Chapter 19: Christmas Slush

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"Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice!

Let your forebearing spirit be known to all people. The Lord is near." 

(Philippians 4:4-5)

"The meaning of the Sabbath is to celebrate time rather than space. Six days a week we live under the tyranny of things of space; on the Sabbath we try to become attuned to holiness in time. It is a day on which we are called upon to share in what is eternal in time, to turn from the results of creation to the mystery of creation; from the world of creation to the creation of the world."

(Abraham Heschel, The Sabbath)

I remember the first year that I was unable to make it back home for Christmas. I was single and going to school in Connecticut. My family was over the river and a world away in Wyoming. Though I was given a Christmas break, I still had to work. All my classmates were gone.  My roommate was gone.  I didn't have any pets. I was all alone. The only thing living in the living room of my apartment was a fig tree which I had decorated with a string of broken lights.  When I looked at it, I thought of the rest of my family gathering around a warm fire, drinking hot cocoa, and admiring one of my mother's amazing Christmas trees. 

I looked away with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. I was smack-dab in the middle of a Thomas Kinkade Christmas going on outside, it just didn't seem like any of it soaked into my inside. In fact, all the glitz and tinsel and beauty and wonder of the season only seemed to spotlight my personal slough of despond.  I was having my first blue Christmas.

Occasionally, I still get the Christmas blues, though I know that Christmas can be tough for many people for reasons much more serious than a poorly-decorated house plant and episodic ascetism. But the command is still, "Rejoice!" And if that is not enough, the indefatigable Pharisee continues to rub salt in our woundedness, "Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice!"

Is it possible to "rejoice" in the face of our loneliness and from the heights of love, from the dregs of our brokenness to the fullness of our hearts? The answer must be, "Yes!" It has to be even if only by the eyes of faith. And I believe that this vision is best cultivated by the practice of Sabbath.

Jewish scholar, Abraham Heschel, suggests that we can experience "holiness" in time through the practice of Sabbath.  It may not happen overnight, but it does happen. God replaces our thoughts about the sad string of lights on the poor, fruitless, fig tree with a thousand little reminders that God is still at work in the world and in our lives, even when the beautiful snow turns to slush.  

Sometimes it is a beautiful church service, a grand Christmas meal, and storefronts bedecked with holiday wonder. But sometimes holiness comes in swaddling clothes wrapping a fragile memory of Christmas past when the house was full.  It can be a smile on the street or picking up the phone and calling a family member back home in Wyoming. After all, God does not promise that the lights on the tree can dispel the darkness of the world.

Our holidays this year were spent visiting with family and eating fine food.  On Christmas, there were beautiful church services and a wondrous Christmas tree.  But it was this morning, sitting with my wife in a cluttered house with the remains of the last five days in the sink and another full week of work looming before us that I realized God was still with us. This moment was holy. This moment was Sabbath. In this moment, heaven kissed the earth just like it did when the angels first sang to an audience of Shepherds, "Rejoice!" May we all find little reasons throughout the year to remind us to do the same.

Chapter 18: Little Matters. Great Causes.

(Photo courtesy of the University of Michigan: Piezoelectric Energy Generator. Pretty small but very cool!)

I have seen the task which God has given to the sons of men with which to occupy themselves...I know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and to do good in one's lifetime; moreover, that every man who eats and drinks sees good in all his labor-it is the gift of God. (Ecclesiastes 3:10, 12-13)

Galadriel: Why the Halfling?

Gandalf: I do not know. Saruman believes it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. I found it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay... small acts of kindness and love. Why Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps it is because I am afraid... and he gives me courage. (2012, The Hobbit: Unexpected Journey)

I have always dreamed of doing big things.  Great things.  And important things.  I don't know what those things are yet, but I am keeping my eyes peeled and my ears open.  I read the news. I see libraries full of books. I hear politicians and preachers speak moving words to the masses.  I take notes and dream dreams, but I don't do big things.

And if I did, it would probably make my typical Sabbath day much more difficult to justify.  Sabbaths are for little things.  On Saturday morning, we drove an hour to watch my oldest son play basketball.  It didn't make the news.  I helped our youngest sons find Walter, our elf. As a result, I wasn't nominated for man of the year. On Saturday afternoon, we had lunch with some new friends. On Saturday night, we went to the wedding of a couple of old friends. My wife officiated and spoke beautiful words to several hundred people.  I was on crowd control. After the wedding, we came home and listened to an audiobook late unto the night. The world whistled and whirred without my participation.

