating a God-shaped world patterned after the ways of God. We contribute to God’s work of bring peace on earth.

This second Sunday of Advent reminds us of God’s promise of peace—peace on earth. It invites us to once again embrace the vision of peace on earth. It calls us to fill our role in the path that leads to peace on earth by living in Spirit-guided, Spirit-empowered spiritual community, learning and living the ways of God Jesus taught.

Waiting in Hope - 1st Sunday of Advent, 2023

Today is the first Sunday of Advent— the first season of the liturgical calendar. Advent is the four Sunday season of the Christian year that leads us to Christmas and the celebration of the birth of Jesus, the Christ.

Advent is the season of waiting—living in the midst of what is as we wait for what will be but is not yet.

Most of us do not like waiting. Waiting means someone or something else is in control, dictating what is. In addition, we are incapable—dare I say powerless—to change what is. Waiting feels like we are stuck in what is—think: “I’m stuck in traffic.”

The Advent season teaches us that waiting is an inescapable part of life and of the spiritual journey, in particular. In addition, the season reminds us of hope. Hope is the forward look of faith. It is faith looking beyond what is to catch of glimpse of what will be.

The traditional theme of the first Sunday of Advent is hope. Hope is grounded in the faithfulness of God. It is the fruit of the steadfast, faithful love of God that never gives up on or abandons us. It is the logical conclusion of a love that never stops loving, of a love that will not stop working until it has transformed what is into what will be.

The season of Advent is based upon the experience of the ancient Hebrew people who, in the face of foreign domination and in the midst of exile, longed for a king, anointed with the Spirit, who would free them from their enemies and restore their nation. In the midst of what was, they looked through the eyes of faith to what they believed would be because of God steadfast, faithful love. The Advent season draws on the Hebrew scriptures, pointing us again to their vision of what will be but is not yet as expressed by their prophets.

For the prophet Isaiah, hope was a vision of a world at peace—what scholars have referred to as the peaceable kingdom. At least five different times, the prophet clearly stated his vision—Isaiah 2:2-4; Isaiah 9:2-6; Isaiah 10:33-11:9; Isaiah 61:1-11; Isaiah 65:17-25. His description in Isaiah 10:33-11:9 was of a world .  .  .

·       Shaped by the knowledge of and love of God. “The earth shall be full of the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the seas” (Isaiah 11:9).

·       Permeated with peace—peace that extends even into the animal kingdom. “The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together. They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain” (Isaiah 11:6, 9).

·       Built upon the ways of God: righteousness, equity, truth, faithfulness, justice (Isaiah 11:4-5).

·       Under the leadership of a Spirit-empowered king who knows, delights in, and is guided by the ways of God (Isaiah 11:1-5).

·       Shaped by the work of the Spirit. “The spirit of the LORD shall rest on him” (Isaiah 11:2). “The spirit of the LORD God is upon me, because the LORD has anointed me” (Isaiah 61:1).

His vision was of a God-shaped world—a world shaped by the character of God, that followed the ways of God.

Jesus referred to this God-shaped world as the kingdom of God. It was the central theme of his ministry. His thinking—and consequently how he lived—was shaped by the character of God and the ways of God. He taught his disciples the ways of the kingdom (Mark 8:34; 9:33-37; 10:41-45) and urged them to give themselves to living the ways of the kingdom. “Strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well” (Matthew 6:33).

In his letter to the churches of Rome, the apostle Paul spoke of hope in more personal terms. “We boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God” (Romans 8:2). The phrase “the glory of God” refers to the character of God. Paul understood the end result of God’s transforming work in our lives—what he called salvation—was the engraining of God’s character in the depths of our being. He understood that, before the Spirit is through working in our lives, we will be transformed into the likeness of Christ. We will live the ways of God. Being like Christ, possessing the character of God in the depths of our being, sharing the glory of God is our hope.

Paul’s understanding of our hope plays into Isaiah’s vision. A God-shaped life contributes to the creation of a God-shaped world. As we are conformed to the likeness of Christ, we live the ways of God—what the prophet identified as righteousness, equity, truth, faithfulness, and justice. We live out of a servant spirit, using power to serve. We relate to others out of grace and forgiveness. We view and value, accept and embrace every person as a beloved child of God. We live the ways that lead to peace (Luke 19:41-42). We live as peacemakers in the world (Matthew 5:9). As we live the ways of God, we help create the God-shaped world the prophet Isaiah saw through the eyes of faith.

The season of Advent reminds us of our hope in Christ. Our hope transforms our waiting—how we live in what is. Our hope lifts our eyes beyond what is to see, through the eyes of faith, what will be. Our hope points us back to the God who, out of his steadfast faithful love, is working to bring into reality what will be. As the Advent season leads us to the Christmas season, it reminds us how far God’s love will go to bring our hope into reality.

And so, another Advent journey begins.