T.S. Eliot’s famous poem, The Waste Land, begins with the words, “April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire.” He was wrong. January is crueler by far. It mixes hope with reality, a more volatile combination.
The hopes are perennial, like the mums that awaken each year in my shrubbery bed. We may say we’re beyond making resolutions, but when the ball drops onto January 1, we’re thinking “New Beginning.” And with the new beginning comes new initiatives, which break through the soil of consciousness as resolves. “This year, with a little more effort, discipline, or maybe awareness, I will be better, do better, or achieve better in some particular part of my life.” Can’t help it. We’re born to hope, no matter how many previous resolutions we’ve let quietly die. The Great Seal of the state of South Carolina has everyone’s motto engraved in Latin: Dum spiro spero --“While I breathe, I hope.”
The hopes of January push us forward, while the realities of January push us down. The daily news reminds us it’s a tragic world where most people are narrowly concerned with keeping themselves warm and content. The December expenses and tax forms tag-team against us in the mailbox. The twinkling lights and indulgent fragrances of Christmas are gone and we have to face the same old work, the same old home, the same old everything, and yes, the same old self. Disillusionment and depression control the market in January.
The realities of January convict us with our limitations and failures. The hopes of January convict us with what could be. That is a powerful combination, January or anytime, because together they demand we admit our need of a Savior. And suddenly, Bethlehem’s famous son is insufficient as an infant in a manger. We need the Son of God, who boldly strides through our darkened and doubting hearts with redemption and real transformation in his hands. We need the divine Word-made-flesh to upgrade our earth-bound hopes with visions of the earth receiving its king. Babies are disarmingly cute and welcome us close into the warmth of love. But babies cannot stand in the gap for us, protect us from that which would undo us, direct us in the fray of conflict, or sacrifice on our behalf.
No wonder the ancient Church established the season of Epiphany following Christmastide. Epiphany means to “show forth” and re-tells the gospel stories in which the divine nature of Jesus shines through His humanity. In this Jesus of Nazareth, we see revealed the living God of purity, justice, and grace, who calls us to worship him in spirit and in truth.
We need reminding that the one we come to worship is the One whose holiness causes all creation to tremble. We must stand alongside the first disciples and remember our faith is more encounter than comprehension. In worship, we come before the Mysterious Christ, who brandishes mercy as a two-edged sword, slashing through our false goodness, pride, and pretensions of control, while surgically reshaping our hearts into His dwelling place.
Living in a land that applauds casual faith and callous consumerism -- and so bent on warfare as the only road to “peace,” we need Epiphany more than ever. Epiphany began on January 6th and leads us through weekly wonders to the ash-marked gate of Lent. It can be a time of true beginning for you and me, if we let the holy mystery of Christ’s presence become the source of our discipline.
January, the cruelest month says, “Get real, get ready, and get the help you need.” Epiphany responds, “Our help is in the name of the Lord, who still makes the heavens and the earth, and you and me, and gets into our world so we won’t forget it.” So be it.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Broken Things
The other day a shoebox appeared on my desk in my home office. The handwritten label caused me to stop and see what it contained. Inside were a bracelet and a necklace that obviously needed repair. That was most appropriate, since the writing on the box said, “Broken things – for Daddy to fix.”
I wasn’t surprised at having the items brought to me. One of the pleasures of being a Dad is getting to play Mr. Fix-It. Broken toys, decorative items, jewelry and even electronics are brought to Dad to work some kind of “make it better” magic. Many times I’ve glued, re-shaped, stitched, untangled, patched and/or simply changed the batteries, to fix the broken offering. And “offering” is the correct word here. The item itself was not being offered to me as something to possess, but in bringing it to me, my child was offering a confidence in me.
This is an honor not to be taken lightly – to have a child place their trust in you. I always try to fix what I can, but not everything can be fixed. And when I tell her, I once again receive the gift of her confidence, “O.K., Dad,” she says (even when disappointed), “thanks for trying.”
As I sat looking at the box I realized it held some lessons for me. Its mere existence is a statement that my child expects things to get broken. We know life is going to have its broken things, and perhaps we need to have our own “box” ready. That sounds so simple, and yet how easy it is to forget it. For instance, do you get flustered when things don’t go as you planned, or frustrated over interruptions? Do you set aside resources to see you through the broken times? Are you able to make allowances for others, who in dealing with their own broken-ness, don’t live up to your standards? Have we really learned to expect broken things in this life?
The second lesson of the “Broken Things” shoebox is that it’s better when you don’t keep the broken things to yourself. My daughter expects things to get broken, and created the box to bring such items to my attention. Not only that, she comes to her Mom or me when there are things that won’t fit in her box - things such as disappointments in a friend, hurt feelings, apprehension over a test, or maybe even uncertainty about what she hears on the news. She’s still young enough to remember what a lot of us adults have forgotten. We need one another to help us deal with the broken things of life.
