Really ?

"It is stupid", the Chinese student said after I finished telling them the Christmas story. Every year, I introduce the students to the Christmas story and every year as I begin to explain the details about Mary being a virgin, the angels and him being God...I see them look down as if they are embarrassed that in my seeming intelligence I would believe such a story. It is like telling them that Santa is real and reindeer really do know how to fly.

I catch myself often saying out-loud in an audible prayer, " I sure hope this is all real". I don't know if any of you struggle with the strangeness of THIS story. If we have been raised with the reality of story, it isn't that strange  nor 'stupid' . However,  every year as I sit down to introduce 3-6 new students to this story I walk away thinking how strange it must sound to their ears. I talk in jest about Santa Claus but in holy respect about a Baby born in a manger who is God, to a virgin, announced by angels in a small town in Israel.

It is that time of year when the sun rises as I drive to school. What is so amazing with our sunrises is that in a blaze of glory our magnificent mountains our outlined in orange, yellow and red.
                                                                                                             I gauge if

it is a picture worthy morning that I need to drive out of town or a glory in the moment and not worry about the hash tags and 'like' posts. 

The outline of our familiar mountains when set against the rising of the sun, this time of year makes all that is familiar...note worthy. 

That is what happens every year when I tell the familiar story against the back drop of unbelief and in-credulousness. What was a familiar story takes on a beautiful significance.  I begin to understand that maybe what they said to each other back then was as hard to believe as it is today.

 "So, why can't you talk? You said that to the angel...really Zechariah, Gabriel? really?

              "Really, I'm old AND I'm pregnant!"

                                               "No, his name really will be John."

                

                       "Really, Joseph, I haven't been with anyone, an angel told me". 

'Yes, she is pregnant, no he is not mine, no I am not divorcing her, really..I am not. Angel told me."

                                     "REALLY, we have to go to BETHLEHEM right NOW!"

          "You are kidding, NO room, really not one?"

                             "Really, Mary, angels told us to come while we were out there, a whole bunch of them...singing, lots of them..."

                           "Yes, we really did come from far far away, following a star."       

                                      "Mary, we really need to go to Egypt, NOW...Angel told me, HURRY!

Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given and His name shall be called Emmanuel...

With us.... really.

into the dragon's lair

We were in a storage shed, behind the armory. We were there for the National Guard Christmas celebration and were given 45 minutes for any who wanted to attend the service.  There was maybe 15 of us singing along with iTunes Christmas carols and the chaplain spoke simply but eloquently from Ezekiel. She was authentic and young and wonderful.  The fan blew  hard and the cots we were sitting on were adequate if not rustic. When she asked for prayer concerns, a lady spoke about the holidays and how difficult it can be for those in the military who are far from home. Another , near tears, spoke about her husband who has PTSD who can't seem to get the meds right, and prayer for a family whose soldier had committed suicide. Christmas changes the volume control on emotions, and the sound can hurt as it can heal.

 Hear the sounds of the Christmas story; the voice of angels, the songs of Zechariah and Mary, the anguished prayers of Joseph, the bleating of sheep, the slamming of doors, the cry of a baby, the shouts of shepherds, the rising horrific wail of grief stricken mothers.
The slaughter of the innocents, I have heard it called.
I read a piece the other day about having to keep Herod in the Christmas story even though we never see him in out nativity scenes.
There is a dragon amongst the Christmas lights and holiday cheer. 
 It is the dragon from Revelation 12, the Christmas horror story. He is the darkness behind the angels songs, the paranoia in Herod's mind and  the malicious whisper in his ear.
Why is it important to remember Herod this second Sunday of advent...because of the sorrow I heard in the cold drafty storage shed behind the armory.

God with us in the dragon's lair
he is a squatter, this old and very angry dragon
Why send HIM as a baby into such a putrid place?
HE did not seem that concerned
Emmanuel

Advent Conundrum...JtB and his calling

Luke 1:17 NCV

New Century Version

He will go before the Lord in spirit and power like Elijah. He will make peace between parents and their children and will bring those who are not obeying God back to the right way of thinking, to make a people ready for the coming of the Lord."

