Dignity I

Since then the children are sharers in flesh and blood, he also himself in like manner partook of the same; ASV Heb. 2:14

For all you word fans out there, Christmas is a time where we celebrate the Incarnation; God with us. Like no other, our God chose to come near and inhabit our world with us in human form. Incarnation literally means “in flesh.” It derives from the Latin word, caro, from which we derive all sorts of words such as carnal, carnivorous, and even carnival which harks back to the celebrations that would take place before the “doing away with meat” during Lent. The Incarnation of Christ in our world has been the source of much holiday meditation of mine and is a concept that both appalls me and thrills me.

On the appalling side, I can get quite queasy when I dwell on the weaknesses of the flesh. I could never be a doctor or especially a surgeon. Once the body is opened up, I am easily sickened by the sights of quivering, bloody tissue. I prefer to picture each of you as freshly washed and groomed persons in your Sunday best beaming smiles from your Christmas pictures. That you are spirits wrapped in flesh that is subject to a thousand corruptions and quite capable of emanating the foulest of substances is a fact I choose not to dwell upon. And our Lord stooped to take on this mantle of weakness? It is hard for me to imagine a more bizarre scenario. How could he do this?

On the thrilling side, the very fact that Christ did take on the form of human flesh with all its concomitant weaknesses and frailties is incredibly ennobling. Christmas forever puts a stamp of extreme value upon all human flesh as God himself chooses to take it on for the purpose of redeeming all humanity. He shares in our universal weakness, our suffering, and our pain to accomplish His plan of salvation for a broken and lost creation. But not for all, not for the plants, the animals; just for man alone. All creation stands as a mere backdrop for this drama of redemption for people such as you and I.

This is what changes everything when we look at creation and all the world. Mankind has a dignity and worth because of the price tag God put upon it. This idea has previously infected all of western civilization through the ages but now is in grave danger. Our modern world is attempting to maintain the old values regarding the dignity of man apart from the underpinnings of Christian faith. Pity on those who try for it is hard to do. Many hang their hopes on focusing on the rationality of man and his free will to choose. This is a threadbare hope at best and one which will wither away, but surely it will never resist the onslaught of a determined attack. Even now there are those who talk about defending new born life only when a certain “viability” is attained. “Choice” is, in fact, championed as a supreme act of the free will in terminating the unborn. And the loss of rationality is becoming dangerously close to justify the ending of “unmeaningful” life.

When we talk of critical thinking as a worthwhile and virtuous activity, I would urge you to examine with your children this whole idea of the dignity of man as we have traditionally come to presume upon it. It is in poor health in our society, and we Christians are the only folks that have the gold standard antidote. Do your children know what is at stake here? I would plead with you to take time and effort to discuss and teach them in very concrete terms the ramifications of the incarnation. This can be a Bible lesson or one seen in literature or History. The stark test of it is to visit a nursing home and wade into rooms full of the feeble, the broken, the incontinent, the mentally absent, the less than sweet smelling, and to touch their translucent skin in a way that says that they have great value because God said so. The fate of our society as we know it depends upon it.

Christmas 2009

Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judaea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, Saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him. -KJV Matthew 2:1-2

Every experienced teacher knows of at least a few exciting moments when they have come up with a razzle dazzle lesson plan that “wowed” their students and brought their enthusiasm to a fever pitch. Great teachers live for those moments and yearn for more of them day by day. Students love it as well whenever learning is coupled with fun and excitement of any kind but especially days that include anything involving a live animal, loud noises, real paint, or a combination of smoke and fire. We educators understand the power of excitement and hands-on discovery and would love to infuse every lesson with fireworks or rabbits popping out of hats. Unfortunately, there is much in education that just does not lend itself to the dramatic. A good teacher can bring a certain amount of drama to any subject, and this administrator will encourage that at every turn. But try as we will, there are always those stretches in the educational journey where progress can only be achieved by a good supply of practice, repetition, and memorization that borders on or camps out in the bland land of the tedious.

