Resolutions

Are you making resolutions today for the coming year? Or have you already decided what you're going to focus on? As you think about all that you want to do and to be and to accomplish in the new year, let me offer you something to think about that is the key - the key - to lasting change: 

Don't make any resolutions. 

Seriously, don't. If you've made resolutions before, you know how difficult they can be. You know how likely you are to break them. You know what it's going to be like in a week or two when you've fallen off, when your passion has waned, when you're not getting where you think you should be by now, and you just give up. You know the tremendous defeat that you will feel in your heart when you fail, yet again, to do something that seems so very important to you. Yet, you just can't do it. 

Here's what they don't tell you, but it's also true: even if you're one of the few persons who can hold onto your resolutions and actually accomplish them, there's not as much satisfaction in that as you'd think. Because once you attain them, you have to keep them going, and that's just as much work. You wouldn't be happy to lose 10 pounds if you just gained it all back. You wouldn't be satisfied to stop smoking if, in six months, you just start up again. Even if you lose 10 pounds or stop smoking, you have to keep the weight off and keep the cigarettes away, and all of a sudden, your resolution has become your whole life. 

It's inherent in the word itself: resolution. It comes from "resolve." It's the kind of head down, intense focus, life-sucking kind of thing that takes everything you've got. You've got to keep your nose to the grindstone at all times. Instead of buckling up for the ride, you buckle down on yourself, tighten your belts, give yourself a short rope. Resolutions are all about defeating yourself. 

Who wants that?

Honestly. Who wants to make a decision that will keep them in constant war with themselves, all in the name of being "better" somehow? Who wants to spend their days fighting against the man in the mirror? It's why our resolutions make us hate ourselves so easily. It's why they make us feel bad about who we are. 

Does that mean we shouldn't think about ways to change in the new year (or any time, really)? Absolutely not. Does that mean we shouldn't think about who we would be if some aspect of our lives were different? Nope. Does it mean we shouldn't let things about who we are bother us to the point of change? Of course not. 

But resolutions aren't the answer. 

The answer...is aspirations. 

We have to think not about what we want to change, but about who we want to be. We have to cast a vision not for stopping, but for thriving. We have to plan for growth, not discipline ourselves into mere difference. 

See, aspiration is based in hope. It's the kind of thing that lets you look up. It's the kind of thing that sets your eyes on something higher, on something better. Resolution makes us lock our eyes to the ground, always watching the next step. It makes us afraid to look in the mirror. Aspiration, on the other hand, straightens our back and locks our eyes up, always looking forward. Always watching. Looking for signs that we're making it - signs you won't see anywhere but in your own eyes as you look at who you're becoming. 

Because that's what it's really all about - it's not about being something better; it's about becoming a better you. It's about drawing nearer to the glory that God has created you for. It's about one faithful step at a time toward a hope that you can see. 

Resolutions only let you see what you need to change - that extra 10 pounds, those cigarettes in your pocket, that frown on your face. Aspirations let you see what's possible - that beautiful dress, more quality time with family, your smile. 

So don't make resolutions this year. Not unless you want to spend the next couple of weeks with your head down, pushing forward toward the unknown and nearly-impossible, only to be buried in shame and guilt in a week or two. 

Make aspirations. Set hope before you. Create a vision not of what needs to change, but of how you're changing. Let your eyes look up. And enjoy the journey. 

What are you becoming this year? 

The Pharisee

A lot is said about the Pharisees in the Gospels, much of it...less-than-flattering. These were the men who had invested their lives in interpreting the Scriptures and codifying them so that the people would know how to live. They held the highest places in Jewish society, in the Temple and in the synagogues. The Jews knew that the way to righteousness went through them; they were the men who "knew best." Or, at least, claimed to. They basically controlled all religious life for the Jews.

Jesus rails against them a lot, calling them hypocrites and snakes. Hypocrites not really because they held others to a higher standard than they held themselves (because we don't see a lot of evidence that they were generally corrupt), but because they proclaimed authority in God's Word but actually claimed authority for their own. And snakes because, well, like the serpent so many thousands of years ago, they twisted God's Word in order to deceive the people. They were pretenders. They had all these grand ideas, none of which were true. 

But let's be honest for a second, too. And let's give them the credit they are due. The Pharisees thought they were doing the right things...at least most of the time. They were doing it with a pure heart, in order to protect the faith from threats. They had the righteousness of the Jewish people on their mind, even if in practice, they made it unattainable. 

