This is a classic good news/bad news scenario. The bad news: we are as weak, as fragile, and as temporary as a blade of grass. The good news: our enemies are grassy as well–and God is good, and big and strong, and he’s coming.
I love the two pictures of God here. He’s a fearsome warrior-king with big biceps. And an affectionate shepherd who cuddles lambs next to his heart. The God who’s coming is strong enough to take care of us, and he’s tender enough that he won’t crush us in the process.
On a different topic, I wonder why this messenger might be afraid to share his news, or why he might be tempted to mumble his message. I guess it might take some guts to say, ‘God’s here!’ when no one else can see God yet. It might have been easy for the Jerusalemites to say, ‘Really? Then why are we still in Babylon.’ In a different way, and perhaps to a lesser degree, I think it can feel a bit naive to be the one during the holiday season who’s willing to be hopeful and expectant, to say, ‘I think God is about to do something new.’ It could all too easily provoke a roll of the eyes, or a cynical,’I've heard that before.’ But maybe a bit of naivete is worth it when we’ve got such good news to share:
‘We may be weak. But God is the exact right combination of strong and gentle to help us.’
December 2, 2009 at 1:41 pm |
As always good stuff Brian. The tension between a cynical response to our naive hope in God seems to be a constant challenge.
December 2, 2009 at 2:05 pm |
This makes me think of that scene from Elf you used in a sermon awhile back, where that one girl stands up and sings that totally awkward Christmas carol, trying to drum up enough holiday spirit to make Santa’s sleigh fly. It feels idiotic to be that girl, but yet so much happens when we’re brave enough to try (or at least that’s the promise).
December 2, 2009 at 3:09 pm |
Yes. That scene captures it so well. I remember feeling some of that same vulnerability when we first decided to go to two services. We had one not-quite-full service, and fall kickoff was coming up. We had a big meeting to discuss going to two services. It felt very risky: what was a full and vibrant service could be two lame, very small services if no new people came. We debated it back and forth for a long time. Then, Dave said, ‘I guess it comes down to what kind of church we want to be. Do we want to play it safe, or step out expecting God to do something?’ We decided to try two services, and it worked out really well. But I was really nervous ahead of time. I was the logistics coordinator that morning, and I remember thinking the whole time, ‘Am I just setting up chairs that no one is going to sit on? It made it all the more exciting when both services were full. Of course, there have been a few other times where I have, in fact, put out chairs that no one sat in. But I do like the kind of person I’ve become, and I think all of the mild disappointments are worth the times where it really happens.
December 2, 2009 at 10:29 pm |
I think of the words to a song I used to sing in grade school: “We are weak but He is strong.” What a great message to share. I feel that it relieves the burden of having to be an example of anything but God’s mercy and compassion.
December 5, 2009 at 12:47 pm |
I’m helped to see the eye-rolling cynic as the alternative to the ever-hopeful revivalist. I can get a little annoyed with the “revival is breaking out” here or there or just about to (but only if I’ll go to another church meeting and give big in the offering).
If I consider that there’s something innocent and hopeful (and biblical) in that “God is coming” posture, and its alternative may be to become a harumphing “God doesn’t do that anymore” dispensational radio demagogue, that kind of puts a different spin on how well my annoyance may serve me in the long term.
Perhaps a different kind of eye-rolling is in order. The kind that comes with a bemused smile, and “okay, why not?” The product of a waiting, expectant heart.
December 5, 2009 at 2:58 pm |
Christopher, I like the bemused smile approach. I’ll aim at least for that.
I think what this passage most makes me think about is not the actual odds of ‘revival breaking out’ or Jesus returning again at any specific moment in time, but what kind of person I want to be in the waiting.
I know I don’t want to be the eye-rolling cynic.
I also don’t want to be some fever-eyed zealot who proclaims revival too easily, or Jesus’ return too certainly.
I think I’d like to get to the place of quietly and confidently maintaining a posture of, ‘God is coming. Anytime. Maybe now, maybe when I’m 80, maybe on stardate 8128.’ It seems like a hard place to find and remain.
By the way, I think it’s worth avoiding both eye-rolling and fever-eyes because, from the story we’re reading together, they both have a pretty high likelihood of missing what God is actually doing. As the Isaiah 9 passage tells us, this great warrior-king-cum-loving-shepherd comes in the form of a child from Galilee–too improbable for the eye-rollers, and too plain for the fever-eyes. Almost nobody believed it when it happened, even though they’d been quite explicitly told it would happen 700 years before.
December 5, 2009 at 2:20 pm |
The end of this passage “He gently leads those that have young” was my mantra as a parent of young children. I was desperate for God to lead me, knowing how dependent my children were on me yet also painfully aware of how weak and incapable I was. Now that my ‘young’ are older, I still am desperate for God’s gentle, but very powerful, leading.
December 11, 2009 at 5:31 am |
[...] Maybe Mary is taking the ‘bemused smile’ approach Christopher posits in his comment on Isaiah 40: 6-11. Then again, maybe I’m just projecting my own need for confirmation on to Mary. Elizabeth [...]
December 21, 2009 at 5:30 am |
[...] Today’s passage reminds me of our Isaiah 40: 6-11 post: [...]