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I want to be like Jesus…Thoughts on Grace

I’ve been spending a lot of time lately pondering what it means to be a Christian. I know WHAT it means, I guess I’ve been more focused on HOW to be a Christian. What does it look like to be more like Jesus? And why is that so stinking hard?

I love Jesus. I’ve known and loved Him practically my whole life. I was given at birth that wonderful legacy of generational faith, all my people know and love Him too. And while I never had a Road to Damascus type of encounter, I can recall a specific moment where the power of the Spirit was so strong that I could have no more said no to Jesus in my heart than I could have stopped a moving train.

But preceding that moment, and following it, life was not so significantly different. There was no gutter to glory narrative for me. I was the one, when around the fire at camp giving testimonies, always felt that mine was, frankly, kind of boring. Especially compared to the stories of others with their broken families or drug/alcohol problems.

Mine has been a comfortable kind of faith. Like an old sweatshirt on a cold night.

But it has also been not at all like that. Growing to be like Jesus is not simple or easy for any of us. Just because I never dabbled in THE BIG SINS like sex or drinking, I certainly have plenty of inner (and sometimes outer) sinning. And the kind that is far more insidious and hurtful. The truth is: Sin is Sin. And God hates all of it. So I’m no better or worse than anyone on this planet, however I may judge their foibles to make myself feel better.

When I was a little girl I would pray, as I was falling asleep, that the next day I could have one perfect sin-free day, just like Jesus. I figured that if He could live a sin-free life, then certainly I could make it through a day. Then I would wake up and smack my brother, or sass my mom, or in general make life less pleasant for those around me. FAIL!

I’m a pleaser. I want people to like me, to think I’m hard-working, and friendly, and smart, and funny, and LIKE me. The worst punishment I could face as a child was when my dad would look over his glasses in disappointment over something I had done or left undone.

So I want to please God. I want to live a life that makes God proud of me. I want to do the right things, and obey the right way, and serve the right ministries, and be the good girl.

Except it doesn’t so much work that way. No matter how hard I try, I will never be good enough ON MY OWN. Besides, within heartbeats I can vacillate between wanting to be like Jesus with my whole heart, to barking at my kids, or flipping off the driver ahead of me. Oops. FAIL!

I’ve been trying to wrap my head around grace and what that means. I know what it means, theoretically, but how does that play out? How does it work in my life? And how do I actually extend it to others? I don’t want to be the wicked servant who was forgiven much, and then can’t pay it forward. But I feel like I am, so very often.

I’m forgiven. I know that. I get that. In my head. And sometimes in my heart, but not always. It seems to me, as an educator, that a student (me) can know the material, but when it comes to actually putting that knowledge into practice, can fall flat on my face. FAIL!

Part of being generationally Christian means that I know the lingo. I can fellowship with the best of them. (And exactly how did fellowship come to be a verb? This is one of those buzzwords that makes me kind of crazy. But that’s another topic.) I know all about grace, justification, sanctification, redemption. But if I can’t let it move from head knowledge to heart knowledge, what is the point?

So here is what I cling to. I’m a work in progress. There is no way that I can get it right. I will never be good enough on my own. And this is where I need to let Jesus step in. I need to let Jesus be perfect for me. I have to hope, to believe that when I stand before the throne, I can point at Him and say “Look at Him, not at me.” And in the meantime, I get up in the morning and try. And know that even though I FAIL, He never does. This must be an on-going and everyday process. It’s a good thing His mercies are new every morning.

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Beauty and the Beast: A Redemption Story

On Good Friday I took my daughters and a gaggle of their friends to see the new live-action Beauty and the Beast by Disney. I know there has been controversy, but the truth is: I don’t really care. We live in this world, which is full of sinners, me included. So let’s just not go there right now.

Anyway, because of the gaggle that accompanied us, I was politely requested to Not Sit By US! I could have just dropped them off at the theater and gone and gotten a latte, but I actually wanted to see the movie. (True confession: I’d already seen it. As had my daughters, who actually allowed me to sit WITH them the first time. Ah, teenagers!) So I sat alone. In the lovely leather recliner. With my blankie. And my latte. It was blissful. I digress.

I don’t know if it was because I was sitting alone, or all the reflection that whirls around Good Friday and its impact, but I was strangely moved by the story. I grew up with Disney princesses and so have my daughters (don’t judge, please just re-read the first paragraph), but I’ve never thought deeply about the underlying story that fairy tales have to tell us – the universal truths that initially created these stories. Mostly, I’ve just enjoyed the fluffy entertainment and let it go at face value.