We see their purity of heart (though they are corrupt) no place better than we see it in John 11, where the disciple reveals some of the inner conversation of the chief priests - Pharisees, in that day - as they talked about this man named Jesus who had come among them. What John lets us in on is this:

When the chief priests plotted to kill Jesus, they thought they were saving the Jews.

In other words, they thought this new Rabbi and His radical teachings were a threat to the established order of righteousness they had been living by for so long. They thought He would lead people astray from the rhythm of life that the Temple had cultivated since its very foundations were laid. We're prone to think that they considered Him merely a threat to their own power, but this little snippet in John reminds us that maybe they weren't just thinking about themselves. Maybe, as they had from their start, they were thinking about their faith - about all the people of God who were called to live in this way. 

This "new" way offered by this "new" Rabbi might lead a lot of these beloved children of God astray. 

I know it seems like a leap, but it's right there in John. And despite the venom that is often thrown their way, we have to remember that it's very, very rare to find a man who is thoroughly self-absorbed one hundred percent of the time. Even the most selfish man, unless he is a sociopath, thinks occasionally of others. We cannot allow ourselves to believe only the worst of the Pharisees, to think them all sociopaths. 

And that's important. Because we're still living in this kind of world. We are still living in a world where there are a lot of men and women just plain getting it wrong. Whatever "it" is. Even in the faith. There are many preachers who are just plain backward in what they are teaching. I confess that there are many, many things I'm sure I'm getting wrong (not intentionally, of course). 

The question is often asked - what are we supposed to do about this? How are we supposed to put up with this? We think it's our job to go around judging everyone, making sure they're getting it right all the time. Whatever "it" is. Whatever "right" is. But, of course, in doing so, we make ourselves into the Pharisees, becoming hypocrites by putting authority into our own hands while claiming it to be only God's. 

What we really have to do in order to live in a world where a lot of persons are getting it wrong, ourselves included, is to look at the heart of the other. We have to understand not just what someone is doing, but why he or she is doing it. What's the motivation? What's the driving force? 

Sure, you could say the Pharisees killed Jesus out of their jealousy. Or out of their fear. He was a threat to their power and their place in society. 

But John tells us that when they plotted to kill Him, they thought they were saving the Jews. They were fighting for something much bigger than themselves. They were fighting for a way of life that they thought essential to righteousness, to well-living. 

The same is true of most persons. We're prone to fight for something, for something that's exceptionally meaningful to us. Not just to fight for ourselves. Not just to fight for our power or our place or our authority or whatever. We fight for our values. 

How would it change the interactions you have with others, even the mere thoughts that you have about them, if you took the time to figure out what they were fighting for, rather than just assuming the worst? What if you tried to find their values, so you would know what they're trying to do and not just rely on how it's working out for them? 

What if that person who seems so wrong about things, who seems to self-centered or self-absorbed, really thinks he's fighting for you? Doesn't that change things? 

We simply can't judge the world in categories like "right" and "wrong" because the truth is that we're all getting it wrong just as much as we're getting it right. We're limited by our own perspective, by our own experience, by our own vision, by our flesh. That's why every day, we learn something new about God - because we don't know it all, and we can't. 

So we have to judge each other by something else. By the heart. Because it tells us more than whether we're getting there or not; it reveals what we're going for. And that's important, too. 

Rolling the Stone

We jump right back in now to our journey through the Bible, and as a note of administration, we're only now getting into the middle of the Gospel of John, which means this series will run into the new year for a bit (the natural outpouring of reading along with me - I'm about a month behind in my notes because there's so much good stuff to hit on). 

And though we're still lingering a bit in the Christmas season, today's question looks forward a bit toward Easter. The question is this: 

Who rolled away the stone? 

The tomb of Jesus was covered with a heavy stone, as most tombs were in that day. And the common wisdom, since we do not seem to know, is that Jesus Himself rolled away the stone. Or perhaps it was an angel (as Matthew said). Some divine being who came to "rescue" Him from the grave. Certainly, there could have been no human hands on the stone, for that's precisely what the Roman guards were stationed there to prevent. 

