The Prince of Piece

This morning I read about this family Christmas photo that was shared on Twitter recently by a United States congressman. Thus far, the commentary I have read on it notes how inappropriate it was for him to share this photo at this time, given the school shooting that took place in Michigan last week.

I have another concern about the photo, however. It should be self-evident to any Christian who is motivated to “put Christ back in Christmas” that this image is contrary to the core message of Christmas.

In the birth of Jesus, we see that God did not respond to the world’s violence with more violence, even in self-defense. Jesus was born into a regime of heartless brutality, terror, and oppression. Yet, the Son of God did not enter this world armed to the teeth; nor was he born into a family who had stockpiled a great arsenal to defend their rights against the might of their Roman oppressors.

Instead, the Son of God took on human flesh, laying aside his heavenly power and prerogatives to identify with us as powerless and weak. His real power was simply in his solidarity with the oppressed, in his becoming one of them. In becoming human, God became vulnerable and approachable—gentle, not forceful.

This was (and is) God’s way to peace on earth—and the Christmas story is our yearly reminder of God’s heart. Now is not a time to celebrate our capacity for violence, whether personally or nationally. In fact, if we were to really embrace the spirit of the season, we would sense the invitation of God’s Spirit crying out to us to mourn our violent response to God’s offensive of love.

The world will always have a “Yes, but…” to this initiative of God’s—but that will not cause God to give up on his program for peace. On the contrary, the one who would follow Christ sees the connection from the cradle to the cross of Jesus. He died as he was born…caught up in the swirl of violence, but relentless in refusing to take up arms. In both his birth and death, Jesus showed us the full extent of God’s love for us and he exposed the utter absurdity of our unjust brutalities.

Let us not desecrate the light of the nativity of the Christ by treating our capacity for violence so flippantly. Instead, may we mourn our tendency to perpetuate the violence that plagues our world and may we learn to identify with the One whose only weapon to counter the hatred was love and love alone. Then we will really experience God’s good will for all; then and only then will we have true peace on earth.

………………….

The Prince of Piece

reflections by Troy Cady

Advent: Hope

 

As we wait

for our time

to catch up

to your eternity,

we hope in you,

Ancient of Days.

See us here

in our distress

and give us a vision

beyond division.

Love, captivate our hearts

held captive by hate.

Faith, deliver us

from the fate of despair.

We pray for the day

when Joy will swell

in the wake of truth and justice.

Do not leave us here

cold and alone,

shivering in the night.

Awaken us to the light of grace

by the kiss of mercy

and the touch of compassion.

Speed the day

when earth shall be as heaven

for we have long suffered

these unfulfilled longings.

Come, Lord Jesus.

……………..

Advent: Hope

by troy cady

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.

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the everyday miracle

God, the Ancient of Days,

broke forth from Mary,

a teenager from a tiny town.

God knows the newborn with no bed

because God was one of them.

God knows a people

harassed and helpless

because God was one of us.

By taking the most common name

God did what was most uncommon.

When the Word became an infant who had no words

God did a whole lot of listening;

God made himself dependent

on the care of those who cared not for him.

God became hungry;

he whose hand sustains us

was sustained by the hands he made.

“Why such Love?” I wonder.

Maybe God made himself small and unimportant

so he could slip inside our self-important, shriveled hearts.

After all, we are too small for God’s kingdom

because we are too big in our own eyes.

How shall we cling to pride

when God showed us his humility?

Let us humble ourselves before the Child,

whose single purpose was to Love,

the very picture of Dignity undignified.

Christ, Child of Love,

be our abiding Peace and eternal Joy.

Grant us Faith, humble King:

as we age, let us mature to childhood.

…………..

The Everyday Miracle

by Troy Cady

Christmas 2017

he will dress himself to serve

“Be dressed ready for service and keep your lamps burning, like servants waiting for their master to return from a wedding banquet, so that when he comes and knocks they can immediately open the door for him. It will be good for those servants whose master finds them watching when he comes. Truly I tell you, he will dress himself to serve, will have them recline at the table and will come and wait on them.” (Luke 12:35-37)

          Advent is a time of mystery, a time of wonder. It can be either disorienting or grounding: we look forward to the second coming of Christ even as we remember his first coming. Just when you feel you have a handle on the difference between the two, Jesus goes and says something like what he said above.