Teachers have been made to feel guilty, at times, in today’s high energy world for lapses in the school day where repetitious exercises and drill are relied upon to imprint a concept or idea. Avant-guard teachers are even praised for not requiring any homework whatsoever on the part of their students. Yet we know that there is much to be gained through routine and daily practice that may, indeed, be entirely devoid of dramatics or “fun.” Artists will even tell us that discipline, commitment to practice, routine, and structure are the gateway to creative accomplishment having any lasting and real merit. Bertrand Russell wrote of the necessity to bear with the boredom of structure and discipline and argued that any society “that cannot endure boredom will be a generation of little men...unduly divorced from the slow processes of nature, in which every vital impulse withers.”*

I looked to the Christmas story this year and saw many instances where the main characters moved slowly to the center stage of world history through days, months, and even years of tedious labor. Shepherds were keeping watch over their flocks by night, a dreadfully dull duty when all others about them were asleep in their beds. Joseph subjected himself to the tediously slow pace of a cumbersome and pregnant young woman with many special needs while blindly following inconvenient orders that were the despised idea of a foreign king. And the wise men were professionals all who had dedicated years of study to their craft, patiently and studiously charting the heavens. They scratched at the puzzle of the ages of how all the stars swam in relationships that kept changing but yet seemed tied together in some ingenious dance. These wise men were products of a lifetime of study dedicated to a line of work that promised no immediate reward. Yet when the star appeared, they were there looking, observing, and alert to see its implications when everyone else saw nothing at all.

May we be found faithful in the dry valleys of duty while others chase after a mirage of shimmering illusion leading nowhere; an illusion that issues the siren call of instantaneous gratification, quick results, and easy execution. May we lead our children by word and example showing them how to persevere through adversity, weariness, and strain to obtain the rewards of both earthly study and eternal preparation. Let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not (Gal. 6:9). There are enough little men about us.

* As cited in Kathleen Norris, Acedia & Me (New York: Riverhead Books, 2008), 41

Childhood Revived

It is the glory of God to conceal a thing: but the honour of kings is to search out a matter. Proverbs 25:2 KJV

I promised last week that I would review a book that I awarded my “Stocking Stuffer of the Year Award” as my pick for “best gift of Christmas, 2008.” It is The Daring Book for Girls by Andrea J. Buchanan and Miriam Peskowitz.* It is an all encompassing book of everything you ever wanted to know about as a pre-teen girl but didn’t know how to ask. In one volume, your young ladies can find out about pressing flowers, how to whistle with two fingers, double Dutch jump rope (complete with rhymes), how to negotiate a salary, bird watching, how to make a stink bomb, reading tide charts, snowballs, and Abigail Adams’ letters to John Adams. I was fascinated with the wealth of eye-opening information it contained about both the off-beat and the profound.

It took me back to my childhood when, as a boy of 8 & 9, my family lived in one of those old two-story, four bedroom homes that, to my delight, had a full basement and a full standup, walk-in attic. It was the basement and attic that drew me like a magnet on Saturdays and summer days as I indulged a strong sense of curiosity. The basement contained my brother’s hamster cages and my dad’s workshop where I made my first woodworking project, a small boat modeled after the large iron ore cruisers on the Great Lakes. I still have it.

The attic was where I discovered a fully illustrated, hard-bound edition of Gulliver’s Travels, a ready adventure for any slow afternoon. There was also a box of old National Geographics that took me around the world. But ever fascinating was the old, stand-up radio that stood facing the top of the stairs. It had a large, green eye at the top of the circular dial which lit up whenever the set was turned on. There, at the turn of a knob, were various wavelengths that advertised such exotic locations as Moscow, London, and Tokyo. I would spend hours scanning the airwaves and reading into even the most obscure static evidence of life on other continents. Those were magical days spent in stuffy attics or cruising the neighborhood on a beat up wagon, conquering the kingdoms of vacant lots, building clubhouses, or taking off on 2-3 mile walks downtown with my buddies to cruise the pet shop, model store, and ride the elevator at the five & dime.

I identify completely with the following introduction to the Daring book:

We were girls in the days before the Web, cell phones, or even voicemail. Telephones had cords and were dialed by, well, actually dialing. We listened to
records and cassette tapes—we were practically grown-ups before CDs came to pass—and more often than not, we did daring things like walk to school by ourselves. Ride our banana-seat bikes to the local store. Babysit when we were still young enough to be babysat ourselves. Spent hours on our own, playing hopscotch or tetherball, building a fort in our rooms, or turning our suburban neighborhood into the perfect setting for covert ops, impromptu ball games, and imaginary medieval kingdoms.

