Another year, another pageant

Tis the season for bad costuming, wisemen and shepherds, angels running down the isles, straw fights in the stable, and more holiday snack food parties than you can imagine. You can easily find a calendar event for every night in December. There's no shortage of Christmas plays and cheesy scripts. Over time, you get the impression that you've seen it all before. And you have. I have.
And yet, as I sit at the back of a packed, small, country church on a frosty winter night, I realize that there is indeed a magic and a moment in all the overkill of these nativity reproductions. It's the exact moment we find Mary, Joseph & the baby in their makeshift manger, or stable, or cave, or whatever the particular location was. No matter how many times this story is told again and again, even if it be the exact same script and outfits year after year, there's a cautious commotion that erupts when the baby is brought out. From the back row, I watch as heads bob up and down, folks squirm for a better angle, or even stand up at their seat just to get a better glimpse. I too rise to my feet to see just what all the commotion is about. Who is the Christ child this year? Is he real or just a doll? What does he look like? Has he really come? Is this the year? Is this the one? God with us.
Perhaps that's it. Perhaps that's why every year, in churches or drive thru front lawns all over the world this time of year, you find people jockeying for position just to get a glimpse once again of the one they call Emmanuel. Who is it? Could it really be? Is he real?
May we never lose our curiosity of the cradle and the suspense of finding out just who or what awaits us in the manger this year. Merry Christmas!

Already...not yet

I’ve been thinking a lot about this concept of "already, not yet" this Advent season. For some reason, wherever I go, I continue to run into this aspect of already and not yet. The real struggle and essence of “already and not yet” has to do with the kingdom of God. I was reminded of this quite often two weeks ago in Arizona as we toured around the Red Rocks of Sedona.
There’s a chapel built there that juts out as a cross out of a thousand foot red rock wall. It’s a work of art that tourists flock to. I’m standing in the courtyard of the chapel overhearing conversations. One guy runs by catching up to his friend. "Nothing in the gift shop I guess," he asks? His friend replies, “Just a bunch of Christian bullshit.”
If you’re like me, that comment startles you at first. But, then I was saddened by it’s truth. Here’s this beautiful chapel that professes at it’s entry that “Its doors will ever be open to one and all, regardless of creed, that God may come to life in the souls of all men and be a living reality.” And yet, the large sign and stairs to your left as you enter point you down to a gift shop larger than the sanctuary itself, shamelessly selling God in anything from Elvis CD’s to glow in the dark bracelets. The cross juts out triumphantly from this rugged landscape and yet there is a very real reality that it too is far from the kingdom.
Another afternoon, we hiked a towering Red Rock formation. (I’m thankful for a professor I once had who lived through apartheid and taught me that all of us are racist by our fallen nature. We don’t always act it out viciously, but we all learn bias and favor one thing over another). We had reached the summit and climbed on past the trail end to an even more amazing precipice. As we came back down, another hiker had found his way around to this spot too and we told him how incredible it was. So, this young Anglo (I use the term Anglo simply because we had met so many international tourists, I'm not sure if he was American. He just appeared to be Caucasian and speak English) asked us to tell Lizzy and Alice to come around to see this side of the mountain. He had left them sitting back on a rock at the trail end. When we reached the trail again, there were a handful of folks talking, standing around a rock, and two Asian girls sitting there. I said to my brother-in-law, "I don’t think I see a Lizzy or Alice." To which he replied, without hesitation, "I think that’s probably them on the rock." (And it was after all).
Clearly, no harm was intended, but I had simply judged that a name like Lizzy or Alice wouldn’t belong to women of Asian descent or that they wouldn’t be hiking with someone of Anglo descent. It was an unlikely pairing in my mind. (But, then again, so is this theme of Advent in a world celebrating Christmas). My assumption was yet another reminder that while I may be saved by grace, and even called as a pastor, I am not yet the person God intended. The already and not yet was evident all around.

Vortex?

Sedona is known today by many as a popular new age center for spiritual energy. You don't have to look far for a place to have a picture taken of your aura or to visit a UFO store. It is also the locale for a number of energy vortexes. A vortex is a swirling center of subtle energy coming out from the surface of the earth. Apparently, if you are sensitive to the more subtle things, the experience of standing at one of these vortexes, and letting the energy flow into you and through you, can be almost overwhelming. People come from all over the world to experience this.
Saturday, we scrambled up Cathedral Rock in Sedona. (Arguably the most beautiful spot in all of Sedona). You can begin to see evidence of the funnel shape energy as you climb past the twisted bark/trunks of junipers scattered around the rockface. I don't know much about the whole vortex thing, or if I experienced my aura being completely balanced that morning. All I know is that as I lay atop Cathedral Rock surrounded by towering rock "judges" on either side and a solitary rock-hewn figure standing directly between them and me, it felt amazing for wind gusts up to 30mph to sweep over me from all four sides. I thought about the Holy Spirit as a mighty rushing wind. And suddenly it happened. All of a sudden, maybe for only 30 seconds, every trace of wind ceased. There was nothing. Silence. Stillness. And I remembered that it was in the still, small voice or silence that the Lord was present. Vortex, aura, Holy Spirit, whatever you wish to call it. I found myself refreshed that morning as I made my way back down the mountain.

