Catching Fog

Judges chapters 6 through 8 relate the story of Gideon. Gideon was a member of the tribe of Manasseh, and at the moment, things were not going well for either him or his tribe. The Midianites regularly raided the area and stole the crops. To try to keep that from happening to him, he was down in a winepress threshing his grain, hoping not to be noticed. Suddenly, the angel of Yahweh appeared to him and announced that he was going to rescue his people from their oppressor. Gideon was reluctant both to be chosen for this, as well as doubting that it would work anyhow.

First he questioned the angel’s credentials—in essence asking for some identification, as well as questioning the justice and goodness of God: if he cares about us and is so good to us, then why is everything so miserable now? And how do I know you’re really an angel? So, the angel performed a minor miracle of making Gideon’s offering to God vanish in fire and smoke. Encouraged, he obeyed the initial instruction to tear down his father’s altar to Baal and built one for Yaweh instead.

Surviving the opprobrium of his neighbors, he then was reluctant to gather an army for God, but, after another couple of tests to find out if he was really hearing God or maybe it was just his wishful thinking getting away from him, he managed to gather a sizeable army, only to have God tell him, “that’s too many soldiers; whittle them down.”

Finally, after more than 22,000 had left, and after a test that involved drinking water, Gideon was left with but 300 men to fight against a Midianite army numbering in the tens of thousands. Following God’s order to smash jars, blow horns and wave torches in the middle of the night, the Midianites panicked, attacked each other, and ran off. Gideon gathered more men and pursued them, gaining ultimate victory over the enemies of his people.

It is not easy to do what God wants us to do. It is not easy to believe that he is actually there, or that the task he has asked of us is even possible. Often, it seems beyond possible and the thought invades our heads that we really aren’t up to the task. The longer we tread along, especially if the going is hard and not much good is happening, that we start to wonder if we maybe misunderstood what God wanted or maybe never even heard from God at all.

That’s quite normal. Doubting, second guessing yourself. That’s kind of par for the course if you’re human. So. You wonder if you’ve screwed up or misunderstood what God wanted you to do? Be like Gideon. Ask God for some reassurance. Tell him you’re tired of waiting. Let him know you’re not feeling confident. God never berates Gideon for his doubts, after all. In fact, he helps alleviate them. So God’s not likely to attack you for your questions or leave you floundering for ever, either.

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Many years ago I received a Christmas card from a friend of mine. When I pulled it from its envelope and looked at the front, I saw a simple drawing of a Christmas tree and the surprising words, “Christmas is Meaningless.” I opened the card and found additional words: “Without Easter.”

The card is correct. Although we rightly celebrate Christmas, the December holiday is not the central focus of Christianity. Instead, it is the resurrection of Jesus three days after his crucifixion that gave birth to the religion and gives significance to Jesus’ nativity. Even the New Testament does not focus much on Jesus’ birth.

Of the four gospel accounts of Jesus’ life, only two of them mention his birth in Bethlehem. The two accounts emphasize different things. Matthew’s Gospel gives us Joseph’s reaction to Mary’s pregnancy. Until God intervened with an explanation, he had been planning on breaking off their engagement, certain that she had been unfaithful.

Matthew also gives us the story of the Magi from the east who, led by a star, first approached Herod, the non-Israelite king of Judea, put on his throne by the first Roman Emperor Augustus Caesar. They asked to see the newborn king. Since Herod’s wives had not recently given birth, he was both puzzled and concerned, since he knew he wasn’t really the legitimate king of Israel. Speaking to his advisors, he learned that the true king of Israel would be born in Bethlehem, David’s hometown. David’s descendants were the only legitimate royalty in the land.

Sending the Magi to Bethlehem, Herod made them promise to let him know about where this baby might be. His plans were, of course, to kill the infant and thus prevent a possible coup against him or his descendants.

