Who's Coming to Dinner (Friday Devotional)

“And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.”

- John 1:14

Despite all the traditions and music and food that fill the day, the most memorable aspect of each Christmas tends to be the people you spend it with. For parents of small children, Christmas is remembered because of the glee in your child’s eyes when you reveal that Santa stopped by overnight with toys in tow. For those with big extended families, Christmas is perhaps remembered as the time in which you catch up with cousins you haven’t seen all year. And for all the miles that many will put on the road the next few days getting from one family gathering to the next, the stress of travel tends to fade in your memory, overtaken by the joy of arrival, of seeing the smiling faces of family at the front door.

But for some, it is the absence of family that makes Christmas difficult to forget. The loss of a parent is deeply felt when that parent’s seat at the Christmas dinner table is unoccupied. The person whose family is too far away for travel, or who has no family to travel to, wakes up on Christmas morning saddened by the silence that fills the house. Christmas is expected to be a time spent among loved ones, and when that expectation goes unmet, it barely even feels like a holiday.

Whether this year’s Christmas is spent with dozens of family members and friends or it is a solitary experience, I want to encourage you to spend some time reflecting upon who it is that brought people together that first Christmas in Bethlehem. Because of him, the virgin and the carpenter’s marriage began earlier than planned, with a different start than intended. Because of him, heaven could not contain itself and the sky erupted with celestial praise. Because of him, shepherds left their work behind to see what the Lord had done.

Jesus, from the moment of his birth, was bringing people together who otherwise would not have been in the same zip code. The news of his birth was celebrated by everyone from his parents to the angels of heaven to shepherds in the field to magi from the east, a diverse cast of characters with different backgrounds but the same motivation: to see the glory of the Lord for themselves.

This Christmas, you may spend time with large groups of people or with no one but yourself. But no matter who else is around you, this is the day when we remember that God is with us. He came as a baby boy, meek and lowly, wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. His life would be full of many of the same joys and the same trials that you know today. When he gave his life for yours, he did so not as a casual observer of humanity, but as one who knew the full gamut of human experience—what it was to be tempted, to be joyful, to be betrayed, and to be loved.

So when you think about who you share your Christmas with, I hope you will not forget the one who shared so much with us that first Christmas. Whether your day is busy or quiet, crowded or lonely, the Lord is with you today. May your enthusiasm at his birth match that of the shepherds and the angels, and may you join with believers around the world in celebration—for unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given. Christ came for you, so may you welcome him today.

Love for the Lowly (Friday Devotional)

“O give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, for His steadfast love endures forever. O give thanks to the God of gods, for His steadfast love endures forever. O give thanks to the Lord of lords, for His steadfast love endures forever…It is He who remembered us in our low estate, for His steadfast love endures forever.”

- Psalm 136:1-3, 23

Sometimes the only way to learn something is to repeat it over and over and over again. I have a terrible memory for directions, so when someone calls me telling me where to meet them and how to get there, then if writing their instructions down is not an option, I will repeat those instructions out loud to myself again and again until I arrive at the destination. If you were to pull up next to me in one of those moments, you’d probably think you were driving next to a crazy person, because you’d see me not only talking to myself, but saying the same three things over and over again. But that’s the risk I have to take in those situations, because repeating the directions is the only way I’ll remember what I’ve been told.

Psalm 136 uses repetition in just such a way. It begins by offering thanks to God, then recounts the ways He has been faithful to His people, from the creation of the world to the exodus from Egypt to the defeat of rival kings and armies. In tracing Israel’s history from the beginning to the present, the psalmist punctuates every single act of God with the same profound statement: “for His steadfast love endures forever.” Everything God has done for His people, every victory He has won for them, the psalm says He has done for one simple reason: because He has always loved them and He always will.

But as the psalm draws to a close, the 23^rd verse reminds the people of something powerful—even in their “low estate,” when they were not victorious, God still remembered them, because His love is steadfast and it endures forever. Even when they felt lost and abandoned, God was with them, because His love is steadfast and it endures forever. Even when victory was a distant memory and humiliation an ever-present reality, God had not forsaken them, because His love never falters or fails—it is steadfast and it endures forever.

This season is the time in which we celebrate the fulfillment of this psalm’s promise, when we look for inspiration to a virgin of low estate whom God loved, when we wonder alongside a carpenter of low estate whom God loved, and when we sing with shepherds of low estate whom God loved. As we marvel at their roles in the story of Jesus’ birth, we celebrate most of all that in Christ, God gave us the ultimate proof of His promise. By coming to be with us as a child of low estate, He showed us that He remembered us where we were—that His love was not only with us when we were triumphant, but also when there seemed to be no hope in sight.