Girls today are girls of the twenty-first century, with email accounts, digital cable, iPods, and complex video games. Their childhood is in many ways much cooler than ours—what we would have given for a remote control, a rock-climbing wall, or video chatting! In other ways, though, girlhood today has become high-pressured and competitive, and girls are inducted into grownup-hood sooner, becoming tweens and teens and adult women before their time.

In the face of all this pressure, we present stories and projects galore, drawn from the vastness of history, the wealth of girl knowledge, the breadth of sport, and the great outdoors. Consider the Daring Book for Girls a book of possibilities and ideas for filling a day with adventure, imagination—and fun. The world is bigger than you can imagine, and its yours for the exploring—if you dare. Bon voyage.

Yes, thankfully, there is The Dangerous Book for Boys which is the male equivalent. I have not seen it, but the introduction promises much the same from authors Conn and Hal Iggulden:

Boyhood is all about curiosity, and men and boys can enjoy stories of Scott of the Antarctic and Joe Simpson in “Touching the Void” as much as they can raid a shed for the bits to make an electromagnet, or grow a crystal, build a go-cart, and learn how to find north in the dark. You'll find famous battles in these pages, insects and dinosaurs—as well as essential Shakespeare quotes, how to cut flint heads for a bow and arrow, and instructions on making the best paper airplane in the world. How do latitude and longitude work? How do you make secret ink, or send the cipher that Julius Caesar used with his generals?

You'll find the answers inside. It was written by two men who would have given away the cat to get this book when they were young. It wasn't a particularly nice cat. Why did we write it now? Because these things are important still and we wished we knew them better. There are few things as satisfying as tying a decent bowline knot when someone needs a loop, or simply knowing what happened at Gettysburg and the Aamo. The tales must be told and retold, or the memories slowly die.

There are a couple of pages you will probably wish to excise with a razor blade before giving them into the hands of your children. Palm reading and Yoga are not something we wish to perpetuate, but the overwhelming majority is wholesome and exciting. You will need to read through yourself to check for content, but that will not be a hard job as you will find it telling all the stuff you wish you had known in 3rd grade. You can learn more about these books at http://www.daringbookforgirls.com/ and http://www.dangerousbookforboys.com/. The Walters family already has both books and Vashti adds:

"The Daring Book will make you long for rainy days! It was a birthday gift to our third grade daughter, Amelia, last year, and it instantly became a treasured resource. Together we've learned how to make the 'Coolest Paper Airplane Ever,' tried one of 'Three Silly Pranks,' and are longing to soon put the chapter on 'Snowballs' to good use! When asked what her favorite part of the book was, Amelia told me about a 'very pretty poem' and showed me the page. I read with new eyes, 'A Bird Came Down the Walk' by Emily Dickinson. It is such an unusual wealth of information all in one very nice hard-bound book. We gave our son the companion book for boys this Christmas and although we have not finished reading the entire book, it promises to be just as wholesome and enjoyable."

*Harper Collins, 2007, sell for @ $18.00 each on Amazon.com

Christmas Past

Blow the trumpet at the new moon, At the full moon, on our feast-day. For it is a statute for Israel, An ordinance of the God of Jacob. - Psalms 81:3-4 ASV

And the days of feasting were accomplished, that many were delivered unto much food and merriment and found themselves wrapped in self-satisfaction and lying upon the sofas. Now that the holidays are over, here is some reflection upon our Christmas past from my sofa.

Feasting is Biblical. We regularly remind ourselves of this in the Nordmoe household at such times as Christmas when we sit before a rich and sumptuous table lest we be accosted with guilt by our enemy. In Exodus 23, the children of Israel were commanded to keep a feast unto the Lord three times a year: the feast of unleavened bread, the feast of the harvest, and the Passover supper. What a God we serve that calls us to enjoy times of feasting before Him as well as times of fasting and penance. He is the Lord of the banquet and His table must be filled. What better way to celebrate the birth of Jesus than with gift giving and feasting. It is entirely appropriate.