"Grand" scheme

Last week, I found myself traveling out of state for Thanksgiving for the first time ever. I was blessed to join my in-laws for 5 days in Flagstaff, Arizona where we enjoyed the beauty of the West - the Grand Canyon, Sedona and the Red Rocks. As many were stuffing themselves around a table with friends and family, we were adventurous enough to hike down almost 6.5 miles into the bottom of the Grand Canyon. I'm not sure who decided on the name "Grand", but it was that and so much more. The more I think of it, there were little God moments all along the way if I consider how encounters that day may have revealed a little more to me about the nature of God - whether it was a sight challenged bird, a massive buck along the trail, an easy-going brother, or a beaming couple from Chile. As I stood on Plateau Point above the Colorado River, I gazed at an endless panorama estimated to have been carved out over some 1.7 billion years. Two things came to mind: 1) Consider how something as beautiful as this Canyon took a patient process of erosion and how patiently God works sometimes in our lives when we tend to prefer high-speed online. 2) While the 1.7 billion year old vast expanse stood before me, I couldn't help thinking about the contrasting youthfulness of the Church I serve that emerged around 2,000 years ago. It's not so much that Christianity is small potatoes. It's just that it puts 'the daily' in perspective when we find so many little things to argue, worry, and fight over during those 2,000 years. Sometimes we need to see the "Grand" scheme of things rather than get caught up or self-absorbed in what amounts to only a drop in the bucket.

Envious

I'm sitting in the lobby and cafe area of a Durham hotel, snacking on a lite dinner. The only way into this cafe/living space is by card entry or the hotel's front door. A knock at the door was quickly responded to by another guest at a nearby table. After all, it was pouring rain. However, once the family made their way in, it seemed fairly evident they weren't guests. Their conversation was audibly louder than those in the lobby. I could tell the couple who let them in was pondering the same thing. I had been there almost 4 days now and all I had seen were basically working professionals. This motley crew, on the other hand, looked perhaps like a mom, three young children, and a teenager. The meal hostess came out from the kitchen and when she saw them she greeted them warmly and shared hugs all around. They were somehow related or part of her family. "Great," I thought to myself while enjoying a quiet snack. "I bet they showed up just for a free dinner."
Well, It turns out that's exactly what they did. But, almost as soon as I felt that thought escape from my conscience, I felt embarrassed and ashamed. It turns out, I was there for the exact same thing. It was an evening hospitality dinner for hotel guests as a way of making you feel at home. I had not paid for it, nor was I entitled to this pleasant hotel amenity. On top of that, the generous philanthropy of James B. Duke was paying for 80% of my stay.
What is it inside of us that lends us so quickly to rush to jealousy or flirt with entitlement? Luckily, if we take a moment to consider our response, we'll often discover the issue has more to do with grace - a concept we are far from comfortable with. At times, it seems the Church, myself included, considers grace to be a scarce commodity rather than a sustainable resource.
I've always thought the parable of the laborers to be a remarkable gift in the way it pierces our human condition and offers a glimpse of God's nature. "Or is your eye evil, because I am good?" Today it pierced me.

Shining like a burning bush

It seems Fall is finally creeping it's way down the rolling hills and mountain valleys into the piedmont and sandhills. I've finally turned the heat on and there's a chill in the air. Winter is coming, the nights are longer, echoes of death and hibernation are whispered about. And yet, there is still a burst of vibrancy, a last hurrah, in the brilliant colors of leaves or the beaming glow of family gatherings around tables, stadiums, and community grills. I can't help hearing the words of an Ed Kilbourne song running through my head as I wait expectantly for the tree in our backyard to complete its transformation. "This morning, outside I stood, and saw a little red-winged bird, Shining like a burning bush, singing like a scripture verse." I love Fall. I love the chill before the warmth. I love the giant harvest moon just above the horizon in the early evening. Everything, everything, everything is holy now.

Court appearance

If you've never spent the morning in a county courthouse for roll call, you should. For that matter, if you've never sat in on a trial, (district court or superior court) you should.
Usually, you'll hear folks complain and dread being called up for jury duty 1 day in about 7 years. We can't stand to waste our time in the court system. But, there's a forgotten population of folks for which the court system is a way of life. I knew when I stepped in the courtroom that morning, I was in the right place. Words won't do "justice" to describe the scene. But, if Jesus were still enfleshed he'd have been there, hung out there, conversed outside on the steps during breaks. (Of course, you might say he is in flesh in us, and you'd be right. That's why we should probably spend more time there).
There was a hodgepodge of folks packed in that Monday morning. One couple, or family, or aquaintances came in dragging 6 kids with them. None of them could have been over 4 and the youngest of which was being held. Who knows how many times they'd been in a courtroom already and hardly four years old.
During breaks, everyone clears the courtroom to use the phone or restroom, and many go for a smoke or fresh air.
I'll never forget the image I spotted that morning before heading back upstairs to the courtroom. It was one of those little children, (probably around 3 years old), with a sippy cup in hand and climbing the stairwell to the courtroom. No guardians or adults in sight. Just a little man with sippy cup in hand, making his way upstairs for a court appearance. It broke my heart to think what might be in store for that young boy. Was he getting familiar practice for a rocky future? Was it a foreshadowing of things to come, imprinting a cruel destiny before he ever has so much as a chance? I pray not. Not if I have anything to do with it. (And believe me, we all have something to do with it).