CHAPTER 1
1. JESUS RECONCILES
JACOB ARMSTRONG
In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see — I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people."
(Luke 2:8-10 NRSV)
The Waffle House
A few years ago, during Advent, my two older daughters asked me a question I wasn't expecting: "Dad, will you ever take us to Waffle House?"
Mary and Lydia were eight and six years old at the time, and I had never taken them to Waffle House. I hold nothing against Waffle House — in fact, I kind of like it — but it was true, I had never taken them there. My two girls had seen this strange little building in the middle of their world, and naturally they had wondered, What takes place in this mysterious house of waffles? Without thinking twice, I said, "Yes, we will get up early before school and go."
There was one problem. We had not received all the necessary permissions. So, we gathered together and formed our argument and then went to present our case before their mother: "We will go to bed early, we'll have our clothes set out, no complaining, no grumbling, this will be a seamless operation." And after some deliberation, she said ... yes.
The night before our excursion, the local weather report said it was going to snow. I envisioned it in my mind: We would venture through the snow, a dad and his daughters on a memorable but dangerous journey, and finally make it to Waffle House with a few harrowing moments along the way. We would sit at a table by the big window and look out at a snowcapped shopping mall. Deer would dance through the Red Lobster parking lot. It would be magical.
Well, I woke up the next morning (it had not snowed), and it turns out that at five a.m. our house is totally devoid of magic. When I tried to wake the girls, they grumbled. When I reminded them of our plan, they kept right on sleeping. My plan was falling apart before my eyes.
"Hey, I went to bed at seven o'clock last night," I exclaimed. "We are going to Waffle House!" I roused them, and off we went.
On the ride over, from the back seat, Lydia said something that let me know the morning's adventure might be a story that I would still tell years later.
"Daddy, I don't feel normal."
"What do you mean, you don't feel normal?" I asked.
She replied, "You know — it's dark, we're going to a restaurant when usually we'd be getting ready for school. It just doesn't feel normal."
"Well," I said, "sometimes when you do something you don't normally do, you see something you don't normally see."
Pretty good line, Jake, I thought, especially at 5:45 a.m. So I said it again.
"Sometimes when you do something you don't normally do, you see something you don't normally see."
We walked into Waffle House before the sun had risen, two little girls wearing pink jackets in a place otherwise packed with men wearing work boots and drinking coffee.
We sat by the window. Cars were zooming by, hundreds of cars, headlights reflecting on the darkened streets. Mary asked, "Where are all these people going? Who are they, driving around in the dark?" I said "They're going to work, or coming back from work. In fact, these ladies who served us breakfast had to get up early to be here." Our server overheard our conversation. "Sugar," she said, "I've been here since 10:30 last night."
My daughters and I thought of all the people who work while we snooze. We talked about nurses, truck drivers, police officers, moms who stay up all night with kids — there's this whole world going on while we're asleep. We talked about our servers who had been here, unbeknownst to us, all night long.
Well, Waffle House was everything we had hoped for — waffles, sausage, hash browns, scattered, smothered, and covered. And it was then, a week before Christmas, that I saw something I don't normally see: God's people living and working at night. It hit me that the first people who got the news about the baby — the Messiah, the great Reconciler who would come and save us — the first ones were a bunch of shepherds, guys working the graveyard shift in the middle of the night. God wanted them to know that the good news was for them, so much so that God chose them to be the ones to hear the news first. The baby was born and wrapped in swaddling clothes, and God told the shepherds first. Not God made sure all the kings of all the great empires knew first that the Savior had come to Bethlehem. Nope. Not God went to the Temple and let all the priests who had given their lives to God be the first to know of the great arrival. Not what it says. The Bible tells us there were shepherds working at night, and the glory of the Lord shone around them.
And I wondered, if that grand announcement came tonight, would God go to Waffle House while it was still dark and tell the ladies who work all night?
Why Us?
As we might imagine, the shepherds were surprised they were chosen to receive this message. Notice the use of the word you in the angels' announcement. "I bring you good news of great joy." The Savior "has been born to you." It was happening in their town, and they were the ones being told. Surely they wondered, Why us?
Jesus Comes to the Unsuspecting
This seems to be a key ingredient in those God chooses. They don't see it coming! They don't see themselves as the ones God would want or choose.
