Though I love Christmas lights, I'm pretty sure it was not the Christmas lights. And it was not those automated white-light reindeers whose heads move, ever so slowly, back and forth, back and forth—because those are creepy. But Santa? Well, maybe he was up to Santa. We do, after all, love us some Santa.Tonight we went to Disneyland. There is a really good Santa in the lobby of the Grand Californian Hotel. He is not just any run-of-the-mill Santa, the kind you get at the mall or Swap Meet, the man who has to stretch this paycheck eleven and a half months, with bony legs, who speaks too slowly or too quickly, who keeps wiping his nose or blinking ferociously, the man who’s glad that this is the only job where being hired to work with children does not require fingerprinting or a background check. No, our Santa was of the very best kind: Disney-approved, kid-friendly, kind to all, and (Disney makes sure of this) naturally jolly. As you can see, Avery loved it.
Just kidding.
Now, to see her process all that raw fear—she cried and kicked, and she screamed, and she pulled and pushed and fought against us and him—around that big man with the beard, that fat man in the red suit, this nice man who came complete with an authentic wink and laugh, well, it reminded me that I have a my own deep-seated fear of Santa.
My fear: the white gloves. You heard me. The white gloves. They strike me as evil, as lurking. They creep me out. Why? They're skintight. They’re hiding something. They beg you to trust them, to never doubt them, and this is itself very suspicious. Have you never heard not to trust a man with tailored white gloves? Well, then, hear it now from me. It is common sense. It should not be questioned.
Still, I shook his hand tonight. I had to. He put it out for me to shake, and there were people watching. And I am no coward. I am a man and a father. Besides, I could never get away with Avery’s behavior. So when his nasty glove touched my hand, it sent shivers all throughout my body.
Avery is not more scared of Santa than her father is—no. She only has more access to her feelings than he does. And that's good. That’s very good. In fact, it is beautiful beyond imagination. She doesn’t need a moment to reflect—she just feels, and she feels hard and raw and without pretense or prejudice. If she’s afraid, she cries; if she’s happy, she laughs. It is that simple, and it is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen, and I am both glad for her and jealous of her. I hope this is something that does not change about her—for, Santas aside, she will need this skill someday.Now, I'm not bashing our silly Christmas traditions. We all love them (save the white gloves). I'm just pointing out that our version of Christmas is a far cry from what Jesus’ birthday was really about, is a far cry from what Jesus was really up to. I imagine Jesus picturing Christmastime, two thousand years later, and I see him let out a breath, shake his head, and laugh a little at what it will become—not the arrival of God and his purposes, but a commercial success. I mean, how did we get from the raw reality of “Pregnant Teen Gives Birth under Cow in Dung-Laden Shed” to our version, complete with puffy sweaters and Chia Pets and O Christmas Trees and trying to find parking for half an hour at the mall?No matter. None of these are bad. But it does remind me to wonder, “What he is up to?” We sing “Silent Night,” and we put out nativity scenes, and we remind ourselves that Jesus came to die for our sins—and that was what he was up to, right? But is it? Is that really it? Is that all Jesus was up to?Though I passionately believe that Jesus came to forgive sins, I also believe that that's not all he came to do.Recently, I've been challenged—and now I invite you—to think about his death on the cross and his resurrection and his ascension back to his Father. It seems to me that the three of these, if we had to be brief, describe the total the work of Christ.In my faith tradition, I hear about how “Jesus died for my sins"—but this is only one-third of his work. It is, however, true: he did die for my sins, and I am grateful. I receive his death, and through his death I am crucified to my former life. But he was also raised from the dead for my sake and yours, and then he ascended to the right hand of the Father, also for my sake and yours. In his death, I die to my old way; in his resurrection, I become awake to a new way; in his ascension, I'm given authority like his. He offers us all of his work. And we are invited to receive it.But, before I continue, let me pause: You may be wondering whether I am about to diminish Jesus’ death on the cross. Well, no—it is far from my desires to do any such thing. The death of Jesus by crucifixion, apart from being a horrific proof of God’s love for me, of God’s willingness to suffer that we may be one, is a central image of the story of Jesus. It is no mistake that Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, would change an essential Jewish ceremony, established by God about fifteen hundred years prior—Passover—into an image of his own death, asking us to remember his body and blood whenever we eat (—I, for one, eat at least three times a day, and so am asked to remember his death for me quite often). I know that all kinds of love and suffering had gone into the preparation of Jesus’ death on the cross for me, and I am humbled by the thought of it, and I do acknowledge it, and I give thanks for it, and I sing out my praises of God for such a devoted act of love. I am unworthy to receive his death, and this is a part of the wonder of the grace which God extends to me.