          At first, it appears to us that Jesus is talking about his second coming when he employs the imagery of a wedding banquet and servants who are admonished to be watchful.

          But the coming of the Son of Man (an image of majesty and power Jesus employs both prior to and after this text) is framed in an interesting way here. To understand what Jesus is saying, we need to keep in mind that as the Son of Man comes...so comes the "kingdom of God" (a precise phrase Luke employs more than any other Gospel writer).

          The kingdom of God is a mystery because it cannot be found in a precise time and place per se, but it breaks in to our time and place. That is why scholars refer to the kingdom of God in terms of two axes, a vertical axis and a horizontal axis. The vertical axis deals with the “where” of the kingdom: in heaven or on earth—or both? The horizontal axis deals with the “when” of the kingdom: the past, present or future—or all three?

          Jesus tells parables about the kingdom because the kingdom of God is a mystery and parable is the best way to talk about mysterious things. In parable our neatly defined rational categories are challenged. In this case, for example, we become aware that reason dictates a forced choice between the three options of the kingdom’s horizontal axis. But parable invites us to see that…

…what has happened

is still happening

and will happen again.

          This text is a case in point. Jesus might be talking about his second coming in this story but he might also be talking about what was happening and what would soon happen in his first advent.

          The people who were listening are admonished by Jesus through this story to be watchful or they would miss the arrival of the Son of Man (who was, to be sure, already in their midst). Jesus tells the listeners that those servants who are alert and perceive his coming will be in for a surprise: the master will serve the servants. He will become a servant of servants.

          The image of servant was a potent image for the people of Israel in Jesus’ day. It called forth the great section of Isaiah (chapters 40-55) where the prophet describes a “servant” who will do what God wants, restoring peace and justice in the world. Isaiah 42:1-4 is a classic text portraying the Servant:

“Here is my servant, whom I uphold,

    my chosen one in whom I delight;

I will put my Spirit on him,

    and he will bring justice to the nations.

He will not shout or cry out,

    or raise his voice in the streets.

A bruised reed he will not break,

    and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out.

In faithfulness he will bring forth justice;

     he will not falter or be discouraged

till he establishes justice on earth.

    In his teaching the islands will put their hope.”

          Though God speaks through the prophet about the Servant as a specific person, in this section of Scripture (chapters 40-55) he also refers to Israel collectively in this vein:

“You are my witnesses,” declares the Lord,

    “and my servant whom I have chosen,

so that you may know and believe me

    and understand that I am he.” (Isaiah 43:10)

          It is likely that in Jesus’ time, the Jewish people thought of themselves as the Isaianic Servant so when Jesus gives them this image of a master who becomes a servant of servants he really messes with their minds. He both confirms their understanding of the Servant and completely overhauls it.

          In doing so, he shows how God will go about restoring peace and justice, how the kingdom of God will break in: through a God who serves…in order to teach the servants how to serve.

          This is also a powerful image not just for the Jewish people but for Gentiles as well. Biblical scholar Andrew Clark notes: “The early Roman Empire continued to operate a long-established, pervasive and legally codified slave economy in which all human beings were classed either as slaves, or former slaves, or freeborn.”[i] He points out that the terms “slave” and “servant” were placed together in some texts; additionally, he describes three kinds of “servant”: diakonos (meaning “servant, attendant, agent, intermediary”); pais (meaning “young person, boy, child, servant, slave”); and hyperetes (meaning “helper, assistant, servant”).

          I mention this here because society in Jesus’ day was highly stratified along the lines of free-persons and slaves/servants. You were either a master or slave, a servant or lord—and the well-being of the world depended on keeping straight who was who (or so they thought).

          The parable of the Prodigal Son references this social order. When the son decides to return home, he views himself as one who has lost his freedom. He settles in his mind that it will be better for him to be a hired hand (a servant) in his father’s house than to continue eking out a meager existence feeding pigs. When he returns, he is prepared to ask his father to make him a servant, but his father instead surprises him and throws a banquet for him. The father puts the best robe on him, a ring on his finger and sandals on his bare feet. He receives him as a son.  