The steadfast, enduring love of God is a hope and a promise that extends from the Old Testament to the manger bed to today, from the people of ancient Israel to the churches of North America. No matter how high or low your estate, no matter whether your Christmas is marked by joy or grief, God’s steadfast love endures forever. At your most alone, He still has not left you. When you are ready to give up, He remains there to lift you up. So this Christmas, may the message of Immanuel resonate—no matter how low your estate, God is with you, and His steadfast love endures forever.

Looking for Peace (Friday Devotional)

“For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. His authority shall grow continually, and there shall be endless peace for the throne of David and his kingdom.”

- Isaiah 9:6-7a

In a chaotic world, people search for peace, but more times than not they go looking in the wrong places. They turn to charismatic leaders who vow to bring peace, and they walk away disappointed when the results don’t match the promises. They count on agreements, both public and under-the-table, to maintain peace, and they’re discouraged when one false move renders those deals meaningless. Ultimately, they place their hope in strength (or at least some semblance of it), and desperately hope it will deter anybody from getting the wrong idea.

The simple truth is that we’re bad at making peace. Constructing harmony where there once was conflict doesn’t come naturally to us; any agreed-upon peace is an improvised invention that never feels complete or secure. For example, when you argue with a friend, the tension remains even after the apologies are exchanged—are we really ok now? Is he going to hold a grudge? How does this change things?

No matter how hard we look for it or how much we work to achieve it, peace never feels like something we’ve totally accomplished. Whether while watching the international news or sitting at the family dinner table, we’re always waiting for the next eruption of conflict.

So it as especially at this time of the year that we thank our Lord for giving us peace in the person of Jesus Christ. For in sending the Prince of Peace—first as an infant in a land that was not his home, then as a teacher proclaiming the year of the Lord’s favor, and ultimately as a Savior dying for our sins—God did not merely begin a peace process or meet us halfway. Through Jesus, God gave us what we could not make: peace between heaven and earth, Creator and creation, God and man.

The peace on earth that the angels sang about on the night of Jesus’ birth, the peace that Isaiah prophesied the Messiah would bring to his people, is an undeserved gift from a loving God. He offers reconciliation in spite of your disobedience, a family in spite of your selfishness. Though all you have to offer is childlike faith, God welcomes you home with the open arms of a Father. The peace that passes all understanding comes not from anything you make, but entirely from what He gives.

May that peace guide you, especially in this season of Advent. Instead of insisting on the last word, offer the grace of listening to those you disagree with. Instead of lashing out when you feel wronged, offer the grace of forgiveness and self-control. Instead of giving in to anger and bitterness, look to the grace and mercy of Jesus Christ, who brought peace not with a sword, but a cross. Real peace is not something made by man, but something given by God—may you receive it and share it with a world looking for peace in all the wrong places.

Lighting the Way (Friday Devotional)

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

- John 1:5

When the world seems interminably shrouded in darkness and despair, we feel helpless. Terrorism, racism, war, poverty, disease—at times it seems like too much to take. So some react with anger, calling for bombs to be dropped or new laws to be passed or officials to be fired, but whether such measures are taken or not, the darkness remains, sometimes recognizable and sometimes springing up in a new form. Some react with sadness, weeping at the evil in our world and wondering where it will come from next. And some react with weary apathy, unwilling to expend the emotional energy on problems without solutions and tragedies without consequences.

Whatever form your response takes, it seems to be unavoidably rooted in helplessness and hopelessness. We have come to believe that there is nothing we can do to stem the tide, that we are too small and the darkness is too overpowering. These things, whether mass shootings or impoverished families or terrorist attacks, these things just happen. There’s nothing you or I can do but wait for the next inevitable headline.

Into such a season of darkness steps the light of Advent, the hope of a child born to save us from the sin that haunts us. In the birth of Jesus we are reminded that God is no passive Lord, watching us suffer from a comfortable distance, but that He is the one who became flesh and dwelt among us. In the stories of Mary and Joseph, we are reminded that the Savior was not raised by kings, but by commoners, that no person is too small to be used by God. As we remember that starlit night that angels rejoiced alongside shepherds, we draw hope from the sight of heaven touching earth, and pray that it might be so again.

The hope of Advent is the joy of a promise fulfilled, but it is also the expectation that God’s work is not yet completed, that there is still time to bring people the hope of Christ. As a child of God, may you never be so discouraged by the darkness of this world that you lose sight of the light. Nothing, the angel told Mary, will be impossible with God—may that promise motivate and inspire you to keep serving when you want to curl up in the fetal position, to keep loving when you want to lash out in hatred, to keep hoping when you feel hopeless. For even when the darkness threatens to overwhelm and overpower you, you can assured of this in Christ—the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.