The giving of gifts is always a challenge for me personally as I am rather feckless at finding some imaginative gift, especially for those closest to me. I have a bent for the unconventional, but that demands creative thinking. Work! Shopping would be far easier if I could just conform and bring home the usual perfume and slippers. But gift giving in general is a challenge for us simply because we are Americans. We are awash in stuff as it is and have need of little. But we nevertheless manage to find something to buy and lavish on one another in ever-increasing quantities. The monkish, spoil-sport part of me wants to say, “Enough! We are surfeited to the point of bloat.” But the party-side of me wants to say, “Let there be joy, blessing, and even excess if it celebrates the greatest gift of all.” God was lavish beyond measure and to nit-pick puts me squarely with those naysayers who pointed out with scorn the woman pouring the expensive ointment on the head of the prophet from Nazareth.

All that said, I noted a few gifts this season that I thought were special. One was a card telling me that a gift had been given to a worthy charity in my honor. That is a blessing we could all celebrate. I could have had a gift card to Starbucks or something, but instead I had the knowledge that my name followed a gift to someone truly in need. That may not work for everyone on your list, but I liked it.

Another family I heard about was very creative even though they were very affluent. Every Christmas, the family adopted a particular goal that emphasized individual originality for parent and child alike. One Christmas, each person had to give one gift that was hand-made. Another year, each person had to put on a performance of some sort. This, to me, was a tremendous example of de-emphasizing the material and emphasizing the personal. I only wish we had done more of that when my children were small.

I had hoped to next review a book given to my grand-daughter, Taylor, this Christmas. I want to give it my Stocking Stuffer of the Year Award, but to try to do so here would not do it justice. You will just have to tune in next week. I am a hopeless romantic when it comes to childhood play, and this particular book awakened in me a desire to be a child all over again. It takes a lot to do that when I think of all the teen-age trauma I had to endure, but I was almost ready to endure it again just to transport back to age 8. To be continued.

Christmas

And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. Luke 2:7 KJV

Weddings and Christmas have a lot in common. There is all this anticipation and excitement over a 2-3 hour event that takes weeks and weeks of preparation. All the while, there is a picture perfect image that drives us with an idealized vision of how it should happen. Both are multi-faceted events where one has to worry and plan for guests, location, decoration, gifts, ritual, and, of course, food. Ordinary hot dogs and beans will not do. There has to be coordinated menu with some unique features that give the aura of individual creativity. Where most men would be happy with a pork chop and gravy, women fuss over what kind of sprinkly spices to drop in the egg nog or the punch. Ordinary china will not suffice either. We have a complete different set just for Christmas. Better Homes and Gardens would be pleased.

In all the planning, we also create in our minds the ideal words, looks, and excited thanksgiving that we would like to see come forth from all our loving family. We dream of that land where never is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day; or so we would wish for at least one evening. The children will all be grateful and, oh, so helpful. Husbands will be sensitive, thoughtful, and read the minds of their wives. The in-laws will not be rude and will walk into your house with pure and overflowing admiration for all you have done. Even the dog will cooperate and not spill his water dish or worse (much worse).

The tension builds because we do not live in a perfect world. Dogs eat ornaments, children pout or get pukingly sick, husbands totally misread telepathic communication, in-laws say the darndest things, and mom discovers she is not Wonder Woman. Weddings are likewise remembered for the things that go wrong instead of all the things that go right. Candles go out, cakes tip over, attendants faint, and wardrobes fail all to the chagrin of mothers from the beginning of time.

Living with imperfection is a daily challenge for any family. We would like to have everything in its proper place and our children all tidy models of circumspection and genteel deportment. Alas, it doesn’t always happen. Over all, I am very impressed with your children arriving every day, freshly scrubbed, bright eyed, and for the most part, on time. I brag on you regularly. On the other hand, I know you are quite human simply by the things that fall out of your cars along with your children. There are shoes and rubber snakes, McDonald’s cups and crayons, beanie babies and old socks, and even groceries. I mistakenly opened the wrong door a few weeks ago and out poured the contents of two or three grocery bags. You would have enjoyed the sight of your administrator chasing cans of beans rolling down the driveway. I never know what I will encounter as you drive up. There are friendly dogs, occasionally a yipping dog, and once I found a complete plastic leg in the back floorboard. Then there are the days of sick kids with feverish looks wrapped in blankets. Today, one drove up holding a cup having just lost her breakfast.