That parable is just as shocking as this one Luke tells only a few chapters earlier. It is shocking because it disrupts the mentality of shame and honor that formed the foundation of society’s social stratification. The audience would have felt through Jesus’ story that the father honors someone who should not be honored. The son should be ashamed because it is only through his sense of shame and a long period of servanthood that he can regain his honor.  

          What Jesus portrays in the parable of the Prodigal Son and in this parable in Luke 12 disrupts the culture of shame and honor by messing with the societal order of human relationships. He portrays God as someone who is eager to take away our shame; he portrays God as someone who is eager to be a servant, to take the lowest position—to be a servant of servants.

         

          Jesus fulfilled the past Isaianic prophecy in his lifetime to those who were present at the time. He shows them that, though Israel is indeed the Servant, so is God. If God, their master and lord, is a servant then there is no more reason for us to be lords over one another. He levels the playing field.

          In the parable in Luke 12 he tells us how he will do this: “Truly I tell you, he will dress himself to serve, will have them recline at the table and will come and wait on them.”

          Jesus literally did this at his Last Supper. It is no mistake that Luke includes the detail in his writing about the Last Supper that they were all reclining at the table. John’s Gospel also includes the detail about Jesus “wrapping a towel”, dressing himself as a servant. In Jesus the Son of Man has come—and he waits on them. His authority derives from his servanthood.

          What has happened (the prophecy in Isaiah) happens (the fulfillment in Christ/Israel), keeps happening (the present fulfillment today) and will happen (the coming we await).

          The advent of Christ is just as much an event of perception and present participation as it is an event of history. It has both objective and subjective content. It happens and will happen but the question Jesus poses to us is: “Does it happen for you? Will you accept this story? Will you participate in it?”

          The “you” is both personal and collective. It can be viewed as a “we” but I must say that it is a choice every individual has to make. The kingdom of God is present to us as One who Serves. It is a kingdom whose economy is ordered by a Servant serving servants and inviting his servants to do the same. It feels more like a party, a feast whose Host and Guests are only servants. The citizenship of God’s kingdom consists of servants whose shame has been taken away by the Lord Who Serves. This Lord is our Father who is eager to remove disgrace by his unquenchable love and joy.

          In this season of Advent, as we wait for the second coming of the Lord Jesus, let’s not miss the invitation he extends to experience his humble first coming anew by faith. I encourage you, in whatever simple way you know, to just tell him “Thank you for the gift of love you’ve offered. I receive it gratefully. I place my life in your hands, Lord.”

           

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[i] A.D. Clark. “Slave, Servant” in Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels, ed. Joel B. Green, et. al (Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2013), 869.

untitled prayer

untitled prayer

by troy cady

after Isaiah 61:1-3 & Luke 1:46-55

Anointed One,

You are good news to the poor,

               you make whole the brokenhearted,

               you lead the exiled home

               and liberate the prisoners;

you comfort those who mourn,

               you lift us from the dust

               to adorn us with beauty;

               you immerse us in joy

               and clothe us in praise.

I praise you;

               I worship you;

               I place all my faith in you.

Now move me to show mercy

               as you have shown mercy,

move my hands to fill

               the hungry with good things.

Keep working in me

               until unwavering humility

               becomes my strength;

help me be the lowest servant

               for you, Lord Jesus,

               are the highest love.

In Christ’s Name I pray,

Amen.

the King bearing gifts, a prayer

The King Bearing Gifts

a prayer by Troy Cady

after Isaiah 40:1-11

………………………

Son of David, our King:

We wither like grass in times of drought

but you tend us like a good shepherd.

We fall like flowers when winter approaches

but you gather us as little lambs in your arms

and carry us close to your heart,

preserving our helpless lives.

I offer you my life in gratitude—

because of all that you are

and all that you have done.

I offer you my life in faith,

believing that you are able to continue caring for me.

And I pray in faith that

you would use me by the power of your Holy Spirit

to speak your words of comfort to the lonely,

to be your hands of comfort to the hurting,

and to proclaim to all the good news of your coming.