This viewing was different. As we got to the end of the story, I found I was crying. (Keep in mind – I’d already seen it once, sans tears) The love Belle had for her Beast, and the sacrifices she made, magically transformed the whole castle.

A wise person (okay, my husband) once said: The best stories are redemption stories. In The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C. S. Lewis, Lucy reads a beautiful story in a magician’s book, but because of the magic is not allowed to turn back to re-read it, and then finds she can’t remember the story. But “ever since that day what Lucy means by a good story is a story that reminds her of the forgotten story.”

So back to Beauty and the Beast. As the credits and my tears rolled, I realized that the story is yet another hidden allegory for The Greatest Story; the Story that feels like a tragedy on Good Friday, but has a surprise ending on Easter morning.

On the macro level, much of the story of Beauty and the Beast is similar to the great Narrative of God. We have changed from what we were intended to be in the beginning into shallow selfish angry creatures. We hide ourselves away behind high walls shutting the world out so that no one can see what we are truly like – we put on the masks of politeness, but slowly our facade decays and crumbles just like the Beast’s castle. In the Old Testament, the Hebrew people, God’s chosen ones, are given the law to help them remember – to point them back to God. But much like the Beast shelters and protects his precious rose, the Hebrew children take the Law and turn it from God’s love letter into a set of rules and regulations that they use to judge each other. In essence, love is shut out and forgotten in the mists of time.

Until one day, a Beauty enters the picture. The Child of God comes into the world and, like Belle entering the castle, fearlessly sees beyond the beastly exterior into a heart that is worth loving. Hearts that the Beauty loves so much that He sacrifices himself on the cross to transform the Beasts.

As I sat in the theater, I realized that I am the Beast! This is not something anyone really likes to think about themselves, but it is so very true. The love of the Beauty is what ultimately transforms me.

Now I know this is not a perfect allegory. One could argue that the Beast saves Belle as much as she saves him. And I am not trying to say that we have anything whatsoever to do with our own salvation. Grace is not earned, but rather learned – experienced – given by a great teacher to an unwitting student. There are no perfect allegories – only the One True Story. But tales like Beauty and the Beast point toward the Great Story. Our world needs the Beauty to save it. Even those that don’t admit it, those who claim there is no God, that life has no meaning, still create stories, unknowingly, that point to Him.

In our fallen world, the world that can’t remember the story, any story that reminds us of the forgotten story is a good story.

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On Authenticity

Authenticity is a rigorous inside-out consistency that courageously cares for others.

Awakening the quieter virtues, Gregory Spencer

What does it mean to be authentic? We tend to define it much like the dictionary – real, legitimate, bona fide. So very little in our lives is fully real anymore – fake news, polyester, preservatives, social media. We are craving that which is real. Like the Velveteen Rabbit, we want to be real.

So why aren’t we? In a society that is about “what you see is what you get” and “letting it all hang out” (did I just date myself there? Probably), we talk big about being who we truly are, but we don’t put it into practice very often. What was your answer the last time you heard the question “how are you?” Was it an honest “Well, I’m stressed because the dishwasher overflowed, my kid is flunking English, I’ve gained ten pounds, and I’m up to my eyeballs in debt. How are you?” Or is the standard “Fine! (smiley emoji)”

Now I’m not saying that airing our dirty laundry as a response to a pretty inauthentic question to begin with is the definition of authenticity. As a matter of fact, I will argue that it’s not. The truth is that the person asking that question really doesn’t want an answer but actually just wants an exchange of shallow pleasantries. But what if more of us answered truthfully? Would it change the narrative? It would certainly probably stop the conversation flat.

I think authenticity isn’t the glib answer or the glib question, but rather a determination to live our lives on the outside the same way we are on the inside. WITHIN REASON! Sometimes my inside isn’t so pretty. Sometimes my inside is querulous and argumentative and frankly, a little nasty. To let that out isn’t to be authentic, except in very careful safe situations where I am known and loved IN SPITE of that part of me. To let that out is just to, in the words of Pastor Kris in a fabulous sermon on this topic, be an authentic jerk. I’m not sure the world needs anymore authentic jerks.

Maybe to be authentic means allowing our insides to be changed to match our outsides? This is part of the sanctifying work of the Holy Spirit. What if the best of both inside and outside matched, and the icky stuff was transformed? And then what if we were real about that process?

I don’t think there is anything wrong or shameful in sharing our struggles. Here is a secret. I’m not perfect. Neither are you. As far as I know only one person was ever perfect. So I want to be more like Him. As hard as I try, and I should try, I certainly won’t achieve it this side of heaven.