Largely, though, the church has merely offered me the fact (and it is a fact) that Jesus died. And when you focus on only this one-third of the work of Christ, the point becomes getting people "saved." And what we mean by "saved" is this: a one-time event when you agree with your heart that Christ died for your sins and that you could not have done it without him; but the focus here is that of being in rather than out, and this view can take an ugly turn (for its exclusivity): it is common for anyone who lives by it to enter a world of pride, of judgment, of legalism. Before they know it, these have accepted a set of standards that begs them to say and believe, “I belong and others do not,” which, really, is the opposite of the example of Jesus’ own life and work.
All that is very sad, and something we must work against.
So, while I believe in the importance of acknowledging our sins, our powerlessness to improve our condition, our impotence if not for Christ's death, I wonder (having been in church all my life) if anybody knows how to articulate what to do after we get "saved." After that one-time event, I ask you: How shall we carry on?Honestly: I don't think many people know what comes next.
Please, take a quick look with me at the many forms of evangelicalism. Remind yourself of your experience in the church; think of the many Christians you know and love. Does it not seem that, for the most part, we Christians believe—and if we do not actually believe, then we act as though we believe—that the rest of our lives, after this one-time event we call conversion, is a kind of waiting? We read our Bibles, and we go to church, and we spend a great deal of energy learning to try harder, to become good people, and we wait for death in a passive state, always looking ahead to all the wonders and splendor of heaven, admonishing one another with Monday-night Bible study groups. But, is this what Jesus was up to? Did he come that we may behave?
I believe that if you are to be honest with me, you will find that Christians do not know what to do to fill up their time. It seems to me that if they were all engaged in some profound calling, that if they understood themselves as a part of a deep and important cause, Christians never would have replaced their after-meal tips with evangelical pamphlets. There would be no street-corner bullhorn sermons, no "turn or burn" evangelism. If they were all really caught up in a profoundly inspiring life, they would not bother wearing bracelets or T-shirts that remind them to do what Jesus would do, or to Fear Not. Nobody would have made up all that crazy stuff—because there would be no need for the hokey commercialism, Christian-style.
I wish that the guy who started Christian bumper stickers—“Real Men Love Jesus” or “It’s Hard to Stumble When You’re On Your Knees” or “My Boss Is A Jewish Carpenter”—would have had asked himself, and really wrestled with this question, as I hope you do: What was Jesus really up to?
Just kidding.
Now, to see her process all that raw fear—she cried and kicked, and she screamed, and she pulled and pushed and fought against us and him—around that big man with the beard, that fat man in the red suit, this nice man who came complete with an authentic wink and laugh, well, it reminded me that I have a my own deep-seated fear of Santa.
My fear: the white gloves. You heard me. The white gloves. They strike me as evil, as lurking. They creep me out. Why? They're skintight. They’re hiding something. They beg you to trust them, to never doubt them, and this is itself very suspicious. Have you never heard not to trust a man with tailored white gloves? Well, then, hear it now from me. It is common sense. It should not be questioned.
Still, I shook his hand tonight. I had to. He put it out for me to shake, and there were people watching. And I am no coward. I am a man and a father. Besides, I could never get away with Avery’s behavior. So when his nasty glove touched my hand, it sent shivers all throughout my body.