Help me muster every bit of strength I have

to say with my mouth and

to manifest by my life:

“Get ready! God’s near!

He comes bearing gifts.

He brings forgiveness and grace!

He brings life itself!”

So be it, Lord.

Amen.   

unexpected God, a prayer

Lord,

You have done awesome things that we did not expect.

Who would have expected that you,

pregnant God,

would impregnate us?

We can scarcely comprehend your joy, mercy and grace.

Your love catches us off-guard.

You are filled with blessing,

so you birth blessing in our lives

and you will continue to surprise us.

In gratitude for all you’ve done, I offer you my life;

for all that you are, I offer you my worship.

Now, by the power of your Spirit,

prepare me for what lies ahead.

Prepare me for your second coming.

Stir in me an expectation of the unexpected.

Take my breath away, you who come on the clouds.

Shock me, thief: steal my heart again,

for I keep taking it back.

Claim me, once again, for yourself.

Amen.

why Piss Christ matters

A disclaimer: I am mindful that the title of today's post may be offensive to some and I apologize if that is the case. I selected this title because it is a reference to an art piece by Andres Serrano who, in 1987, took a photograph of a crucifix immersed in a glass of urine. At the time, the photograph caused quite a stir as many Christians were extremely offended by it. My reflections below on this image are an attempt to re-frame how I, as a pastor, see Serrano's work as a potent expression of the heart of Christianity. Honoring the person and work of Jesus may not have been Serrano's intent, but I feel I am free to reinterpret his work because I see in it a humbling reminder of the lengths God went to in order to show his love for us. Thank you for your graciousness in understanding why I titled this post the way I did. Peace to you, Troy

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Advent starts tomorrow. I love this time of year.

During this holiday season, I am especially mindful of the mystery that Christianity presents God to us as someone who has a hometown. Christianity is about God becoming a person who grew up in a tiny, unimportant village in northern Israel.

If that fails to shock us, it’s because we’ve falsely sanctified our faith. During this time of year, we are accustomed to turning the messiness of Christianity into cute, cuddly songs and images. Mary, with her perfect alabaster skin, is magically thin again just hours after giving birth—and baby Jesus never has an umbilical cord attached to him. The straw of the stable must be clean. Surely the ox and donkey did not defecate there. The wood of the manger is nicely sanded and splinter-free.

I think we present the advent of Christ this way because our brand of holiness tends to be disembodied, pure and grime-free. We speak of God in mysterious, philosophic terms—and I do believe this is the source of our most deeply embedded heresy. We imagine a God who rescues from a distance.

“He’s all-loving and all-powerful,” we posit, “so he could have saved us any way he wanted.”  

But, when a friend is dying on the battlefield, you can’t come to their rescue if you’re still in the barracks. To rescue your friend, you have to go in there, all in. Christianity shocks us because the Commander-in-Chief becomes a private in the trenches. He removes his stars and puts on filth.

We may try to find ways to love from a distance but God does not love that way. God’s kind of love is messy and passionate. It’s more like a wet French kiss than a sweet, dry peck on the cheek. God’s love comes so close you can smell his bad breath in the morning.

The cornerstone of Christianity is the incarnation. God became flesh. We tend to emphasize the “virgin” part of the Virgin Birth, but the “virgin” part has no meaning without The Birth. Without the humanity of Jesus, the divinity doesn’t matter. Without the humanity of Jesus, God is just another Platonic Unmoved Mover.

Christianity says God is moved by our desperate situation and so he moves to be close to us. Remember this when you’re watching Star Wars this month: God isn’t a philosophy or an impersonal Force. God became a person.

This God-person, when he was an infant, produced meconium. He urinated and drooled. He had fingerprints and snot. He screamed when he was hungry. He giggled when he was delighted.

When he was a boy he skinned his knees and lost his teeth. He must have gotten sick at some point and vomited. His hair was tangled and greasy in the morning. Many boys fart and play with worms. He had dirty fingernails and smelly feet.

Think about it: he fished and made sawdust. He defecated and drank. He ate eggs and matzah, apples and figs, cheese and fish. He had chapped lips sometimes and probably smile wrinkles when he grew up. He had pubic hair and body odor.