And maybe that is okay.

After all, we ate well. We rejoiced and maybe did a little good along the way. We saw some beautiful country.  We fed the chickens and enjoyed the fire and drank in all of our labor and maybe, just maybe, we realized that in those little things was the gift of God.

And maybe Gandalf was right.  Maybe it is the "small everyday deeds of normal folk that keep the darkness at bay...small acts of kindness of love."  Maybe this is what God has been trying to tell me the whole time.  It's not the great causes of the earth that matter.  It's the little matters that are great causes. 

I shouldn't be surprised. After all, it seems like the modus operandi of God; An old man and a barren woman give birth to a nation. The baby adrift in a basket becomes the deliverer of a whole nation. A little boy with a rock and a slingshot slays the giant.  The baby born in a two-bit town and lying in a feed trough out back is the King of the Earth.

Maybe I need to worry less about my delusions of grandeur and pay more attention to the little things that are truly grander. Maybe I should slow down enough so that I won't miss the burning bush. Maybe I need to spend more time playing Legos and shooting hoops and playing cars with the boys.  Maybe the greatest cause...the best thing that I can do for the world...is that thing that the world will never know. 

Maybe.

But this I know.  I should spend more time holding my boys close and more time holding my wife even closer because in that small embrace, I will feel the mighty touch of God.

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.

Week 17: Imperfect

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"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.  I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." (Jesus)

"Oh Lord, it's hard to be like Jesus." (Rich Mullins)

Our Sabbath began on Saturday evening this week.  Jennifer took the two older boys Christmas caroling with church and I took the youngest to see Santa.  During caroling, old friends were greeted and new friends were met and hearts and hands were warmed.  During our visit to Santa, the wish list was forgotten, but the point was made and the mission was accomplished. It was a great and promising start to the Sabbath, but it's hard to be like Jesus.

And on Sunday morning, Jennifer was asked to fill the pulpit.  That's work. On Sunday afternoon, I helped our oldest son take a bed apart, move it from the basement, and then out to the garage. That's work.  In a strict Sabbatarian sense, we stumbled impressively into a Sabbath transgression.  It's hard to be like Jesus.

And yet, I get the impression that the Lord of the Sabbath doesn't call us to be strict Sabbatarians.  He calls us to follow.  When we do, He promises us peace. And when we don't, He commands us not to be troubled with spiritual self-flagellation. After all, we are only human, and it is hard to be like Jesus. And God knows it.  

And God knows that though we didn't keep the Sabbath perfectly, we didn't neglect it entirely, either.  There were some things that we left undone; things like Christmas shopping, Christmas wrapping, and Christmas decorating.  Instead, we went out for pizza and ate a simple supper.  We listened to a book on tape.  Our oldest son announced that he would lead us in family devotions. It was awesome! (I'm not sure that he would have offered to do that seventeen weeks ago!)  

No, we didn't keep a perfect Sabbath.  That is no surprise.  But something has changed. Jesus is leading. We are listening.  And a little bit of that peace that Jesus promised has sneaked into even this busy and stressful season.  It is an umerited gift, and a precious one.

And even though we didn't keep the perfect Sabbath, Jesus kept us.  That is no surprise.  After all, isn't that what grace is? When we realized just how hard it is to be like Jesus, we discover that Jesus likes us anyway and is perfect for us when we are imperfect at best.  

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.

  

Week 16: Superfluous

The "Opportunity" Rover on the prowl 225 million miles from Earth. (Picture courtesy of NASA)

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.
(Ecclesiastes 3:11)

"The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I've ever felt. The only thing that made made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off. You know--if you've ever picked a scab of a sore place. It hurts like billy-oh but it is such fun to see it coming away." -Edmund

(The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by CS Lewis)

On our Sabbath day, we colored and drew and then showed each other what we had drawn.  My wife, who loves elephants and is an incredible artist, drew an elephant that was so beautiful, our five-year old wanted to draw one, too. (And he did!) Our eleven-year old drew himself thinking on a park bench in early spring with a newly-leafed tree overhead. Awesome! And our little, eight-year old knight drew a castle complete with cracked mortar, a climbing vine, secret passages and a massive, gated door. I drew a silly cartoon of our fattest chicken and our smallest chicken, side by side.  I would have drawn two eggs in the picture, but I am a bit of a realist in my artistic endeavors.

It was completely frivolous, but billy-oh! So much fun. No great thinking was done. No great songs were composed. The kitchen project languished. And we didn't feed the poor or command armies or walk on the surface of the moon. Yet, the political system didn't collapse. The Kingdom of God was in good hands. The earth continued to spin in this little corner of our ever-expanding universe. 