Avery is not more scared of Santa than her father is—no. She only has more access to her feelings than he does. And that's good. That’s very good. In fact, it is beautiful beyond imagination. She doesn’t need a moment to reflect—she just feels, and she feels hard and raw and without pretense or prejudice. If she’s afraid, she cries; if she’s happy, she laughs. It is that simple, and it is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen, and I am both glad for her and jealous of her. I hope this is something that does not change about her—for, Santas aside, she will need this skill someday.Now, I'm not bashing our silly Christmas traditions. We all love them (save the white gloves). I'm just pointing out that our version of Christmas is a far cry from what Jesus’ birthday was really about, is a far cry from what Jesus was really up to. I imagine Jesus picturing Christmastime, two thousand years later, and I see him let out a breath, shake his head, and laugh a little at what it will become—not the arrival of God and his purposes, but a commercial success. I mean, how did we get from the raw reality of “Pregnant Teen Gives Birth under Cow in Dung-Laden Shed” to our version, complete with puffy sweaters and Chia Pets and O Christmas Trees and trying to find parking for half an hour at the mall?No matter. None of these are bad. But it does remind me to wonder, “What he is up to?” We sing “Silent Night,” and we put out nativity scenes, and we remind ourselves that Jesus came to die for our sins—and that was what he was up to, right? But is it? Is that really it? Is that all Jesus was up to?Though I passionately believe that Jesus came to forgive sins, I also believe that that's not all he came to do.Recently, I've been challenged—and now I invite you—to think about his death on the cross and his resurrection and his ascension back to his Father. It seems to me that the three of these, if we had to be brief, describe the total the work of Christ.In my faith tradition, I hear about how “Jesus died for my sins"—but this is only one-third of his work. It is, however, true: he did die for my sins, and I am grateful. I receive his death, and through his death I am crucified to my former life. But he was also raised from the dead for my sake and yours, and then he ascended to the right hand of the Father, also for my sake and yours. In his death, I die to my old way; in his resurrection, I become awake to a new way; in his ascension, I'm given authority like his. He offers us all of his work. And we are invited to receive it.But, before I continue, let me pause: You may be wondering whether I am about to diminish Jesus’ death on the cross. Well, no—it is far from my desires to do any such thing. The death of Jesus by crucifixion, apart from being a horrific proof of God’s love for me, of God’s willingness to suffer that we may be one, is a central image of the story of Jesus. It is no mistake that Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, would change an essential Jewish ceremony, established by God about fifteen hundred years prior—Passover—into an image of his own death, asking us to remember his body and blood whenever we eat (—I, for one, eat at least three times a day, and so am asked to remember his death for me quite often). I know that all kinds of love and suffering had gone into the preparation of Jesus’ death on the cross for me, and I am humbled by the thought of it, and I do acknowledge it, and I give thanks for it, and I sing out my praises of God for such a devoted act of love. I am unworthy to receive his death, and this is a part of the wonder of the grace which God extends to me.
Largely, though, the church has merely offered me the fact (and it is a fact) that Jesus died. And when you focus on only this one-third of the work of Christ, the point becomes getting people "saved." And what we mean by "saved" is this: a one-time event when you agree with your heart that Christ died for your sins and that you could not have done it without him; but the focus here is that of being in rather than out, and this view can take an ugly turn (for its exclusivity): it is common for anyone who lives by it to enter a world of pride, of judgment, of legalism. Before they know it, these have accepted a set of standards that begs them to say and believe, “I belong and others do not,” which, really, is the opposite of the example of Jesus’ own life and work.
All that is very sad, and something we must work against.
So, while I believe in the importance of acknowledging our sins, our powerlessness to improve our condition, our impotence if not for Christ's death, I wonder (having been in church all my life) if anybody knows how to articulate what to do after we get "saved." After that one-time event, I ask you: How shall we carry on?Honestly: I don't think many people know what comes next.
Please, take a quick look with me at the many forms of evangelicalism. Remind yourself of your experience in the church; think of the many Christians you know and love. Does it not seem that, for the most part, we Christians believe—and if we do not actually believe, then we act as though we believe—that the rest of our lives, after this one-time event we call conversion, is a kind of waiting? We read our Bibles, and we go to church, and we spend a great deal of energy learning to try harder, to become good people, and we wait for death in a passive state, always looking ahead to all the wonders and splendor of heaven, admonishing one another with Monday-night Bible study groups. But, is this what Jesus was up to? Did he come that we may behave?
I believe that if you are to be honest with me, you will find that Christians do not know what to do to fill up their time. It seems to me that if they were all engaged in some profound calling, that if they understood themselves as a part of a deep and important cause, Christians never would have replaced their after-meal tips with evangelical pamphlets. There would be no street-corner bullhorn sermons, no "turn or burn" evangelism. If they were all really caught up in a profoundly inspiring life, they would not bother wearing bracelets or T-shirts that remind them to do what Jesus would do, or to Fear Not. Nobody would have made up all that crazy stuff—because there would be no need for the hokey commercialism, Christian-style.
I wish that the guy who started Christian bumper stickers—“Real Men Love Jesus” or “It’s Hard to Stumble When You’re On Your Knees” or “My Boss Is A Jewish Carpenter”—would have had asked himself, and really wrestled with this question, as I hope you do: What was Jesus really up to?
