words that say ‘advent’ to me…and a bit of other exciting news

Each year, Sandy chooses a word or phrase that serves as a theme for our holiday season. This year’s word is “merry.” In years’ past, she has displayed “gather” as well as “joy” and “merry and bright” on dishes, pillows, and mementos around the house. One year we basked in “comfort and joy.” I love this tradition. These catchwords and catchphrases are short, relatable, and, yes…incarnational.

The world (much of it, at least) outside our humble little cottage also brands the season by trading greetings that are brought out and dusted off this time of year:

“Merry Christmas.”

“Season’s greetings.”

“Happy holidays.”

”Joyeux Nöel.”

Accordingly, this Holy Advent, I have been struck by the generosity and wonder of another pair of words:

“My people.”

Comfort, comfort my people,”
says your God.
Isaiah 40:1

God, the Eternal, Wholly Other, Transcendent, Invisible, Uncreated, Ageless, Divine Creator and Ruler wants it published near and far that He is not too proud to invoke possessive pronouns when referring to us.

My tribe.

My kind of folk.

My home.

When you love someone, don’t you want to be around them? Spend as much time with them as you possibly can? One of the all-time favorite feel-good Christmas standards is the song “I’ll be home for Christmas.” We swoon to that song because it reminds us of people we want near, those whom we love and miss and cannot wait to see.

The nativity story leaves a prominent trail of breadcrumbs that point to just how much God wants to be near us. The Lord appealed to Joseph through his dreams. Angel Gabriel brought big news to a poorly adolescent girl. A holy choir of angels appeared in the visible sky before an audience of lowly shepherds. The Magi were given a very specific roadmap to visit the infant Messiah. God is personable, reachable, and knowable.

The word that startled the slumbering world on that first Christmas was “Emmanuel.” God with us. You can’t get away from the theme…it’s shot all through the nativity story and beyond. (I mean, must we look any further than a Messiah on a cross who looks at His best friend and tells John to take care of His mama when He’s gone?) And that’s how the Almighty Father has planned it. From Mary’s dramatic assent to offering the womb that would carry the Babe of Bethlehem to His taking on human flesh and being swaddled in earthly vestments, the divine imprint upon humankind has taken hold.

As it also says in Hosea,
I will call Not My People, My People,
and she who is Unloved, Beloved.
And it will be in the place where they were told,
you are not my people,
there they will be called sons of the living God.

Romans 9:25,26

The Lord could have called us “subjects” or “bots” or “playthings.” Pets. We could be nothing more than experiments or throwaways to His almightiness. If we didn’t know better, He might be inclined to turn His magnifying glass on our pathetic beingness and take sadistic pleasure in burning us to cinder like ants. But no.

A God who weeps with us, sings over us (like Mary undoubtedly did as she cradled the Christ Child), who covers us with His wings, keeps His promises to us, prays for us, and speaks to us in our dialect, is the God revealed to us in the scriptures. He’s a people Person.

So, this Advent, may God’s “My people” hit you like it hits me and stir inside you the merriment that you are God’s kind of people, proven in the incarnation and His abiding Presence within.

If I may, I’d love to share with you some exciting news. As I intimated in the last post (over five months ago), I have been working on a manuscript, Though He Fall, that has been, technically, over 40 years in the works. I’m pleased to let you know it will be ready to order in the next few days (paperback version only for now). Keep your eye on my blog site for a follow-up post soon which will detail the when and where of the book and how you can order.

Thank you, beloved. You each have been an invaluable part of my journey, and I’m so happy I could share my news with you first. You are my tribe, my people.

Merry Christmas, people of God!

sing with me

Come, let us sing for joy to the LORD.

Psalm 95:1

Back in the day I was “a singer who happened to preach.” It all started with “The Fire” followed by “Whatever It Takes.” Those were the most requested. Over 10-15 years there were so many others, plus three self-produced albums with several songs I wrote. Songs for Sandy, songs for Graham, songs about my story, but all for Jesus.

One of my favorite audiences were the disabled. They wanted to hear “Home Free.” Tears everywhere. I even got to sing it onstage with Joni a couple times.

Because of my brokenness and disability I gravitated to songs geared for the suffering. Christine Wyrtzen’s album, For Those Who Hurt, struck a chord that has stayed with me to this day.

Does Jesus Care, Tears Are A Language God Understands, Peace In The Midst Of The Storm, just so many. My college friend Kim wrote a song around the time of my accident, God Makes No Mistakes, which I’ve sung a ton of times with Sandy at the keyboard. Pow.er.ful.

Jesus Led Me All The Way. Goodness, I’m waxing nostalgic today. I’ve Never Been Out Of His Care. Oh yeah, that one too.

It wasn’t really a dream of mine to be a “singer who happened to preach” but the other way around. I love to sing but preaching is my calling. Still, I jibe with the occasional tickle to sing to the church again, especially for the wounded ones who weekly (weakly?) sit in our pews. Maybe one more shot at Home Free for my friends at Handi*Camp or Christian Overcomers. Perhaps a reunion with Joni. Or a duet of My Savior First Of All with Sandy.

I suppose what has me musing and all misty about the ministry of song today was a rabbit trail I took in Psalm 95. “Come, let us sing…” The middle verses got me humming a certain Maranatha chorus I heard long ago. You’ll know it too. The first part of the psalm is nostalgic and celebratory. The last refrain reminds us the Church gathered isn’t always a pretty sight.

The truth is we are a wilderness people and when we gather together to worship our Lord, we are worshiping him out of our desert places. Look around next Sunday. Watch the people. No one has it all together. Nobody has arrived.