The Magi brought three gifts to Jesus: gold, frankincense and myrrh. Tradition tells us that there were three Magi and even gives us their names. But the New Testament does not have that information within it. In contrast to all the Nativity scenes you’ll see this Christmas, the story as told in the New Testament indicates that the Magi did not appear the night of Jesus’ birth. Instead, the Magi appeared days later, finding him in a house rather than a stable.

The Magi did not report back to Herod and Jesus’ parents quickly fled to Egypt with their newborn son. Herod, not knowing that Jesus had been moved to Egypt, ordered the murder of all the boys in Bethlehem who were two years of age or younger, hoping to get his target in a general sweep. Bethlehem was a small village, so the number of children slaughtered by Herod was probably relatively few.

Despite our current dating system, set in place by a bishop who had made his best efforts (with little hard data to go on) to figure out when Jesus had been born, we do not in fact know the year of Jesus’ birth. This is not particularly strange. We know the birth dates of hardly any other ancient historical figures. What can be said for certain about Jesus’ birth date is that it had to be before 4 BC, since that is the year that Herod died.

If you visit a planetarium in December, you’ll doubtless be entertained by a presentation on the “Star of Bethlehem” where attempts will be made to link what the Magi saw to various possible astronomical events, ranging from a supernova to the conjunction of various planets. Unfortunately, we have no way of knowing what it was that the Magi saw. Probably it was something of interest to ancient Mesopotamian astrologers such as the Magi (most likely they were Zoroastrian priests)–and thus perhaps not interesting or notable for anyone else.

The other New Testament account of Jesus’ birth appears in the early chapters of Luke’s gospel. There, the story focuses on Mary’s reaction to the news that she will give birth to the Messiah. It is from Luke that we hear of “no room in the inn,” the manger, the swaddling clothes, and the shepherds who were directed by angels to see the infant.

While only Matthew and Luke tell us about Jesus’ birth, the resurrection of Jesus is announced in all four of the Gospel narratives and repeatedly throughout the rest of the New Testament: in the recorded sermons given by various apostles in the book of Acts, and in the letters from Paul, Peter, John and others. There are no sermons about Jesus’ birth, no theological reflections on Mary’s virginity. But Jesus’ death and resurrection form the core of the Christian message.

In fact, in the first of the letters Paul wrote to a congregation in the Greek city of Corinth, he explains that, “If there is no resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith. More than that, we are then found to be false witnesses about God, for we have testified about God that he raised Christ from the dead. But he did not raise him if in fact the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised either. And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ are lost. If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all men.” (1 Corinthians 15:13-19).

Therefore, Christians celebrate Christmas each year only because they know that Easter is coming.

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Years ago I heard a youth pastor, in the middle of something else he was talking about, comment, “the books of Chronicles don’t have anything interesting in them.” The man was an idiot. Obviously he had never actually read the books of Chronicles. Admittedly, the first nine chapters of 1 Chronicles are a snooze fest: a bunch of genealogical lists. But even the boring sections have a use (see my post, The Boring Stuff). But there are plenty of good stories after that, including a section that has been a comfort to me time and time again. I learned of it from reading about Dietrich Bonhoeffer. His favorite verse was the second half of 2 Chronicles 20:12: “We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you.” That sentence occurs at the end of a prayer that Jehoshaphat, the king of Judah, offered to God. A vast army was coming against Judah from Edom and Moab. He admits to God that “…we have no power to face this vast army that is attacking us”: the first half of 2 Chronicles 20:12.

It is a common occurrence in life to face vast armies: our problems, whatever they may be. It is also common to have no clue what to do about them. Sometimes, as in Jehoshaphat’s case, God gives a solution that we like. The armies that attacked Judah fought among themselves and never attacked, leaving behind enormous spoils for Judah to plunder. In contrast, Bonhoeffer faced his own death—the ultimate crisis that every last one of us must face—and there was no escaping from it. Some of the vast armies facing us are like that, unfortunately.

In both cases, however, we can still look to God and know that he will be with us as we experience whatever outcome he has chosen for us. We can have confidence that he will see us through, and understand that even if we don’t like what happens to us, God is still with us and still dependable.