It may be a wonderful life, but it is not easy, clean, convenient, ordered, and certainly not perfect. It never was. When we compare our discomforts and disappointments with those of Mary and Joseph, our complaints must be seen as so trivial. I take great comfort in the Christmas story, a tale totally immersed in imperfections and riddled with pain and conflict as well as glory. God works in the detritus and anguish of everyday life His wonders to perform. Struggle defines the Christmas story. He not only can use it to amplify His message, He came to share this messy existence with us and to share our discomfort and pain. May we not let our less-than-perfect cloud or obscure the glory that is Christmas.

Generation Gap

“And he shall go before him in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children.” -Luke 1:17

We are now experiencing in our churches what some are calling “worship wars.” It is all about the music. Church growth experts are happily writing prescriptions for reaching generation X, Y, and Z using certain musical formats that involve a particular instrumentation and song genre that appeals to every new and identifiable sub-group that comes along. Some cutting edge churches proudly feature a smorgasbord of services available according to one’s musical tastes which usually falls out along generational lines.

Inter-generational conflict has long been a staple of secular literature and political thought. And I have often felt that the greatest challenge facing any congregation of vibrant believers is to be able to hand down their faith to the next generation. Is the so called “generation gap” a real obstacle to overcome and must the gospel be repackaged every 40 years into “new wineskins” so that the transition be successful?

There is little doubt that nothing ever stays the same. Forms, styles, and cultures all change over time. Yet I refuse to accept the model that each generation must find its own way, that the old cannot speak to the young, nor that the new must first needs destroy the old. The Christmas story gives me great hope in this regard. The first of the angelic visitations came to Zacharias in the temple and announced the coming of John. The clear cut prophecy was that he would go forth in the spirit and power of Elijah as spoken in the last verse of the Old Testament. That spirit would turn the hearts of fathers and children to one another in some powerful and unique way.

I am quite sure I do not fully understand the depth and breadth of that prophecy, but it surely includes a dissolving of any generational conflicts. Evidently that spirit was powerful in Elijah as well as re-energized and emergent in John, the “greatest” of the prophets. In some significant and mighty way, these two giants of Scripture are cross-linked with a ministry that was distinctively marked as one which united rather than divided. Both are fore-runners of the Christ, and each would bear this spirit of reconciliation as one of their distinguishable attributes. It should follow as no surprise that Christ came in the spirit of reconciliation as well. Quite obviously, it is He that would reconcile the world unto Himself by seeking the lost. But I love the foreshadowing of this in His birth.

The Christmas story finds God speaking to both old and young alike, from Zacharias, Simeon, and Anna to the maid, Mary, and her young espoused. No generation is excluded. The story reaches across socio- economic lines and incorporates both rich and poor, educated and uneducated, with the shepherds and the Maji. It reaches out and across racial and cultural lines with Joseph carrying within his bloodline the heritage of foreigners as well as the patriarchs. And who were these foreign kings come to worship?

Yes, we are all met at the manger; both Jew and Gentile, bond and free, male and female, rich and poor, young and old, for we are all one in Him. And soon He would make us all equal at the foot of the cross. I continue to believe He is able to unite us today when we allow His Holy Spirit to hold sway above all our petty differences. He is the ultimate solute that dissolves the walls and kingdoms we erect. When we talk of building unified families, we need go no further than to gather at the manger and enjoy this diverse and odd company bound together by worship that comes of bended knees, not blended or un-blended music.

Miracles

“For with God nothing shall be impossible.” - Luke 1:37

My friend, Ron, was surprised on his birthday this last week by myself and a bunch of men from his life. We had assembled to salute this good friend on turning 60, and after the initial commotion and hubbub, we all settled down for some reflective moments. Somewhat overwhelmed at this sudden gathering of male counterparts, Ron fought back his emotions by recounting the words of an old missionary. This missionary had seen numerous miraculous events in his day but recounted that as far as staying power was concerned, the emotions generated by miracles were only good enough to carry believers through for a day. Ron toyed with us and said that this unforeseen gathering and tribute would be good enough to carry him through at least a week.