What if being authentic has a different meaning for those of us who are Christians than for the rest of the world? So often “religious” people are branded as a hypocrites. BECAUSE WE ARE! Jesus went after the religious bigwigs of His time going so far as to call them “whited sepulchres.” I love this term, mostly because we don’t use it so much anymore. We plant our dead people. In Jesus’ time and place, they put bodies into carved tombs that were whitewashed on the outside to be all pretty and attractive, but the insides of which did not smell so very good. Jesus calls out the religious hypocrites of His time, telling them that while they look good externally, they are actually quite stinky.

Hmm, people. Are we as Christians as different from that as we should or would like to be? Are we open with our non-Christian neighbors about our very real struggles? Or do we put on a pious face and pretend everything is hunky-dory?

One of the most beautiful things about following Jesus is that we don’t have to be one thing on the outside and another on the inside. If we had it as all together as we want the world to believe, we wouldn’t need a Savior.

Somebody once asked me if I didn’t believe that people at heart were basically good. I had to answer that I did not, based on my personal experience of my own soul. My insides aren’t so pretty. By all external appearances, I would be considered a ‘good’ person. But I know the thoughts I have and I am rather frequently not so proud of them. But this is where grace comes in. I am being continually renewed by the power of the Holy Spirit’s work. When I allow that to happen, when the Spirit scrubs the inside of the tomb, then my outsides and insides can begin to match.

I’m not, however, allowed to get hung up on my own goodness/badness. Authenticity says that I am not allowed to be the center of my universe. Being authentic means I take what God is doing in my life and I let it spill out to other people. To the lady I meet in the grocery line. To the hasty jerk that cuts me off on the road. To my friend struggling with cancer. To be authentic means to take a step in courage to love others – really love them – where they are, not where I think they should be. To allow a transparency in my own life that lets the light of Jesus shine through. When I’m wrong, I apologize, When I’m right, I don’t press the point. When I’m confused, I admit I don’t know. I take off my mask of perfection (which isn’t real anyway), and be the best me that God makes me.

To become real hurts, but it is worth it. Ask the Velveteen Rabbit.

On Modesty

My search through Scripture looking for verses that addressed modesty only revealed two circumstances in which the word is found – the first being in 1 Corinthians 12, where Paul is talking about how the gifts of the Spirit are like a body, and some parts that we think less of are actually accorded greater honor as we treat them with modesty. The second is in 1 Timothy where Paul is telling Timothy to instruct the women of his church to use modesty and self-control in how they adorn themselves.

So what are we to do with that?

Modesty gets a bad rap in today’s culture. We are told to flaunt our wealth, our bodies, our opinions, and to do anything less means we are old-fashioned and prudish. We live in a land of excess, of too much, and we see it daily on our iPhones, TVs, laptops, tablets. We need the newest, the best, the biggest.

Those of us who came of age in the 1980’s and 90’s are the most susceptible. We were told we could have it all. And should have it all. And then should let everyone know in our carefully curated social media lives that we DO have it all.

Is it any wonder that today’s coming of age generation is slightly revolted and turning away from all that conspicuous consumption? But really, are they any different than us in the pride they take in their simplicity and tiny houses – in living off the grid?

Modesty does not assume a hair shirt. It does not sit in sackcloth and ashes and proclaim how modest it is. Modesty just means to live a well-tempered life. To be modest means to find middle-ground, let things be what they are, and to NOT DRAW ATTENTION to it! If you proclaim to live modestly, then by sheer virtue of the fact you’ve said it you are not doing it!

In Mere Christianity, C. S. Lewis puts it this way (exchange the words modest and humble):

Do not imagine that if you meet a really humble man he will be what most people call ‘humble’ nowadays: he will not be a sort of greasy, smarmy person, who is always telling you that, of course, he is nobody. Probably all you will think about him is that he seemed a cheerful, intelligent chap who took a real interest in what you said to him. If you do dislike him it will be because you feel a little envious of anyone who seems to enjoy life so easily. He will not be thinking about humility: he will not be thinking about himself at all.

If anyone would like to acquire humility, I can, I think, tell him the first step. The first step is to realise that one is proud. And a biggish step, too. At least, nothing whatever can be done before it. If you think you are not conceited, it means you are very conceited indeed. (C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, Book 3, Chapter 8 “The Great Sin”)

How is it that C. S. Lewis continually sends it out of the ballpark? (I have a theory that involves pondering, but that is in another post, see On Discernment.)