Zechariah and Elizabeth were counting the days until retirement. Mary was living her life in Nazareth, a town in Galilee, a virgin pledged to marry a man named Joseph. Read into that: they were nothing special. The shepherds were just at work on just another night. Jesus was sent to them. And none of them saw it coming.
Jesus Comes to the Unqualified
The first things that the key players in the Christmas story thought of when told that Jesus was coming into their lives were all the reasons why they should not receive such news. Zechariah said, "I'm an old man!" Mary asked, "How can this be? I am a virgin." We don't hear the shepherds' response, but as normal working folk surely they felt unqualified to receive and then share the message.
When I first asked my bishop if I could start a church, I gave the worst sales pitch ever. I began by listing all the reasons I shouldn't be the one to do it. I was twenty-five, I had never pastored a church, the list went on. He said, "You're right. However, God does not call the equipped but equips the called." You may have heard that line before, but it rings true. God doesn't call the ones who have all the equipping and qualifications. But God does give the called all they need.
Jesus Comes to the Undeserving
The shepherds were not chosen because they met certain criteria or had lived up to a standard. These weren't the best shepherds in town. They weren't the most successful. They did not have a prestigious bloodline. These were not the shepherds who had won the Bethlehem's Choice award for most popular in their field. We revere them now, along with many others from the traditional Advent Scriptures, but they were as undeserving as we are to be recipients of world-changing news. We miss some of the Christmas story's power if we neglect to see that the shepherds were unsuspecting, unqualified, and undeserving to be included. And God picked them anyway.
Jesus Was Sent for All People
Jesus came for all people, and nowhere is this more evident than the birth narrative in Luke 2. This short passage is the foundation for many things we have come to associate with Christmas. From Nativity scene figurines on the mantle to children dressing up like shepherds in the pageant to Linus's reading of the story in A Charlie Brown Christmas, we have Luke to thank for many things that have come to mean and feel like Christmas. Yet a close reading of Luke's version of the story shows that his intent was not to give a warm, fuzzy feeling to folks two thousand years later during a holiday season. Luke wanted the world to know: Jesus was sent for all people.
And if Jesus was sent for all people, Jesus was sent for you. Perhaps you can see yourself in the story. In Luke 2 alone, we glimpse some of the people Jesus was sent for:
• Those whose expectations for their lives have changed
• Those who find themselves physically uncomfortable
• Those who drive crowded streets
• Those who feel that they live where they work
• Those who are afraid, even terrified
• Those who need good news
• Those who are in a hurry
• Those who are amazed by some things happening in their life
• Those who are pondering and processing some things happening in their lives
Jesus, in short, was sent for people who felt and experienced the same things we do. They were a people in need, a people who were desperate for help; they were people just like us.
Jesus Was Sent to Reconcile
When we use the word reconcile, there is the implication that something that once had been will be restored. Someone or something will be brought back, and things will be made right. Jesus was sent to reconcile. His purpose was to restore something that once had been, and all the people in Luke 2 were longing for it. All the people driving by Waffle House in the dark are longing for it. I am longing for it. You are longing for it.
Our Longing, God's Longing
There is this thing that happens at Christmas that fascinates me. All year long we've been grown up. We've rushed from appointment to appointment, paid the bills, been responsible, sensible, and stressed out — well, you know all the things we do. Then suddenly, around the end of Thanksgiving, something awakens in us. We put lights up on the house, animatronic deer in the yard, life-size snow globes of Santa on our front lawns. We listen to music that we heard as kids. We pile into the car and drive around the neighborhood to look at lights. We put on ugly Christmas sweaters and drink eggnog. We don't just give people gifts; we wrap the gifts in fancy paper.
Our hearts seem to wake up, and by the time we get to Christmas Eve we are deeply, deeply longing for something more. On Christmas Eve night at our church, we pack into a musty middle-school gym for worship. We listen to the story once again. You know the story, the one from Luke 2, the one about great joy for all the people. The story of the amazing child sent by God to answer every longing of our hearts. A baby sent to reconcile us back to where we hoped we might return. The story is not just about a baby, though. It is about a young, unmarried couple and rich kings. It is about an old couple who thought their dream was over. It is about shepherds working the third shift.
And on Christmas Eve, after the story, we turn off all the lights, then one by one, hand to hand, we light candles and sing.
Silent night, holy night,
shepherds quake at the sight;
glories stream from heaven afar,
heavenly hosts sing Alleluia!
Christ the Savior is born,
Christ the Savior is born!
