Notes From Jon

Each Advent, our home, like many other homes in our small town, is decorated for the season.  And that decoration includes lights.  Some homes have thousands of lights spread across their yards, floodlights lighting the front door, and Christmas trees blazing in the windows.  Others (like ours) have a few lights, or maybe no lights at all outside, but the glow of a Christmas tree warms a few windows.

Then there are the window candles.  We didn’t do this until we moved to Kenbridge, but it’s become one of our favorite decorations – candles in the window, symbolically inviting the Holy Family to find shelter here:  “There may not be room in the inn, but I have room for you!”  Every tucked-away electrical outlet finds its annual purpose, and our windows shine with welcoming light throughout the night.  I can see and feel their warmth as I’m coming home in the evening, or during my morning walk before the sun rises.

There are times, though, when the light gets out of hand.  What is warm and welcoming outside becomes an uncomfortable burden inside.  Like when we notice the bright new addition to our monthly power bill.  Or when we have to make an unexpected trip to the store to get those tiny (but expensive) light bulbs.  Or when it’s time to leave for a trip, and we have to find all those tucked-away outlets again to unplug the lights.  For someone like me, who sometimes has a hard time falling asleep, the extra bright lights in our normally-darkened bedroom windows make it difficult to tune out the world.  For someone like Tanya, who loves a clean and tidy house, the extra lights at nighttime take away one of the merits of nighttime – the short-lived illusion that everything’s as tidy as it should be.

Sometimes it’s enough to make you want to pull the plugs on the things!

We welcome the warm glow of the Light of Christ at Christmas time.  How special this season is, how nostalgic and moving!  But when it comes to letting the Light of Christ into our lives – into all the parts of our lives – things get a little more complicated.  And why?  Because the light that started off as a warm glow from the darkness of a stable, became an almost unbearable brilliance from the darkness of a tomb.

The light can be costly at times, asking us to give things up.  In some strange way, the Light requires that we keep opening doors and windows into new and painful areas.  Like a floodlight, that Light finds its way into even the darkest rooms of our hearts, and shows us things we’d rather not be reminded of.  Sometimes its brightness keeps us awake, spurring us to thought or action at times we’d rather be resting.

“There may not be room in the inn, but I have room for you!” we say.  “Once Christmas is over, though, you’ll need to leave – or at least you’ll need to move into the back bedroom before you get too bright.”

But no matter the cost, the Light heals and frees us, the Light makes us whole.

Oh Jesus, Light of the World, bring your Light into my heart this day.  Let the Light find me out, in spite of myself.  Let it show me the things that need fixing, remind me that things are not as tidy as they should be, spur me to action at times when I’d rather be resting.  And let its brightness consume all the darkness that is in me, until all that’s left is the Light.

Tonight, for the second year in a row, I was asked to play “Jesus” in a Bible School program at a local church.  They use Group Publishing’s “Holy Land Experience,” and all week long they build up to meeting this wonderful Jesus person – so, during their closing worship on the final night, “Jesus” makes his appearance (hope I didn’t ruin the surprise for any of you).

I walked down the aisle of the church in costume, talking to each of the children and blessing them, then I asked them to go out and tell everyone what they’ve learned during the week.  Quick, simple… but very effective.  I told one of the adults afterward, “The way you guys build up to Jesus’ appearance all week long, you could have practically anyone walk down the aisle in a robe and they’d be enthralled.”

I’m sure you’d hear many well-justified jokes about someone asking ME to play Jesus – most of them would come from me.  And it didn’t help the folks at Thrift’s Chapel that I was bald this year… we had to add an extra piece of costume to make up for that.

And there’s more irony.  Because Jesus’ appearance is such a secret, and they don’t want the kids to see the actor ahead of time, I have to park in the grass behind the church and come in quietly.  “Behold, I stand at the back door and sneak in…”

Joking aside, tonight’s experience was very moving for me, because I really got to see the view from Jesus’ sandals.  Those kids had been looking forward to meeting Jesus all week, and when I “interrupted” their gathering in the middle of a song, you could have heard a pin drop.  All the adults had one of those knowing looks, like when someone comes into the party dressed up as Santa Claus.  But not the children.  It was touching to see them looking up at me – some smiling, some awestruck, some afraid, some staring in wonder…

They all wanted to reach out and touch me, and when one little boy reached out with his left hand, I realized he was missing the end of his right arm.  My heart ached to have the power of Jesus for just one moment, to make his body whole.