He suffered. He knew pain. He bled and died.

Let that sink in.

God:

Bled.

Died.

Was Buried.

And rose again.

Bodily.

Yes, it was a bodily resurrection.

That matters. The heresy that most threatened Christianity in those early years was the heresy of Gnosticism. The Gnostics, because of their views of the body—and because they wanted to claim Jesus for their own philosophy—asserted that Jesus wasn’t really a human; he only seemed human, they said. It’s called Docetism.

But to the early Christians, if Christ was not human, they were doomed. His life, death and resurrection had no meaning if he wasn’t human. See, by becoming one of us, we now could become like God. And if he hadn’t become one of us, there was no chance for us to become like God. In fact, they believed, God became part of creation to save creation, both human and non-human creation.

God became human because humans have unique agency to steward creation well or poorly. We can destroy this planet if we want (and we are) or we can be healers, like Jesus healed. We pay the closest attention to Jesus’ healing of humans but, in his godly humanness, his healing work also extended to creation when he multiplied the loaves and fishes, and when he calmed the storm for the well-being of his friends. Jesus, as God-Man, is Lord of wheat and walleye if he is Lord of Walt and Wendy.

But, notice: he becomes Lord of Walt and Wendy by joining the gang. This King of janitors does not stay in his throne room. He becomes a janitor and cleans toilets. Yes, it is love that does this, but it is love that compels it, requires it—or it isn’t really love.

This is important to grasp because it tells us something about how we are to love. I am convinced that one of our biggest stumbling blocks is that we try to figure out ways to love people without really loving them--that is to say, without getting close. In a world dominated by social media, I actually think we often operate as if it’s possible to love others without getting close. But it isn’t and that is what God shows us in Jesus. I believe it is Karl Barth who once said, “Grace must find expression in life or it isn’t grace.” That’s the incarnation.  

This has to do with more than just Jesus. The Church as the Body of Christ is part of this great come-close, sweaty love story. The people of the Church are to be the hands and feet of God’s love.

Love closes the gap and, in so doing, widens your world. Get up close and personal with others this holiday season. It’s what God did with us in Jesus.

simon and garfunkel's timeless classic

In 1966 Simon and Garfunkel recorded “Silent Night” with a dissonant twist: they overlaid audio from the seven o’clock news report.

Hidden between the lines of this recording are questions many may be asking this holiday season. If God fulfilled his age-old promises by sending us the Messiah, why is this world still so messed up? Is God’s answer to humanity’s suffering truly good enough? If so, why?

The video represents two conflicting realities. On the one hand, Simon and Garfunkel’s recording suggests that apart from truly living in the spirit of Christ, this world becomes a very complex place, impossible to navigate. It is riddled with violence, greed, politicking, pride, lust and the abuse of power.  This was the state of the world in 1966 and it is no less our state in the twenty-first century.

It should also come as no surprise that these societal stains were just as common in the first century when Jesus was born. Yes, he too was born in a world tainted by vice. Yet, on that night, in a world filled with sin and dominated by evil, the Messiah was born. And in that place, in the cave of Jesus' birthplace...there was only peace, perfect love, joy, and hope. If the cave was a complex place, it was not like the complexity of the world around it; it was only complex because it was filled with a mysterious kind of simplicity: a newborn baby, his mother and father, and worshipers from all walks of life, high and low. In that cave we see a vision of what this world needs. In that space, we see the promises fulfilled.
  

Until that day, when the entire created order will be renewed, may we continue to create pockets of heaven on earth where those enmeshed in the seemingly endless cycle of violence, pride, lust and greed can see God’s promise of redemption fulfilled in their own lives.

A prayer:

Father, thank you that sent your one and only Son into this mess. We confess that this world is still messed up because we have failed to place our faith in the rescue work of Jesus. Teach us now to understand the promises you have made in ages past; promises of watchful care, redemption and forgiveness. Show us how faith in Christ applies those promises to our heart and world today. And remind us that there will yet come a day when all of your promises will be completely fulfilled in your second coming. Help us, until that day, to wait patiently, to serve you with our whole heart, to believe in your promises, to be a light shining in a dark world. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 

the other side of christmas

The Advent/Christmas season is a time of contrasts. Many churches use colors to express this. In the four weeks leading up to Christmas day, many ecclesiastical spaces will be decked with the color purple, and in the twelve days between Christmas day and Epiphany (January 6) the color changes to white.