As we enter the Christmas season, I once again revel in the miracles associated with the Christmas story. I love turning each one over again in my hands and heart like some highly polished and treasured stone. From the mute Zacharias emerging from the holy of holies to Gabriel’s startling words to an obscure, teen-aged girl; from the orchestrating of political timetables so that humble players appeared on the correct spot of age-old prophecies to the dealing with the troubled spirit of Mary’s suitor; from sending foreign star-gazers an unmistakable call to embark across a desert to the use of common shepherds as eyewitnesses; from miraculous deliverance from sure death to the startling pronouncement of Simeon when he sees an unknown babe of unknown parents: all of it warms and excites my imagination. Christmas is a celebration of a whole litany of miracles whose timing is so precise, whose imagery is so rich, and whose extravagance is cloaked in such humble terms that it pulls at the heart of even the most stolid of skeptics. If I were not a believer, and I read in earnest the Christmas story, I think that I would surely want it to be true even if I would not be able to admit it. There is no story ever written to compare.

But miracles do not wholesale believers make nor do old miracles hold us to the straight and narrow way. Jesus found greater faith in Samaritans and foreigners than among his own who witnessed his power. Peter, eye-witness to a host of miracles, so quickly denied his Lord when heat was applied. The word to the rich man was that even if one were to rise from the dead, his relatives would not believe.

The Jews sought a sign, a miracle, above all, while the Greeks hungered after rational thinking. In the end, neither are fully adequate to lead us home. Indeed, blessed are they that have not seen and yet believe. Nor can one think his way to God. The All-Wise has confounded the wisdom of the sages using the cursed cross, the instrument of death for the worst of sinners. But yet, I am thankful for the miracles. They may not be the sole means of sustaining faith, the irrefutable evidence of absolute truth, but yet they are like beautiful stars in an otherwise dark sky. They speak of mystery, other distant worlds, things beyond my comprehension; galaxies hung in space, far, far away just to provoke my sense of wonder. When life grows commonplace and anxieties overwhelm, I fly to a clear night sky to assure myself that my world is truly bigger than what I can touch and feel. There are great mysteries afoot, unseen forces orchestrated since the beginning of time, weaving patterns of infinite beauty and majesty. What we see are pinprick glimpses of the eternal speaking truth in flickers of ancient light.

The season of miracles has begun. Soak them up, revel in them, and celebrate their beauty, for all too soon we face the light of day when stars grow dim and work calls us to a world of care.

Ordinariness

“What shall we do, that we might work the works of God?” -John 6:28

The evening of Christmas Day found us strangely alone. We are not used to that. Typically we are awash in children and grandchildren. But we were sharing them with their other grandparents and so we went to see a movie. It almost seemed sacrilegious except that we went to see “The Nativity.” It was a beautiful film, and Christmas Day made it even more special. The scriptural highlights of the story were nice enough even though I might have done a few of them differently. But the thing that struck me most was the extent and reality of the “ordinariness” of everyday life that played out between the annunciation and the birth. In between the momentous visitation of Gabriel to Mary and the night of the nativity in Bethlehem were some nine months of cooking meals, fetching water, caring for siblings, and worries about things like taxes and friendships and, oh yes, a betrothal and the appearance of a illegitimate pregnancy. Mary was picked up and hurled out of her innocent and unassuming life into an unavoidable clash with prophecies and cynical public perceptions.

The ensuing turmoil of emotions and obligations continued unabated over the months but bereft of angelic visits or heavenly visions. How often both she and Joseph would have wished for confirmation of what they had heard. It had to be hard to have your world turned upside down with a one-minute sound bite by an angel who then left without a trace or a witness. First you get enough news to stagger a trained theologian and then it is back to milking goats or whatever. Weeks followed after weeks with no further heavenly updates. Just a fading memory of words that had to live in spite of the weeds of doubt springing up and obscuring the view. In the meantime, there were chores to be done, meals to eat, and the ever-present dust of everyday life that dirtied the feet and invaded one’s house.