Not long before he was arrested, convicted, and executed, Jesus told his disciples “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” (John 14:27) Sometimes people give us encouragement in the middle of our bad times and we think “easy for you to say.” But given Jesus’ context, knowing what he was about to face, his words carry added force. They were not easy, they were not cliché, and they were not flippant. He believed them even though he faced the ultimate crisis.

Earlier in his life, Jesus told an audience, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes?” (Matthew 6:25)

It is hard to believe words like that if we’re facing the loss of our jobs, income, or house, because we wonder how we can live at all without those things. It seems impossible, facing a vast army, to feel that peace Jesus talked about.

But look back at Jehoshaphat again. In 2 Chronicles 20:2 he is informed about the crisis. His reaction, according to the very next verse, is “alarm.” Hardly seems like he felt any peace. But wait, what did he do in his alarm? He “resolved to inquire of the Lord, and he proclaimed a fast for all Judah.” He immediately thought to turn to God. And he didn’t face the problem by himself. Verse four goes on to say that “The people of Judah came together to seek help from the Lord; indeed, they came from every town in Judah to seek him.”

Too often in the middle of a crisis our first instinct is to isolate ourselves, or to pretend to those around us that “everything is fine” even when it most assuredly is not. Instead, when the bad times roll, we need to run to Jesus, and we need to seek out our friends and family. Some comfort in dark times comes from simply being with other people. And sometimes, those other people may come up with solutions that we, in the middle of the crisis, can’t see.

The vast army facing us may fade away. Or it may not. In either case, it is easier to endure it with our eyes on God, surrounded by those who love us.

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Doing what God wants might be weird sometimes.

During the year that the city of Ashdod fell to the Assyrians, God told the ancient Hebrew prophet Isaiah to do something, well…odd. He told him to take off the sackcloth he had been wearing—signifying mourning—and to go about with no clothing on at all.

For three years.

After those three years of being naked, God then had him announce to the people: “Just as my servant Isaiah has gone stripped and barefoot for three years, as a sign and portent against Egypt and Cush, so the king of Assyria will lead away stripped and barefoot the Egyptian captives and Cushite exiles, young and old, with buttocks bared—to Egypt’s shame. Those who trusted in Cush and boasted in Egypt will be afraid and put to shame. In that day the people who live on this coast will say, ‘See what has happened to those we relied on, those we fled to for help and deliverance from the king of Assyria! How then can we escape?’” (Isaiah 20:3-6)

When God asks me to do something, he usually doesn’t explain it to the neighbors. And there’s no guarantee that when you tell the neighbors, “I’m doing what I believe God wants me to do,” that they will believe you or agree with you. Chances are, Isaiah’s neighbors and friends frequently asked him about his behavior and probably told him, “get some clothes on, man.” They probably gossiped about him, and wondered, “Do you suppose old Isaiah’s finally gone, you know, bonkers?” And yet, despite the peculiarity of God’s request, and despite the reactions of those around him, Isaiah was faithful to the vision he had from God.

Thankfully God’s never asked me to do anything quite so strange as poor Isaiah. Though I suppose becoming a writer comes close.

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Jesus wants to make us free. We are free from condemnation, free from having to worry, free from our guilt. God has given us the righteousness of Jesus: “God has made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Corinthians 5:21)

It is a radical notion, to realize that our sin has been taken and given to Jesus, and the righteousness of Jesus has been taken and given to us. It’s as if we have switched places. He stands condemned, we stand free and secure. It is inherently unfair. He’s getting punished for something we did. And yet he’s happy to do it, enslaving himself to set us free forever.

In order to live, we must eat. That means, something else must die, weather it is a vegetable if we are vegetarians, or the animal that becomes our sandwich, something has died to keep us alive. All life functions this way: it lives off death, it survives because something else does not.

Jesus’ died to give us his spiritual life; he died in our place, so that we could live. He became a slave, so we could be free.

Romans 8:1-3, 2 Corinthians 5:17-21

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