The same juxtaposition occurs in the season of Lent/Easter. Lent is signified by the color purple and Easter with the color white.

In my ministry with children we tell a story during the four weeks of Advent that begins with these words: “It is now the time of the color purple.”[i]

                                                                                                                                       

The story goes on to explain that purple is the color of kings. In this season, we remember that a king came—and is coming again.

It’s a mystery. Most kings come and go—and that’s it. Most kings do not come-and-go-and-come-again.

But Jesus is not like most kings.

So, in this season, when we especially remember the birth of Jesus, we act as if he still has not yet come. It’s a strange sort of drama, to be sure. It’s strange because, if we really practice this mystery, it disorients us—in a good way.  It disorients us precisely at the time we feel we should be oriented. But the practice of such disorientation is good for us because through it we come to grips with the confusion of existence and the chaos in our own heart.

This confusion and disorientation is echoed at Lent, too. During Lent, when I describe the color purple to the children, I add the idea that “purple is a sad color, a serious color.”[ii] We say this because Lent is a time to remember the suffering of Jesus for our sin, it is a time to come to grips with our own internal chaos. In that respect, we understand why both Lent and Advent are “purple” and we wonder how we didn’t see the “purpleness” of Advent before.  

We typically don’t think of Advent as a sad, serious time because in our culture the weeks leading up to Christmas are happy, “feasting” weeks. But Advent was not always treated this way. Throughout Christian history, the four weeks leading up to Christmas were weeks for fasting that corresponded to the six weeks leading up to Easter. Then, Christmastide (the twelve days after Christmas day) and Eastertide (the six weeks after Easter Sunday) were treated as true feasts.

The contrast is apparent: fast for Advent and feast for Christmas; fast for Lent and feast for Easter. The two cling together because feasting means little if we do not know fasting. Yet our culture tries to make us believe that the best way to prepare for feasting is to simply scaffold our feasting. In America, we build up to Christmas day by going to parties and making extravagant purchases as if we believe it is in our best interest to work up a spiritual tolerance to engorgement. But to pile feasting upon feasting is foolishness. We need both feasting and fasting.

In my ministry with children we portray the two-sided nature of life with objects that are painted purple on one side and white on the other side. I invite the children to try to “pull apart the colors.” The kids and I always smile and shake our heads when each person gives it a go. But, try as they might, they cannot “pull apart the colors.”

I say to them something like: “See? When there is one side, there is always the other side, too. You can’t pull the two sides apart.” But I find it interesting that it is still in our nature to try. Advent, therefore, invites us to consider this paradox: “We do well to remember that all is not well.”

Despite our attempts to confine Advent to a Christmas-happy place, it nevertheless remains a suitable time, a spacious spiritual place, to wrestle with realities that challenge us here and now. Advent is the perfect time to face our own growing darkness, personally and collectively, yet hold out hope the light will indeed lengthen in time. In fact, the faith claim intrinsic to Advent is that such an acknowledgement of darkness plays a key role in ushering in the light. Scientifically, that makes no sense but that is why we need faith. In Advent’s lab, to spot the darkness is to see the light. Yes, it’s a mystery.

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[i] The Complete Guide to Godly Play, volume 3 by Jerome Berryman

[ii] The Complete Guide to Godly Play, volume 4 by Jerome Berryman

God's Tweet

*"The Faces of Easter" by Jerome Berryman (from Godly Play, volume 4). 
Artwork by Peter Privett, Godly Play UK

The great news of Advent is that when God wanted to speak with us he did not just send out a Tweet.

In fact, he didn’t use words at all, even shorthand. In one of the stories I tell children*, the first part contains this paradox: “The Word became a wordless child.”

Though we should have seen it coming, this is unlike anything humans had come to expect of God. By the time Jesus was born, the Israelite experience of God was mediated by the words of the prophets and the midrash of the rabbis. To know God was to meditate on God’s Word.