What raises this question anew for me is actually not what happened at the grave that day, but what happened at a different grave on a different day. You'll remember this story, perhaps. Jesus is traveling through the region when someone comes hurriedly to Him to tell Him that His friend, Lazarus, has died. Now, Jesus has spent quite a bit of time with Lazarus and his family - stories in which we often hear more about Mary and Martha, the sisters of Lazarus - and He has a certain fondness for them. 

When He finally decides to go to Bethany and arrives where the mourning is still taking place, Lazarus has been placed in a tomb and a heavy stone rolled across the opening. And we're told, Jesus wept. 

Here's the thing: Jesus clearly loves this guy. A lot. He's got tremendous love for this whole little family. It's the only time in all of Scripture that we see Jesus cry; He doesn't even cry at His own excruciating death. So it seems natural to us that Jesus would rush toward the tomb, use His heavenly power to throw that heavy stone to the side, and go storming in to bring His friend out among the living. We want to see Jesus's passion take hold of Him, His deep love reflected in a feat of strength, without a thought or a care as to who's watching. 

But Jesus, we're told, doesn't do that. Instead, He asks others who are present to roll away the stone, and it's implied that it took several of them to move it. 

In the same way, Jesus was once Himself on the other side of that stone, separated from those He loves deeply by nothing more than a heavy weight. And we want to have this cinematic (movie-like) moment of passion where He arises, folds His grave clothes, and comes bursting out of that tomb, hurling the heavy stone to the side like it's nothing...just to get to us. 

What if that's not it, though? We have absolutely no evidence that it is. Nothing in the Scriptures tells us that Jesus Himself rolled aside that stone. Nothing even tells us that the angel, who spoke to those who came to see Him, did it. For all we know, the Roman guards might have become curious about whether or not the body was still in there, rolled the stone aside themselves just to check, and found Jesus standing there, waving at them with a big, silly grin on His face. We just don't know. 

But the story of Lazarus makes me wonder. Because if Jesus uses others to help facilitate one of the most miraculous stories of His earthly life, a story where both His deep love and His incredible power are displayed, then how much more would He invite others into the greatest miracle of all? 

I'm not at all raising the question of whether the disciples "stole" His body; Jesus walked out of that tomb under His own power and in His own flesh. I'm just thinking out loud about who else might have been there. About how that giant stone got pushed aside. 

For if He requested human hands to move the stone that separated Him from the one He loved, how much more would He ask for help to move the one that separated Him from the ones He loves? 

Perhaps it was an angel after all (again, thanks, Matthew). Now that I think about it, that would make sense. Human hands to get Him to Lazarus; heavenly hands to get Him to the world. 

Just something I'm thinking about. Because there's a reason John told us He didn't move the stone Himself. 

The Faith of Jesus

Do you realize that in a slightly different time, in a slightly different place, you would have had the opportunity to actually hold in your very arms...baby Jesus?

There was a time with this newborn baby boy was being passed around, held in the arms of those who would love Him...of those He would love. There was a time when He was swaddled in cloth diapers, a blanket draped loosely around His tender flesh. There was a time when He did everything that little babies do. 

When He would look up at whoever was holding Him with those big, innocent eyes. When He would coo at their touch, smile at their sing-song voice. When He would naturally wrap His little fingers, all together, around one big finger caressing His face. Can you imagine? Jesus Himself wrapping His little fingers around yours! There was a time when He would breathe that great, big, deep sigh that babies have as He fell asleep in the arms of one who He simply trusted, fully and completely. 

Oh, baby Jesus. 

And it's that last little bit that ought to get us. It's those last few words that ought to make us catch our breath. Because the very first thing that Jesus did when He came as a human baby into a manger...was to trust you completely.

He trusted that you could handle Him. He trusted that you would care for Him. He trusted that you weren't going to harm Him, even though He knew the kind of death that He would encounter. Long before you wrapped your arms around Him, He wrapped His little fingers around you. Long before you clamored through crowds to see Him, He giggled through coos to set eyes on you. 

Before He asked you to show Him all of the broken places of your life, all of the shame that you carry, all of the burden you bear, He bore to you His tender places and trusted that you would take care of them. He knew that you would take care of Him. 

Think about that for a minute. Think about the kind of love it takes to come and to say, before I ask anything at all of you, I'm giving you all of Me. I'm trusting you fully right from the start, praying that one day, you will trust Me back.

