When Jesus came into our world, he was not merely a baby that is sweet to the eyes, but he was hope that is sweet to the soul. He didn't just bring hope - like a bag of toys for good girls and boys. No, he was hope.
Hope for salvation - but not salvation from physical persecution. He brought hope for salvation from spiritual persecution. Yet so many, many people missed it. In Bethlehem, most people were busy. Legitimately busy. They had jobs and tasks on their to-do lists. They had school and apprenticeships. Their kids had activities, and didn't they deserve the opportunity to be involved in a variety of activities? They had family to take care of and a pie to bake for a friend. They had been required to travel to Bethlehem for the census, so why not turn it into a family trip and stop by all the local eateries? Everyone in Bethlehem was busy. Busy doing good things. But they missed Jesus. Not intentionally. They would have dropped off a gift if they had known . . . And seriously, why did they miss it? Isn't this what they wanted? They had been waiting so very long. Over 2,000 years. The prophets had predicted a messiah who would bring salvation. Who would bring hope. Hope for what? The Jews were hoping for political freedom. They had fought for hundreds of years against the oppression of other nations and the evil leaders of those nations. Surely this is what God wanted for them - to reduce their suffering and give them hope. What else would a Messiah be good for? We look back at the people in Bethlehem and throughout Israel and wonder . . . how could they miss that? How were they so busy that they didn't know Jesus, God's son, was born? And once they did eventually hear that Jesus was to be a Savior, how could they possibly have thought that he was on earth to give military leadership or political peace? Hindsight is 20/20, isn't it? I hate to break it to you, but we do the same thing. First, we miss him. We are just so busy - legitimately busy - that we miss him. We might catch a glimpse here or there - maybe even at church - but we lose out on the opportunity to really be with Jesus. Second, we expect him to resolve our struggles the way we see best. We want freedom from whatever we think is holding us down. We want relief for our suffering - whatever legitimate suffering - we are in the midst of. But Jesus wasn't born for that. Jesus didn't come to earth to make life here easier. He came to recover the brokenness of sin - not for a temporary time - but for all eternity. Jesus brought hope. Hope that does not disappoint. Hope that is bigger than my comfort or health or happiness. Hope that is forever. For that reason, I can still find joy in the midst of my suffering because I know that suffering produces perseverance and perseverance produces character and character produces hope. And that hope will not disappoint me. Therefore, as I arise early this Christmas morning, I rejoice in the hope of the glory of God (Romans 5:2-4). Merry Christmas!
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Today is the first day of Advent. In recent years, I have grown to love Advent even though I do not adore the holiday of Christmas. So today, as I sat in my chair in the early morning silence, I lit the first candle of the season. Advent means "coming," and John 1:9 says, The true light that gives light to every man was coming into the world. The light was coming. This light that shines in the darkness. This light in whom is life (John 1:4,5). So Jesus came. We celebrate his birth on Christmas. He brought light. He brought hope. He brought joy and peace and love. Didn't he? Because, if we are honest, sometimes this life still feels very dark. Below is a journal entry I wrote in July 2017, just a few days after bringing Katie home from an 80 day hospital stay. As I remember what it was like to sit in the hospital room recently and really struggle to find God, I had the thought that it really is like sitting in the dark. God was there - present, almost touchable, communicating with me - before the lights went out. I know he was. And he said he wouldn't leave me. And I trust him. But then there was such darkness. I couldn't see anything. I couldn't see to the next day. I would cry out to God and my voice would just echo. Where is he? I thought. I couldn't see or hear or feel him. All I could feel was darkness. So I would talk to myself, Remember what he said. He said he wouldn't leave. He said he would not forsake you. Lean on what you know. He has been faithful this far. No reason to believe he won't be faithful now. And as the room began to slowly lighten, I could barely see him, and then gradually more and more. Still there. He never left. He was there in the darkness and in the light. But, oh, how I hate the darkness. If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me," even the darkness will not be dark to you. The night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you (Psalm 139:11-12). I love how this all comes together. Darkness is not darkness to God. Darkness is the same as light to him. Because he doesn't just bring light; He is light. So when the darkness of life becomes so pervasive that I can't see anything, I keep looking for Jesus. And I remember what I learned before the lights went out: The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not overcome it (John 1:5). This darkness will not overcome him. And it will not overcome me. For I will stand to declare the praises of him who called me out of darkness into his wonderful light (1 Peter 2:9).
Blessings during this season of Advent. |
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