I’d like to think this is all new – that no society before us had so much time to blow their own horns. But it’s not. History is chock full of eras of excess, and pride in lack of excess. There is nothing new under the sun (said several millenia ago by a pretty wise man).

The big question is: How do we walk the tightrope between true and false modesty? My parents’ generation was raised to assume a false modesty about everything they did. This led to a whole lot of them underplaying their gifts and trying to remedy their weaknesses. My generation was given awards just for showing up. As Syndrome says in The Incredibles, “when everyone is super, nobody will be.” (The Incredibles, 2004)

There is nothing wrong with being “super” if that is the gift you are given. Just as there is nothing wrong with affording greater modesty to parts we think less of, to paraphrase Paul.

The point is that true modesty neither denies nor exalts. It just lives. And in a culture where that becomes increasingly difficult, it is a virtue we should probably all be praying for.

A Wise Heart – On Discernment

“The wise in heart are called discerning…” Proverbs 16:21

“Wisdom reposes in the heart of the discerning…” Proverbs 14:33

Which comes first, the chicken or the egg? Discernment and wisdom feature prominently in the book of Proverbs, often going hand in hand. Discernment is a virtue that our society does not spend much time pursuing. We are a people of snap-judgments, spur of the moment ideas, spontaneity. None of these are necessarily bad, but when they become our modus operandi, we lose out. Our lives move so quickly that we are becoming servants of instant gratification. We text a friend and want immediate replies. We order food out of our car window and by the time we pull forward we are being handed a bag. Successful businesses are run by people who can most quickly survey the situation, make a judgment and make things happen. This fast-paced frenetic mode of doing life comes at a cost. We are frequently decision-weary. And almost always just plain weary.

This is not the way of wisdom. Wisdom calls us to slow down, to ponder. Ponder is not a word we use much anymore. To ponder is to weigh our options carefully, to thoughtfully consider, mull over, meditate on, contemplate, reflect on, deliberate about. To ponder is to discern what is right.

Discernment takes time. It takes quiet. Discernment asks hard questions of trusted friends. Discernment requires prayer, reading, listening. Discernment means doing all of these things and listening for the still small voice – the gut feeling, the peace about a decision. I don’t do this enough. To sit still and just think is so foreign in my life that it can almost be anxiety producing. There’s so much to do. Laundry, school work, house work, spouse work, kids, bills, dinner, exercise, carpool, ad infinitum. I get tired just thinking about it, so the easiest thing is to DO not THINK.

Jesus had some friends who lived in a little town called Bethany, two sisters and a brother (who isn’t featured in this mini-drama). So Jesus went to visit these dear ones, and one sister – let’s call her Me – was so caught up in DOING – that she became agitated and angry and resentful of the other sister – let’s call her Who I’d like to be – who just sat at Jesus’ feet and listened, discerned, learned wisdom.

Me: Hello? Jesus? Could you please send Who I’d like to be in here to help me out? There’s a lot to do-oo! (pregnant pause, followed by a shrew-like shout) Like RIGHT NOW!!!!

Jesus (kindly, gently): Why don’t you come in here and sit awhile. The work will keep. Who you’d like to be has chosen what is better – to sit at my feet and listen.

Hmm. Who I’d like to be seems to have more wisdom, more scope for choosing the right thing than ME. More discernment. Simply by sitting, pondering, with Jesus.

Our society gives value to busy-ness. But that is not what is important in God’s economy. To sit and listen. To learn. To hear the voice of the Dear Friend giving us wisdom and insight and knowledge and discernment. So that we can learn what is true and noble and right and good.

Maybe one of my Lenten practices should be to be still. And when someone asks me what I’m up to is not to answer “Oh, crazy busy” but to say “I’m working on sitting. I’m learning how to be still and know God. I’m discerning.”

Back to our original question: Which comes first? Wisdom or discernment? Or must they go together, each constantly feeding the other? And how to get them both? It’s time to re-embrace being still as a virtue.

“Ponder anew what the Almighty can do.”

Joachim Neander (1630) translated by Catherine Winkworth (1863)

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Serpents and Doves: On Innocence

In Matthew 10, Jesus is sending his disciples out on a mission. He tells them to go to their own people, the lost sheep of Israel, to take nothing with them but the clothes on their backs, and to heal the sick and preach the news that the Kingdom of heaven is near. Basically He is sending them to do the work He Himself is doing, but on a broader scale than can be reached by one man alone. In the middle of His instructions, He offers the disciples what seems at first glance to be contradictory advice. He tells them to be “as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves.”