Before I show you who I am, I have to remind you of who you are. You...are the kind of person whose arms I can fall asleep in. I'm just that into you. I'm just that sure of you. 

Jesus is that sure of you. So sure of you that He believed in you before He ever asked you to believe in Him.

Just something to think about. 

Silent Night

There was a lot of noise for what was proclaimed to be such a silent night. The inn was full, and families were bustling about, busy with those that they loved. Those that they had traveled such a great distance with. Many were tired, but the children were perhaps still running around, too glad to just be settled somewhere to actually sleep. 

From somewhere came the sounds of screaming, a woman in great pain, in agony, but hardly anyone noticed. Maybe no one at all. For there was too much going on in their own little worlds to really pay attention, too much at their fingertips to do much reaching out. They had everything they came with, and even more. A new little family was forming in that inn as the weary travelers connected with one another - perhaps not the first time they had done so, since they had all come back to this little town for the census. This was home. 

Home. 

And yes, this is a story about Jesus - about a little boy coming quietly into the world on a night that was, outside of that stable, anything but silent. But it's also a story about this Christmas - this one right here - where the screams of women, and men, in agony go hardly noticed in all the noise. 

This is a story about something very human, something we don't talk about near enough, but it seems so fitting on this day, on the day in which God Himself became flesh to remind us that we are not alone. 

Because oh so many of us, especially this time of year, feel very, very alone. 

It's hard to fathom, with all the stuff that's going on in the world at Christmas. With all the stories of families traveling to be together, with the shopping centers packed to the brim, with everyone (it seems) doing the same things at the same time - wrapping presents, baking cookies, decorating trees, carving ham. How can you feel alone in the world when the whole world is celebrating the same thing you are? How can you feel alone when your house is literally full of others?

How...how can this be a silent night when the inn is so full?

But that's just it. Because for the lonely in this world, having other persons around doesn't necessarily cure the loneliness. Sometimes, in fact, it makes it worse. Especially at a time like this when maybe others are around, but they've come with their own little families. They have their own group of people with them. They are talking about all of the other places they have to go and all of the other persons they get to see and all of the things they are going to do, and yes, maybe they've carved out these few hours just for you, but for you, this is all you've got. People who come with their people to be at your place for a bit and then leave with their people and leave you...alone again. Only more alone now, because the worst kind of loneliness there is in this world is the loneliness you still feel even when others are near. It's the sting of being a single in a world of groups, of being an outsider among insiders, of being the extra person in the room - even if it's your own room. 

It's the sorrow of having lost someone this year, of feeling the emptiness of a space that used to be so full. It's the grief of not having found someone to spend your life with, the way the others in your life seem to have settled down. It's the pain of having separated from someone you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with, but that person just didn't feel the same. It's feeling all of your insecurities, all at once, in a season that is so full it's bursting, but you...you feel only your own hollowness. 

It's the rejection of being cast out into a stable while the inn is so full, lights on in every room, families settling around tables, daily prayers being called out, screaming....screaming in agony, and no one even notices. It's too loud where they are to notice. 

And yes, Jesus is born in places such as this. In lonely places on the outside, where even the cries of a newborn baby aren't heard, but this is not a post for the lonely. This is not a post to tell you, as your heart aches, that Jesus is near and that He's enough. This is not a post to shame you into Christmas this year because if your faith was just a little bit stronger, it wouldn't bother you that you're lonely. That's all crap, and it's neither Christian nor Christlike. No, this is not a post for the lonely. 

This is a post for all of you in the inn. This is a post for those of you who have your people this year. Who have your families. Who have your spouses. Who have your friends. This is a post for those of you who will enter into someone else's space with your own little clan and leave with the same folks, having spent some time in what is otherwise a desolate place right now. This is a post for you, and here's what I want to say: 

Be intentional about who you're with this Christmas. Be mindful of those who don't have what you have. While you're bustling about in all the noise, listening to the laughter of the little children as they run around, unpacking your things in a new place for the night, settling around your dinner table, a light on in every room...be mindful of the lonely, of the ones cast out, of the ones not connected. Tune your ears to something other than the noise, and hear the cries of those for whom there was no room this year. Don't let the sounds of the season drown you out; open your heart to the silent nights that are happening all around you. And enter them.

Because the worst kind of loneliness in all the world is the loneliness you feel when you're stuck in a stable, well within hearing distance of the party at the inn.