Though Advent does not negate the fact that God speaks, it unmistakably proclaims that the Word is so powerful he speaks without words. 

Advent thus invites us to practice silence before we presume to speak a single word. Advent is God’s way of taking the word communication and giving it an amputation to save its life. Advent reminds us that the best way to communicate is to commune, to dwell with and to abide. When God sent his Son, it was more messy than mere messaging.

The other day a friend said they have a feeling that, as they age, they have more to say, important things to say, important words to write.

That is likely true. And I believe it is true of all those who keep growing as they age. Anyone who matures in the process of aging will have more important things to say along the way.

But maturity also considers: “What is the most helpful way to say something? And how much needs to be said? And when? And to whom?” We all have words, many words. Maybe our words would carry more weight if we used fewer words, gentler words. And maybe one’s words should be first directed to oneself before presuming those words may be a gift to others. 

Advent gives us pause to consider: In what ways do our words, our many words, engender the wisdom of silence, the quietude of a trusting heart?

I am especially mindful of the great confusion we suffer because of the volume of words we are exposed to every day. It is telling that we need many words now to set straight what news sources may be trusted. It is even more ironic that most people are ready to offer their counterargument to such news stories about news stories. One wonders when there will be a news story about the arguments we have about news stories about news stories.

It is astounding that Twitter, a site predicated on the idea of brevity, overflows with so many sets of 140 characters that it is impossible for any single person to keep up with just .0000001 percent of its active-user content. Yes, that number represents real math.

Yet, this is the platform millions of people follow to hear from society’s media and political leaders, to hear what they have to say straight from the source, in real time. What’s even more sobering are the things these leaders choose to say when they Tweet, the amount of time they spend on words, words, words that will soon be so deep in the feed no one will care anymore what they said by the end of the day.

People often think of the Bible as a long book, but one can read it in its entirety with relative ease in the span of a year. When I consider that countless numbers of humans have been meditating on the same words for thousands of years now, it fills me with awe.

Consider the power of God’s words. We are familiar with them already, even if we haven’t read the Bible lately (or ever).

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.”

“The Lord is my shepherd.”

“Love your enemies.”

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”

“Give us this day our daily bread.”

“Behold, a virgin will be with child and bear a son, and she will call His name Immanuel.”

That verse about Immanuel occurs twice in the Bible: once in the prophet Isaiah and once in Matthew’s account of Jesus’ birth. Matthew adds the note that the name Immanuel means “God with us.”

It is striking that when God came to be with us in the person of Jesus, we hear very few words from him before he is 30 years old and even then his teachings are so brief we can read them easily in one sitting. He taught many times in parables, a form of storytelling so brief I refer to several parables every year in my ministry with children. In fact, I have seen preschool children learn to tell the parables themselves; they are that simple.

What I find amazing about this is that God’s words are for everyone, both young and old. God’s words are simple enough that a child (even a very young child) can reflect on them; yet, God’s words are rich enough that one can meditate on the same words countless times over the course of seventy years and still discover new treasures in them. Consider all that has been written on this simple prayer of Jesus, uttered as he was dying on the cross: “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”  And consider that humankind has yet to grasp the full meaning of those words; it’s unparalleled.

The children with whom I work also learn the first recorded words of Jesus, which he spoke when he was about 12 years old. Note the simplicity: “Why were you searching for me?” he asked. “Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?”

I love how Immanuel’s words to Mary and Joseph came in the form of a question. That should teach us something about our own words. Later, we come to understand why he was in his “Father’s house” and why he replied to their query with another query. He said, “I do nothing on my own but speak just what the Father has taught me.” (John 8:28)

I experience these words as personally challenging, because it makes me wonder how often I speak without first considering if it is something God would say. To what extent do I allow Jesus to be my teacher and, if I claim he is my teacher, do I let him train my tongue?

I still have a lot to learn. I suspect we all do.

Yet, with all these reflections I still marvel, especially during this time of year, that when God wanted to speak to us, he did so not with words but by choosing to be present with us in a wordless way.

In many ways his communing with us was even smaller than a Tweet and yet the message of love has endured for generations and will continue to endure for all generations to come.

I pray we allow that truth to change the way we live in a world swirling with words.