I thought, “What must it have been like for Jesus, to go from place to place, meeting new people every day?  Most of them wanted something from him – a healing, a miracle, a loaf of bread, some new tidbit of wisdom, the spark for a rebellion… The list was never-ending.  They pressed on him in such crowds that at times he had to go out into a boat to talk to them (or just to get away to the other side of the lake), corner himself in a house, or let his disciples clear the way through crowded streets so he could get from one place to another.  Everyone wanted something from Jesus, and his compassion drove him to try to meet those needs as often as he could – even when it drove him to exhaustion.

How refreshing it must have been, then, when the children wanted to come to Jesus.  They had no agenda – they only knew that Jesus loved them and listened to them patiently.  They didn’t look at him with impatience or skepticism – simply joy and wonder.  They didn’t crowd up against him to get what they wanted – but to get to know this wonderful man who knelt down to talk to them, who laughed with them and hugged them.

Now I imagine, as his disciples pushed the children away, because there were so many more “pressing” needs, Jesus’ voice calls out angrily and almost desperately: “Let them come, and don’t keep them away!”

No wonder he said we had to become like children to enter the Kingdom.

I got a message a few days ago about a friend in Birmingham who passed away, and it’s just now begun to dawn on me what has happened.  Dewayne was a good friend, a frequent study partner, and a very skilled and thoughtful minister.  He had begun work with a counseling center in the Birmingham area – a job I feel he was perfectly suited for.  He was about my age, and last week he had a completely unexpected seizure that took his life.  He leaves a wife behind.

A little more than a year ago, I heard on the news that a Beeson grad in Virginia was murdered.  I checked, and sure enough, she had graduated with me.  Nancy Copin was a Christian Church (Disciples) pastor in our area while she was in seminary, and we had a common link to the Mexico trip we both loved taking every summer.  I had hoped to contact her, since she was close by, about going to Mexico with us sometime.  But on Ash Wednesday last year, she didn’t show up at church for a special service.  Church members found her in the parsonage – she had been murdered, apparently in a failed robbery attempt.

There’s a part of me – and I imagine there’s a part of you, too – that wonders, “how could God let this happen?”  These were two very sensitive and compassionate friends, servants of God much better qualified and suited to ministry than I will ever be.  Their absences have left a hole that cannot be filled, and like most everyone, I have to wonder what their deaths might have accomplished – if anything.

I may never know, this side of heaven.  But their examples of service and faith remind me of the many things I learned from them, and I am surely better for having counted them as friends for a part of my life.

A couple of weeks ago, a good friend of ours from Birmingham passed away – Alan Roper.  I was asked to speak at the funeral, but since I had other commitments, I wasn’t able to go.  Instead, I sent a video.  This is a transcript of that video, plus some content I had to edit out to make the video shorter.

If you don’t know Alan, this won’t mean a thing to you, and you can wait for the next post.  This is my tribute to a good friend who loved music, loved his church, and loved being a Baptist.  Read the rest of this entry »

Some of you may have noticed the “Now Reading” section of the sidebar already, and might be interested to see that a lot of what I’ve read lately, or am planning to read, is either fiction or has nothing to do with theology or church. There’s a reason for that.

There’s a stack of books in my office – many of you have one, I’m sure – that contains all the books I’ve bought and really feel like I need to read. I have three different stacks, actually, arranged in different inconspicuous places in the office. Some are books I’ve stumbled upon as I’ve browsed bookstores, magazines, or blogs. Many are books that others have recommended to me. I look at these stacks of books with a mixture of eagerness, frustration, and anxiety. Several of them have been sitting there for more than a year.

So, what will happen if I don’t get that book about postmodern theology read? Well, I might not be caught up on postmodern theology. But I don’t think the book is going to bite me. I’ll get around to it one day.

I have two reasons for reading the books that I do. First, my work is so “mind-intensive” that when I get a chance to read, I like to read about something OTHER than what I think about all day long. I recognize that I’m an obsessive person, and I know it’s dangerous for me to allow my life to be consumed by anything – no matter how noble. I’m a pastor, yes. But I’m also a father, a husband, and a reader of good books. I’m sure many of you can identify with this reasoning!

Second, maybe it’s because of my “artsy” side, but I find God tucked in-between the pages of these books… sometimes, I find him there more clearly than I do in “real life!” Anyone who writes a story, who can make it a good story, is obviously putting themselves in to the story, too. You can learn a lot about an author from the kinds of things they put into a book. And I enjoy seeing how other people see God.

I’m a “story-based” kind of person. Any of you who have heard or read one of my sermons can figure that out. I love a good story. And sometimes I even find fodder for preaching and theology.

So, with that said, I encourage you to take a look at the “Now Reading” portion of the sidebar and see what I’m into. I’ve recently posted reviews of The Chosen by Chaim Potok, and The Seduction of Water by Carol Goodman. I’d also love to hear about the kinds of books YOU read, and why…