On any given Sunday the congregation is full of people who are privately holding on to broken things in their lives. They may be struggling with conflicts at home, pressures at work, disappointments in themselves, or uncertainty about their world and their future. We know it’s OK to admit physical broken-ness and ask for prayers. But to place any other type of broken-ness in the box feels like admitting weakness or failure – things that reveal just how human we are.
The shoebox on my desk makes me think of the people in my life to whom I can go with broken things. First of all there’s Cynthia, my friend, soul-mate and wife, who loves me as I am. There’s my family, who by fate of blood line or marriage, has to put up with me. There are certain colleagues, those who have joined me in investing trust into our friendship. And there are friends who have risked admitting and acknowledging the presence of broken things in our lives, and have demonstrated acceptance and love. These are the people who make Christ real to me.
Who are the ones to whom you can hand your “shoebox?” Have you taken them for granted or have you found ways to show your appreciation for their presence? Have you become content with one or two to take care of your stuff, or have you risked finding others, who may themselves need to bring their “shoebox” to you? And, most importantly, are there those with whom you can together take your broken things to God?
A final thought comes from the shoebox. When my daughter puts something in the box, she leaves it there and goes on off to play. Kelsey trusts I will take care of it. I know the “Broken Things” shoebox won’t hold many of the important things that will one day need to be fixed. There are some things just too big for any such box – any many things far beyond my ability to repair. My prayer is that she, and I, and you, will have learned to take such things to God, and to leave them there in His care – to make our offering of trust because of Christ’s offering for us. Isn’t that what it means to be a child of God? For you are all the children of God by faith in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3:26) - 2001, Stephen
I wasn’t surprised at having the items brought to me. One of the pleasures of being a Dad is getting to play Mr. Fix-It. Broken toys, decorative items, jewelry and even electronics are brought to Dad to work some kind of “make it better” magic. Many times I’ve glued, re-shaped, stitched, untangled, patched and/or simply changed the batteries, to fix the broken offering. And “offering” is the correct word here. The item itself was not being offered to me as something to possess, but in bringing it to me, my child was offering a confidence in me.
This is an honor not to be taken lightly – to have a child place their trust in you. I always try to fix what I can, but not everything can be fixed. And when I tell her, I once again receive the gift of her confidence, “O.K., Dad,” she says (even when disappointed), “thanks for trying.”
As I sat looking at the box I realized it held some lessons for me. Its mere existence is a statement that my child expects things to get broken. We know life is going to have its broken things, and perhaps we need to have our own “box” ready. That sounds so simple, and yet how easy it is to forget it. For instance, do you get flustered when things don’t go as you planned, or frustrated over interruptions? Do you set aside resources to see you through the broken times? Are you able to make allowances for others, who in dealing with their own broken-ness, don’t live up to your standards? Have we really learned to expect broken things in this life?
The second lesson of the “Broken Things” shoebox is that it’s better when you don’t keep the broken things to yourself. My daughter expects things to get broken, and created the box to bring such items to my attention. Not only that, she comes to her Mom or me when there are things that won’t fit in her box - things such as disappointments in a friend, hurt feelings, apprehension over a test, or maybe even uncertainty about what she hears on the news. She’s still young enough to remember what a lot of us adults have forgotten. We need one another to help us deal with the broken things of life.
On any given Sunday the congregation is full of people who are privately holding on to broken things in their lives. They may be struggling with conflicts at home, pressures at work, disappointments in themselves, or uncertainty about their world and their future. We know it’s OK to admit physical broken-ness and ask for prayers. But to place any other type of broken-ness in the box feels like admitting weakness or failure – things that reveal just how human we are.
The shoebox on my desk makes me think of the people in my life to whom I can go with broken things. First of all there’s Cynthia, my friend, soul-mate and wife, who loves me as I am. There’s my family, who by fate of blood line or marriage, has to put up with me. There are certain colleagues, those who have joined me in investing trust into our friendship. And there are friends who have risked admitting and acknowledging the presence of broken things in our lives, and have demonstrated acceptance and love. These are the people who make Christ real to me.
Who are the ones to whom you can hand your “shoebox?” Have you taken them for granted or have you found ways to show your appreciation for their presence? Have you become content with one or two to take care of your stuff, or have you risked finding others, who may themselves need to bring their “shoebox” to you? And, most importantly, are there those with whom you can together take your broken things to God?
A final thought comes from the shoebox. When my daughter puts something in the box, she leaves it there and goes on off to play. Kelsey trusts I will take care of it. I know the “Broken Things” shoebox won’t hold many of the important things that will one day need to be fixed. There are some things just too big for any such box – any many things far beyond my ability to repair. My prayer is that she, and I, and you, will have learned to take such things to God, and to leave them there in His care – to make our offering of trust because of Christ’s offering for us. Isn’t that what it means to be a child of God? For you are all the children of God by faith in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3:26) - 2001, Stephen
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