So we, too, must live out those mundane days of life either clinging to the fading memory of a “burning bush” moment when we heard from God or else desperately longing for another one of those “divine moments” when a light shines out of the heavens or a still, small voice confirms the holy ground of our existence. But in between, there are faucets to fix, garages to clean out, diapers to change, wages to earn, and lunches to make. But we, like the people who tried to keep up with Jesus back and forth across the Sea of Galilee, cry out for higher tasks saying, “What shall we do, that we might work the works of God?” Enough with the diapers, lawn mowing, dish washing; we want to soar with the heavenly eagles.

God is the God of miracles, but He is also the God of the mundane. In fact, if we look at His work of creation, He spent one third of the time bringing order out of chaos and another third of the time just creating the conditions for life. I take great comfort in this, for I spend a lot of my time cleaning, organizing, sorting, and building just trying to bring order out of chaos. And then there is the feeding, washing, watering, and working which provides the essential provisions for life. When we look to “do the works of God,” we really do not need to look any farther than the example of Job, one of God’s obvious favorites. Yes, Job, the farmer, who loved God, hated evil, and raised a lot of kids: exhibit “A” in God’s debate with Satan. May you find these mundane January days imbued with the magic of knowing that in the doing of the ordinary, you may be doing the very works of God.

Children

Why and how does God pick the children to send to us? This is all rambling speculation, of course. Who would dare think such a thing and hope to know for sure. There is my disclaimer. Now, permit this foolish mind to wander. As you very well know, children come in all sorts of sizes, shapes, and personalities. No two are alike. We place our order for the normal sort and hope for the best. But, alas, some funny things happen on the way to the forum. One of my favorite songs reflecting this truth is taken from the stage play, “The Majestics.” Two neighbors commiserate about their children and the one who loves to garden complains, “You plant peas, you get peas; you plant carrots, you get carrots, but with children, you never know what you are going to get.” True, they do end up looking like various elements of the family tree with noses and eyes, ears and toes, hair and skin that reflect everyone from dad to a maternal great grandmother. But after that, the reflection pales quickly. Engineer types end up with budding artists, farmers beget physicists, teachers give birth to future plumbers, and neat freaks awake with horror at the presence of a complete litterbug in their family nest.

There is the heart and soul of my question. Is God in charge of picking out and sending us these un-returnable gifts that we cannot possibly let go of but that turn our carefully arranged worlds upside down? Now even I know that there are some limits to be observed in picking out gifts for my unique family members at Christmas. My wife does not appreciate the mystery and magic of a power tool. Grandma has no use for a new bowling ball. Our family, like yours, has seen some strange gifts at Christmas time. I got a full-size Pizza Hut delivery sign for the top of my car once. And then there was the flying pig wind catcher for the front lawn. Gift giving is challenging, and I certainly have had my moments of madness in trying to be “appropriate” as much as anyone. I take comfort at the long lines of folks returning things after Christmas knowing that I am not the only one who sometimes gets it wrong. But God surely must know who we are and what would really make us happy. Right? How could He possibly get things so screwed up at times. Was this the child we ordered or had in mind?

I am afraid of the theology that says that it is all mere chance, potluck, a roll of the dice, that brings into our lives such momentous change. Somehow, I can’t quite go there. And yet, how do I make sense of the wondrous packages that arrive in my life that so befuddle me and bring such perplexity to my otherwise comfortable mind? Could it be, oh please, that God knows what we need as well as what would make us happy? Dare I think that He would send a child into my life that would challenge me at my weakest point? I have to admit that He seems to give mates that both attract and challenge one another. I am certainly the better for having married one so unlike myself.

And did not God send His Son into our world in both form and fashion that would shake all of our carefully crafted pre-conceptions of what God would look like in human flesh? He ignored all customary protocols of royalty. He arrived, the embarrassment of a virgin. Shepherds were His heralds and strange foreign stargazers His witnesses. He soon fled, a fugitive of destructive forces He could have crushed with a whisper. And in His life, He was rejected, a man of sorrows, homeless. There was no beauty in Him that we should desire Him. Finally, accused, betrayed, and crushed, He died condemned a criminal. And yet, He was everything we needed. Everything we were not. The best gift ever. May you cherish anew all the gifts given into your life. They are all good, you know. Even the ones you can’t figure out.