Advent is a beautiful time, even if you get frustrated with the commercialization and the busyness of it all. There is something beautiful happening in the hearts of people who long for something else, who hope that we will find what our hearts yearn for. In my estimation we are hoping and longing for reconciliation. And the longing is deep.
One way to describe the longing is to think of a child wanting that one special gift. It seems every year there is that one gift everyone has to have. The Red Ryder BB gun from the movie A Christmas Story immediately comes to mind. Or perhaps you remember the craze around the Tickle Me Elmo toy in 1996. Or does anyone remember Furby? Before we assign this type of longing to children only, let's admit that some of us have stood in line for the newest iPhone. We all feel longing, and at times we will stop at nothing to get what we long for. But there are gifts that can be bought, and there are things that we long for in a deeper way, things for which there is no line and no gift wrapping. It's that feeling that we are hoping can be satisfied at Christmas.
I have mentioned Zechariah and Elizabeth already. Their story is commonly found in the first week of Advent Scripture readings. Zechariah and Elizabeth were longing for a child. That longing and ache is written into their story. Their description in Luke 1 includes family lineage, where Zechariah worked, and, oh yeah, they are old with no children. Their longing became something that defined them.
And then it came time for the priestly division where Zechariah worked to be on duty at the Temple. It was his shift, and Zechariah was chosen by lot to be the one who would go into the Temple and burn incense. This was a big deal. It is possible this could have been the only time Zechariah was asked to do this in his career. Here he was, an old man, counting his days to retirement, and he was chosen. The burning of incense was a way of symbolizing the prayers of God's people being raised up to God. It was more than symbolic, though. Zechariah would be praying, and while he was doing it there would be a large crowd of people assembled just outside to pray as Zechariah did the sacred duty. What were they praying for? The longing of their hearts! The longing of their people! That God would come and make things right, that God would send this Messiah they were waiting for, that God would reconcile. This was their hearts' longing — that God's promise would be fulfilled and would redeem them from oppression, from sin, from the difficulties of life.
So Zechariah went into the Temple, where that day he was the only person allowed to enter, and found that he wasn't alone. God's messenger was there, and the message was for him: "Your prayer has been heard."
My guess is that after Zechariah got over his fear, he must have thought initially that the angel was referring to the people's prayer for reconciliation and a Messiah. But as the angel continued, it finally must have dawned on Zechariah that the angel was speaking to him personally. Your prayer, Zechariah, has been heard. Your longing has reached the ears of God. Your wife Elizabeth will have a son. And this son is going to be the one who will go before the Messiah. Zechariah, the longing of your heart to have a child is connected to the longing of all God's people.
I have learned that often our deepest longing for reconciliation is connected to God's desire for reconciliation with others. The longing that keeps us up at night leads us to be a part of God's longing for the world. Zechariah and Elizabeth, who must have thought that any great part in God's plan had passed them by, suddenly found they were major players in God's reconciliation with all people.
On a recent trip to Los Cerritos, Nicaragua, I found myself crying by a creek. I had made the long walk from the village to the nearest water source. The temperature that day was nearly 100 degrees, and the walk had brought me near exhaustion. After filling a bucket with contaminated water, I had begun climbing a steep embankment as part of the walk back, and the weight of the water along with my fatigue brought me to my knees. I wept, knowing that day after day the women of Los Cerritos made this walk. Unlike me, they wouldn't board a plane a few days later and fly to a world where I don't have to worry about clean drinking water. I don't fear that my children will die of diarrhea. My daughters will not drop out of school during their elementary years to help their mother with the daily burden of carrying water. I cried, and I prayed, and I felt an intense longing for something different in the lives of those people. In that moment I think I felt the longing of the whole village. I didn't know what to do. Truthfully, there was little I could do.
I learned that for ten thousand dollars, the people in that community could have a clean water well. It seemed like such a small amount compared to the change it would bring. After returning home, I shared my longing with our church. Five minutes after I shared that story, a couple who were coming through the line for Holy Communion handed me a check with that exact amount written on it. It turned out they had been feeling a longing to do something with the provision God had given them. In the weeks that followed, additional tens of thousands of dollars came in from our congregation. Today, the community of Los Cerritos has clean water running through a water system to every home. What I realize now is that the longing I felt at the creek that day was not my own. It wasn't even the longing of the people who lived in that village. It was the longing of God for God's own people. God included me in it, and I am grateful.