This is an interesting statement – historically we associate the snake with sin and Satan, and a dove with the Holy Spirit. So how do we reconcile these two opposing ideas? Jesus gives credit where credit is due. Satan has always operated in a calculating manner, Satan is shrewd. He targets the spots where we are most vulnerable, most innocent. Jesus never makes the mistake that we often do, of underestimating what Satan is capable of. One of the biggest lies of our time is that we have turned Satan into a goofy looking character dressed in red with pointy little horns. We create humor about him. “The devil made me do it!” Pretty shrewd way of operating, if you ask me. Webster gives us two definitions of the word shrewd:

1. marked by clever discerning awareness and hardheaded acumen

2. given to wily and artful ways or dealing

Satan, as he always does, takes what is good and perverts it. Jesus warns his disciples, not to be wily and artful – the corrupt distortion of shrewdness, but to be marked by clever discerning awareness. He’s advising them to be on their guard, to be prepared for whatever may happen. Jesus is not instructing them to be like Satan, but to use the same tools in a right and correct way to help defeat him.

Jesus tempers this instruction by also warning his disciples to be as innocent as doves. Doves were so innocent that they were considered (along with a lamb) to be an acceptable sacrifice for purification and for sin atonement following the birth of a child. If one couldn’t afford a lamb, two doves were acceptable. This is the sacrifice Mary made following the birth of Jesus. A dove also signifies the Holy Spirit. When Jesus was baptized, the heavens opened and a dove descended on him. Mark tells us that the disciples weren’t called until after this event, but it is possible one of them witnessed it. Or certainly they may have heard about it. The dove is part of the beginning of Jesus’ life, and of His ministry. The symbolism would not be lost on His followers. Jesus is asking them to be clean, to be pure.

In our era, we associate innocence most often with children. What I like most about the innocence of children is their transparency. They speak and act without filter (sometimes to the horror and embarrassment of their parents). But children, at least the innocent ones, aren’t trying to be malicious or mean. They just state what is on their minds. You can almost see the cogs turning in their little brains.

The transparency of children is really like a window. If the window is clean, the light can shine through. I think Jesus is asking that of His disciples when he asks them to be innocent. Be pure and clean – get rid of the winter muck and dirt – and let the light shine through. Let those you go to know what and who you stand for. Paul puts it this way in Romans 16:19, “I want you to be wise about what is good and innocent about what is evil.”

The disciples (and we are now counted in that number if we love and follow Jesus) are cautioned, admonished, encouraged and challenged to go into the world and to cling to wisdom and innocence together. Without shrewdness or wisdom, our innocence is like a target for Satan’s arrows. Even if he may not make a bulls-eye every time, without wisdom moving the target farther away from him and closer to God, he is likely to hit something. We are warned not to let innocence be equated with gullibility, but rather to let innocence be more like the clean window the light can shine through. This is not something we can do alone as sinful fallen creatures that are so easily caught up in the wily shrewdness of Satan. The only way it can happen, the only way we can be made wise and innocent again comes through the redeeming sacrifice of something pure, someone truly innocent, Jesus.

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An All-Consuming Fire: On Reverance

During the season of Lent, our church is exploring the quieter virtues, based on a book Awakening the Quieter Virtues by Gregory Spencer. I confess that I have not yet read this book, not because I don’t want to, but because they have been sold out everywhere I’ve looked. It’s on order. As my Lenten discipline, I’ve decided to explore each of these virtues myself here on this blog. The first virtue is Reverence.

For the sermon on Sunday, Pastor Eric chose a scripture from Hebrews 12:28. Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe. I continue that with verse 29: for our God is a consuming fire.

I’ve been mulling that over this week – what does it mean for God to be a consuming fire? It sounds frightening. I’ve seen a fire consume a place very dear to me, and it was terrifying. We tell our kids not to play with fire. Perhaps in this context it is appropriate – God is meant to be held in reverence and awe. As C.S. Lewis says of Aslan in his Chronicles of Narnia: “He’s not a tame lion!” He is not to be toyed with.

Our generation has been raised with the idea that God is love and our friend (a doctrine I refer to as bumping butts with Jesus), which He is. There is no doubt about that. But God is also God. And I think we like to make God fit into some prescribed box of our own choosing, to make Him safe and comfortable for us. We forget that God is also majestic and awesome (not in the casual way we bandy this word around in our generation, but rather Awe-full). When we try to contain God into a neat tidy description we defeat the purpose of believing in God, and kind of makes ourselves God.

A fire is an amazing thing. It can warm us, cook our food, provide protection, bring us joy. But it can also consume and destroy. One treats fire with respect. We used to have a neighbor who said “You burn, you learn” when referring to the natural consequences of treating fire with care.