But I felt a little guilty.  I want my work to matter.  Most of my adult life, I have scratched and clawed about the surface of the earth like a chicken hunting for a junebug.  I stay up and work late. But as I put the finishing touches on my cartoon chickens, I thought that even if there was a person who managed to scratch and claw and control all the resources of Earth, and that same person commanded universal power and unlimited riches, all that accomplishment would have about as much impact on our universe as my drawing of a funny little chicken.  Not much. 

The world is just too big for us to matter.  After all, the observable universe (from our little corner of it) is about 92 billion light years in diameter. (And that is just what we can see!) In fact, some scientists believe that there is no end to it.  I think the sobering truth is that we are superfluous sprinkles adrift on a superfluous speck on the outer rim of a superfluous galaxy. But it's beautiful, isn't it?  The whole thing...elephants and castles and trees over park benches; chickens and solar systems and the double-helix of DNA. The superfluous part is the beautiful part.   

So, maybe we need to quit acting like a chicken, and start drawing one. Maybe we need to stop trying to do the important thing and try to do the beautiful thing. The thing that doesn't matter on Wall Street may be the most important thing of all.  Maybe we need to let Aslan peel away our false skin of relevance and self-importance and ambition.  It may hurt a little, to realize that we aren't nearly as important as we thought we were, but when it was all over, like Edmund, I believe that we will be much happier, knowing that our lives our not merely utilitarian, they are wonderfully beautiful and spectacularly superfluous.

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.

Week 15: Wonder-full

For a child will be born to us, a son will be given to us;

And the government will rest on His shoulders;

And His name will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace.

(Isaiah 9:6)

For Thou art great and doest wondrous deeds; Thou alone art God.

(Psalm 86:10)

And He is the radiance of His glory and the exact representation of His nature, and upholds all things by the word of His  power. When He had made purification of sins, He sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high having become as much better than the angels, as He has inherited a more excellent name than they.

(Hebrews 1:3-4)

Our family has just returned home after a week sojourn in the beautiful Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming.  We arrived at the onset of six inches of alabaster snow.  The boys, full of wonder, played for hours outside making snowmen and snow angels and snow forts as huge snow flakes settled to the silent earth below. God snowed us in to the valley as the mountainous uplift of some ancient sea shimmered in the distance. With no where to go and no way to get there, we ate good food and visited long hours. We watched football and Swiss Family Robinson and ate turkey and ham.  We fed the fire and the boys drove Dad's tractor. They had fun plowing a path to the road.

We relaxed.

We rested.

God's Sabbath snow blanketed the earth and it smothered my ambition.  

By the end of the week, the snow abated and we ventured out into a winter wonderland.  The roads, cleared of slush and warmed by the sun, reminded us that our respite was coming to a close and pointed us towards home.  It was a two day trip from the highlands to our home on the plains and soon I realized that the blanket of snow had not completely covered my wanderlust.

At the hotel on our way home, eating breakfast in the hotel lobby, my wife asked the couple sitting next to us, "Where is your family going?"

"We are moving to Jackson Hole," they said, "from Tennessee."

"Enjoy the winter!" I thought as I tried to mask my desire for similar adventure; pulling up stakes and striking out into the great unknown. I've been to Jackson. I know it's beautiful.  "Awesome!" I managed to say as I poured more coffee. But I wasn't feeling it and I was quiet for the next several hours, lost in my thoughts as we listened to a book on tape and made our way slowly over the surface of the Earth.

And that still small voice spoke to me as the asphalt rolled past,  "It isn't something you are missing. It's someone.  The government will rest on His shoulders, He's a king, after all.  And His name is Wonderful Counselor..."  There was more, but that was it.  I looked up the word translated, "Wonderful" and it means "magnificent," "grandiose," "beyond comprehension," not just, "nice," or "good," but mind-boggling.  We worship a God who bathes everything that He creates with mind-boggling wonder. The King's expertise is on full display in the Big Horn Mountains, but it is here, even on the plains. It isn't something we see, it is something we feel...it is wonder. Children get it and adults need it. Without it, beauty becomes just scenery and adventure becomes just work and Christmas becomes just a day off.  

"Cowboy, are you glad to be back home?" my Kansas bride asked with the fading sunlight sparkling in her eyes, full of wonder.

"Absolutely!" I said, "The sky is bigger here."

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.

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