Many of the people who assemble on Sundays have come through a week out in the wilderness and haven’t fared so well. Some have had seven days of Meribah. Others may have gotten testy with God or they’ve failed in the way and fallen flat on their face. Here and there are those who are losing faith in the whole process. A joyful number have manna on their breath and are just riding that high.

It’s a safe bet no one’s face will shine so brightly they’ll have to cover it. Probably not even your pastor.

Somebody will be there who feels out of place because they come from a lesser tribe, a labeled past. You’ll know them because they barely lift their eyes.

More than one will come with one foot in promise and another in Egypt. Some of those may even have a golden calf still hiding in their closet somewhere.

To your left might be a once-gifted-leader who blew it big time and is just a shell of the man he once was.

There will be a worshipper nearby who remembers all too well the leprosy of her sin. Her friends remember it too.

A great many however, will have stood on the banks of the Sea and seen God make his name famous. They will, as the first verse in the very next chapter says, “Sing to the LORD a new song.” Such are witnesses to the waters being lifted up and pushed aside, making a way for them to pass through on dry land. They can tell you about that day. Some will weep in worship, others will dance and clap. Some will just stand there shaking their head, still in disbelief.

“Come, let us bow worship and bow down…”

So sing we will, with desert sand between our toes, because Jesus came and changed the Story. To that end “A Christian should be an alleluia from head to foot,” said Augustine.

Through him then let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of our lips, acknowledging his name.
Hebrews 13:15

I want to sing. I want to sing all those songs I mentioned above, but I don’t want to sing to you; I want to sing with you. A choir, no solos. Broken saints, doubting saints, beleaguered, tired, whipped saints, happy saints, all. “Come, let us sing!” Sing with me, will you?

What shall we sing?

P. S. Here’s the song that started it all for me:

big, big house

In my Father’s house are many rooms…I am going away to make ready a place for you.

John 14:2

By the time they arrived The Dwelling would be set up.

Numbers 10:21

Its a big big house
With lots and lots of room

“Big House,” Audio Adrenaline

No doubt we are all familiar with the revelation of Jesus in John’s gospel, “In my Father’s house there are many rooms…” Your Bible might read ‘mansions’ or ‘dwelling places.’ Those exciting words conjure up all sorts of images and get us giddy for glory. Big ole mansions for everybody. Streets of gold. Gates of pearl. Pity the person who settles for “a cabin in the corner of glory land.”

I recall in my youth how I stumbled over the translation “rooms” and got sad because I didn’t want another version of my bedroom in heaven. I wanted a big ole house with a big ole yard all to myself!

At 62-years old I think I’m starting to mature. Yours truly was reading from the book of Numbers recently and caught a really cool shadow of our future ingathering to Glory. I camped awhile in chapter ten as the glory-cloud hovered over the text.

And the Kohathites set out, carrying the articles for the sanctuary; the tabernacle was to be set up before they arrived.

Numbers 10:21

Let the reader understand. The Kohathites were responsible for the most holy objects in the tabernacle: ark, altar, veil, table, lampstand, etc. Whenever the Israelites camped, before any tents were pitched, the tabernacle was the first thing set up. In went the Koathites, carrying the Sacred Objects.

When Israel decamped, it all happened in reverse, with the tabernacle dissembled and the Sacred Objects carried out first. First in, first out. God was always out in front. Always. It’s a beautiful picture: before any of the tribes arrived, God was in place, waiting for them.

In those days the tabernacle was always moving, always mobile, mile after mile, battle after battle, set up, break down, backward, forward, another day, another long night of the soul, another leg of the journey… starting to sound familiar, fellow temples?

But one beautiful day a permanent house — with rooms (1 Kings 6:2-8; 1 Chron. 9:33; Ezek. 40:5-36) — was built. It suddenly dawned: when Jesus said, “I go to prepare a place for you,” and in his house are “many rooms” this is the picture of that.

We get caught up in the idea of heavenly “dwelling places” and romanticize about our having “mansions” in gated communities but that is not the picture Jesus was painting. He’s showing us his house is a Temple in which he is its Center. And there we will ABIDE with him, and he will ABIDE with us. Forever.

Soon and very soon the trumpet will sound and every nation, tongue, tribe, and ethnicity, Jew and Gentile, saved in Christ will, in their turn – the dead in Christ first – leave the wilderness behind, enter the wide open gates, and find our home ready.

Come, ye Judah!
Come, ye Issachar!
Come, ye Levites!
Come, Manasseh!
Come, Zebulun!
Reuben and Simeon and Ephraim, Come!
Come along, Benjamin and Asher and Gad!
You too, Dan!
And Naphtali!
Come, Egypt!
And you, Rahab and Babylon, Come!
Philistia and Tyre, yes you!
Come with us, Hobab!

Time out. Who? Hobab? Read on in Numbers 10 and we’re introduced to Moses’s brother-in-law. When Israel was breaking camp after a year-long stay at Sinai, Hobab was going to opt out. Moses wasn’t having it.

“Come with us, brother!” Moses pleaded.

“Nah, I think I’ll just meander back to my people,” Hobab replied.

“Nonsense,” protested Moses. “We need you! We’re your people! There’s room!”

One of my favorite kingdom parables is the story of the Great Banquet. Invitations were sent out to all the Host’s family and friends. From the jump everyone’s intention was to go; it would be the social event of the year! But as the date for the banquet drew near, every last one bailed. Excuses, excuses.

Long story short, the Master of the House was not happy. He instructed the servants to go up and down the alleyways, into the red light district, through Shantytown and all over creation, and “compel them to come.” He stipulated that he wanted his Big House filled.

Come with us, Hobab. We’re going to see the King!

“I want my house teeming with children,” the Lord of the Feast says.

It’s a big house, with lots and lots of room. Rooms galore. Ample space.

Roomy…with a view of Jesus.

Selah, my friend.