This is one way this verse can be taken. God is all-powerful, and must be treated with awe. Which I think is true. But I also believe that we can look at this verse from another direction.

God wants all of us. He doesn’t just want our Sunday best, or the remnants of our busy lives. This is a trap I frequently fall into. Does God receive my first, my last, my worst, my best? Or do I just throw the crumbs of my existence, the times when I don’t have anything else to do, His direction? He wants to consume it all. He wants to take the fire and purify us, to burn the dross and leave the gold, to incinerate the chaff and leave the wheat. That may hurt. But the end result is worth the pain. If we emerge from the fire finer and purer, we become shiny. God may then be reflected in us and away from us to others.

Another thing I’ve noticed – the more time I spend with God the more I want to. Could this be one more interpretation?

To revere God, to live a life of reverence, does not mean to live in fear. It means to know that God is wild and unpredictable like a forest fire, but also safe and life-giving like a campfire. While we may think we can contain or control fire, that is not always true. We fight fire. We also fight God. Or we can respect fire, and benefit from the good things it gives. And respect God, and benefit from the good things He gives.

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Epiphany

And there it was – the star they had seen in the east! It led them until it came and stopped above the place where the child was. When they saw the star, they were overjoyed beyond measure. Entering the house, they saw the child with Mary His mother, and falling to their knees, they worshiped Him. Then they opened their treasures and presented Him with gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Matthew 2: 9-11

Today is Epiphany – which means that the Magi of my liturgical action figures have finally reached the Child. Sam laughs at how I play with my Nativity set throughout the Christmas season. Early in Advent, I place the pregnant Mary, the watchful Joseph, and the tired donkey at the center of the scene – white and gray and brown on my white mantle, the Swedish star gently shining overhead. Behind the feather trees, also white and gray and brown, the angels are peeking out, watching over the repository of God’s grace and the hard-working carpenter who obediently cares for her, in spite of the tarnish on his own reputation. The shepherds, completely unaware of what is about to rock their world, are off on a different corner of the mantle, the trees creating a barrier between God and man – but a few angels, the ones who look the most joyful and giggly, are peeking out at them too. THEY know what’s coming and can’t wait to sing the good news to this motley crew. But not yet. The fullness of time has not come.

On Christmas Eve, the Child and mother replace the pregnant Mary. Instead of standing wearily, she kneels cradling the Baby, one hand reaching out as if to caress His perfect cheek – a gesture of all new mothers. The angels – all except a few kneeling by the trio – are off singing to the shepherds “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace…” In the morning (and I know this is not chronologically according to the story, but I like my tableau to have a few minutes in place!) the shepherds draw near, sheep and all, and worship the Infant. The angels pull back a little, except for the one that, in the big girl’s voice says, “Look, Baby Jesus, I brought you a puppy!” A few days after Christmas, the shepherds return, “glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told”.

So back to my Magi, wandering as far in the East as my mantle allows, guided by the soft glow of the wooden Swedish star, and the candlelight of one lone angel that walks backward before them, guiding, lighting the darkness, shielding the flame so a sudden desert storm won’t pffffft it out. Today they finally get to arrive. There is no dallying at Herod’s palace (for several years my children, with their Playmobile nativity, would set up Herod’s palace nearby – using the knight’s castle. There was a very cranky looking King Herod, accompanied by ominous guards, pointing the way. At least the children did not stage a Slaughter of the Innocents before I managed to put it all away!) My Wise Men push on knowing (by the trees moving out of the way) they are close. Today the little angel stops in front of Joseph, holding her candle over the Baby, and the Magi come and adore. The oldest and wisest (at least I assume he is – his long gray hair and beard attest to it) kneels the nearest with his gift for the King, the frankincense. He is followed by the Magi with the gold, his head bowed, while the third bears the myrrh looking upward as if he can see a cross. The camel just sinks placidly to the ground.

Tomorrow or the next day, I will pack it all away and relish the spare emptiness of a clean mantel. But what does it mean to me now? Why do I play with this Nativity throughout the whole Holy season? It’s not a toy – it is a lovely, and relatively pricey, set – enough so that I don’t allow anyone else in my household to move the figurines (at least not yet). I think that it is possibly the only way in this crazy busy upended time of year, the time when I promise myself “it will be different this year” but it never really is, that I pause. I breathe. I think about the ancient story of hope and love and grace and waiting, and for a few moments I can put myself into the scene – the ungainly uncomfortable mother, the anxious carpenter, the giggling angel, the sage travelers, the mystified frightened shepherds – and know that I am part of the story. Which is in itself an Epiphany.

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Holy Hide and Seek

You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. Jer. 29:13

Remember when you were a kid, and you would play hide and seek? Maybe you have small people in your house and you are in the midst of those years. “Mommy, let’s play hide and seek!” So someone dutifully covers their eyes (usually the Mommy) and counts to ten and everyone else scatters to hide. Frequently, the kids hide in plain sight, peeking out from behind some curtains, or feet sticking out from behind the couch. In my house, I sometimes took a very long time to count to ten. Sometimes even long enough to sit on the couch with a cup of coffee and flick through a magazine.

There are many variations of this game: Ghosts in the Graveyard, Fugitive, Murderer, Assassin (why do these variants get more gruesome as kids age?). What is it about these hiding and finding games that are so appealing to children? If you are at all like me, you know why they are appealing to the mommy.

Part of it is the unknown. There is a little buzz when you open a cupboard door and are surprised to find someone in it. The thrill of discovery overcomes the trepidation of being scared by what is behind the curtain.

Isn’t it the same with God? Throughout Scripture we find reference to seeking. So many passages speak of seeking God with all your heart, and he will be found.

It’s the ultimate Hide and Seek game. But here is the catch. God isn’t hidden. He’s there in plain sight. This holy hide and seek is more like Marco Polo or Blind Man’s Bluff maybe – one in which the seeker can’t see and the sought-after is right there in front of you.

So why do we even need to seek God? If he is right there all the time, why can’t everyone see him?

In the garden, there was no need to seek God. He walked and talked and hung out with Adam and Eve. They frolicked happily around the grounds. Have you ever watched a two year old after their bath? There is no fear or shame, they sprint around the house naked as a jaybird, laughing their heads off while we pursue them. Until my niece was about five, whenever we were at the cabin she would contentedly strip down to her birthday suit to swim. Sometimes her only item of clothing all day would be her life jacket. I loved seeing those little white buns peeking out.

Then came the apple-eating incident. And the first game of hide and seek. Only it wasn’t so fun. There was no giggling in a cupboard desiring to be found. Adam and Eve hightailed it behind some bushes and tried to cover up their nakedness. In the cool of the day, God came walking in the garden and when they heard him they hid. He called, and when he got no answer, he went seeking. Because God is God, the game didn’t last long. Adam answers “I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid…so I hid.”

This game happens in many homes today as well. How often has one of your spawn done something they don’t particularly want you to know about, and they hide? They either hide the broken object, or when they really don’t want to get in trouble, themselves. Isn’t it amazing that the human spirit reacts the same way today, millennia later, that the first folks did. We hide. We hide our sin, our shame, our brokenness. We don’t want anyone to find out what we really are, so we cover up.

God asks Adam and Eve, with what I imagine to be sorrow in his voice, “What have you done?” Then a lot of finger pointing begins. “Well, she…” “It was HIS fault…” The first game of hide and seek does not end well.

The game then turns. Once out of the garden, we became the seekers. We create a divide with God and this separation from him, caused by our sin, makes us feel like he is hiding. Really, aren’t we just seeking playing freely in the garden? Isn’t what was lost what our souls yearn for? But it isn’t the garden we are after. It is relationship with God. We blew it with our stupid version of hide and seek, and now we want it back.

God creates a new version of hide and seek for us. Over and over in Scripture he tells us that if we seek him, we will find him. “Hey guys… come look! Come find me. I’m right here…” And we sit on the couch and count to a bazillion and flick the pages of a cheap tabloid. God is eager for us to find him. Jesus tells a few parables about this: the pearl of great value, the woman who loses a coin.

If you seek him, he will be found 1 Chronicles 28:9

And those who seek me find me Proverbs 8:17

Seek the Lord while he may be found Isaiah 55:6

For it is time to seek the Lord Hosea 10:12

Seek me and live Amos 5:4

He who seeks, finds Matthew 7:8

He rewards those who earnestly seek him Hebrews 11:6

My kids, now teenagers, play a version of this game called Sardines. In this variant, one person hides – preferably in a relatively roomy space – and as the seekers find the hider, one by one, they crawl in with him or her and join the hiding until every last seeker has found what is hidden.

Isn’t this a little bit like seeking God? What he really wants is for all of us to be made right with him. So he hides in plain sight – feet sticking out from behind the couch, or the closet door left ajar. He wants us to crawl, one by one, in with him – back into the garden – to frolic unashamed with the Game-maker. To giggle with him until the others find us.

We are given games like hide and seek so that we learn the greatest Hide and Seek, one that is not a game but a pursuit of the Holy and the Creator.

Let the hearts of those who seek the Lord rejoice. Look to the Lord and his strength; seek his face always. Psalm 105:3-4

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The Rapids and the Reservoir

Jesus stood and said in a loud voice,“Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink.” John 7:37

Jesus tells us that he is the Living Water. He invites us to come, drink deeply, let our thirst be quenched. It is a continual process. Just as we can only go about three days without water, so being disconnected from the source of Living Water will dehydrate our souls. The Living Water needs to flow through us.

But what about those of us who aren’t disconnected from that Source, yet aren’t riding the river?

I do the “right” things. I read my Bible. I pray. I attend a life-giving church. I talk God-stuff with my Christian friends.

But I live upstream from a dam. And sometimes I compare my dam to the free-flowing river and wonder if I’m doing it wrong.

Have I taken all of that Living Water, meant to be free-flowing, and turned it into a lake for my own pleasure? A place where I can swim or water-ski or sit with some friends on a party-barge and have a glass of wine? Or is that another way God uses his Living Water?

I know that dams serve a purpose. They can be used to create energy, to provide recreational lakes, to conserve and control water flow.

Was the Living Water ever meant to be dammed? I don’t know. Any time you try to dam the Living Water it will still find a way to overflow the banks and spill out onto the land around it. It never goes to waste. Perhaps it’s reach is not as far as it could be? But perhaps it’s reach is deeper than it would otherwise be. Because that is what happens when a river is dammed. It creates a deep reservoir.

I’ll be honest. Evangelism scares me. Reaching out and telling others about my faith does not come easily. It is not one of my spiritual gifts. But that doesn’t mean I can use that as an excuse. Jesus tells us to go and make disciples of all nations. He doesn’t say: Hey you three over there, and you couple over there, and Sue and John and Amos, Go make disciples.” He is implying, nay, outright commanding all of us to do it.

How that looks will be different for each of us. For some people I have a feeling it looks a lot more like rushing rapids. God uses some to careen down the canyon, catching people’s attention, pulling them into the raft. Rescuing them. He’s not asking them to be comfortable. They have a mission and he’s using them in splashy and exciting ways.

But for the rest of us, maybe God uses the serene reservoir. By damming up a river, a deep pool is created. A pool that is calm, that creates a somewhat safe place where folks can relax and be in relationship with each other. A place where we can be refreshed.

Isn’t that also a form of evangelism? It may not feel like we are accomplishing much. Those of us who have built reservoirs will probably never save thousands of people at a big revival event, but it’s not us doing the saving anyway. It’s Jesus. It’s the water.

Living Water is not meant to be contained, rather to flow freely. But dams are also built to help control the flow of water, to help prevent an overwhelming flood downstream. By letting out as much as the surrounding landscape can handle, it brings life to the landscape.

So here is the dilemma. What is enough? I must be cautious of trying to selfishly keep the water to myself, to hoard it for my own future use, of creating a stagnant pool. Uff da. I need to be careful here. The reservoir is meant to be shared.

There is a very fine line between stopping the flow, and letting the flow be controlled. The control of water is actually managed by a different kind of structure called a floodgate. While I may choose to build a dam, the Holy Spirit is in charge of the floodgates. Maybe if I let the Spirit build the dam, instead of me, with floodgates installed, the reservoir becomes useful.

Another thing those reservoirs are used for is to fish. Jesus likes a good fishing story. After animal husbandry (sheep), fish are one of the more common metaphors used in the Gospels. Jesus hung out with fishermen. His BFFs were fishermen. Sometimes they had a good night fishing, and sometimes they came up with nothing. Until Jesus, a carpenter for Pete’s sake, tells them where to throw their nets, and then the catch is monumental.

Fish need moving water, or they need to move in the water, to survive. Even in a dammed up reservoir, the water moves. It’s when it doesn’t move at all that things die.

So water flows in. A dam is built, but with floodgates. A reservoir is formed. And the water keeps moving.

Some are told to get in the raft and ride the rapids. And some of us are told to ride the pontoon. The point is that the water is being used. That it is touching the lives of the people who are desperate for it. It laps up on the shores, and it sweeps things away. One is not better than the other. Just different.

Jesus promises us that if we come, if we drink deeply, he will turn us into conduits of Living Water. His life-giving force will flow through us and bring blessing and growth in the world around us. We need to leave him in charge of the floodgates, and allow the water to move.

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