Luke 1:17 MSG

The Message

He will herald God's arrival in the style and strength of Elijah, soften the hearts of parents to children, and kindle devout understanding among hardened skeptics - he'll get the people ready for God."

It is that time for me to dive into the Christmas story to gain a new insight for this time of the year. I have been doing this for awhile to center me in the whirlwind of this holiday. I go to Luke...every year and in the first chapter and 17th verse I had my first,' I wonder what this means' moment. 

I love the interaction between Zachariah and Gabriel and have written about those 2 in the past but this year what struck me is what John was supposed to do to prepare the way for Jesus. We know he would bring delight to his parents, be filled with the Holy Spirit from birth...but his job was to prepare the way for Jesus. Have you ever wondered how he was supposed to do that?  What are you supposed to do to get people ready for the savior, messiah..coming King. What can you say?

Well, we know...he was to soften, turn, make peace between parents and their children, fathers and their son, mothers and their daughters AND kindle devout understanding among hardened skeptics. Have you ever tried to make peace between family members? Have you ever heard  anyone who is preparing the way for the gospel...the good news, emphasize family relationships?  

I know one missionary whose main gospel message for the whole ministry is calling the family back to its central role. Scott and Heidi, who work with education in the highlands of Papua make it their goal to be John the Baptist's for the gospel. They work really hard to make peace between the parents and their growing children. 

I wonder in the many orphanages supported by US churches, if we maybe should work as hard and invest our moneys in helping families care for their own rather then having them be raised in the 'orphanage'. If this was how John was to help prepare the way for Jesus, could not that also be  how every 'ministry' should work? Every church's mission in every land and every culture?  Are we not all John the Baptist preparing the way for the gospel?  

We seem to be quite good at the apologetic of our faith...the second part of his calling;
"kindle devout understanding among hardened skeptics - he'll get the people ready for God". Maybe we should be doing both. 

On the other hand, 

Jesus also says that when we follow him, the gospel message will divide the family. John the Baptist brings the family together to prepare for Jesus, then Jesus comes and breaks it apart?   Go figure this one out :). 

Hannukkah Thankfulness

also known as the Festival of Lights and Feast of Dedication. In a strange way, it makes sense that these celebrations are woven together this year, Hanukkah and Thanksgiving.

It is so dark already at 4:30 and people in our neighborhood have been putting up their Christmas lights as if Thanksgiving is only a doorway through which we must enter to go to the land of Christmas.  This year in spite of our consumer driven orgy of freakish spending I will savor this one holiday that is marked by the humility of gratefulness.  I will pause at this door before I skip to the festival of lights, we will have a feast of dedication. Another year, we have been blessed beyond measure with health and jobs, a warm house and more than enough of everything.

We all really need to pause at this door of thankfulness, if just for a day before we get caught in the whirlpool of Christmas. Maybe if we pause in humility we will be graced with contentment and there is nothing like the true Spirit of Christmas that doesn't look like a HUGE dose of contentment birthed by the doorway of Thanksgiving, a feast of dedication.

50 years ago in a tribe far away...

50 years ago in October, my father Adriaan vanderBijl, Harold Catto and   Frank Ross walked into Mapnduma for the very first time. The circumstances surrounding their trek, how God provided, sustained and directed is a story I will tell my grandchildren. It is a story of faithful men and women, insistent Nduga’s and a Grand Designer of things in-congruent and mysterious. 1 month before that trek, I was born and the story of the Nduga tribe, my parents and I have been intertwined ever since.

My father was supposed to go back there  this October to help in the grand celebration. Many treks back have been made by ageing missionaries to relive memories of a noble and precarious time gone by. These trips have been videotaped, you-tubed, documented via Facebook and probably make into inspirational pamphlets to be given out at mission conferences. I could see on my Dad’s face and hear it in my Dad’s voice the longing to be present at this celebration, this remembrance, this moment. 

He is the only one living of those intrepid 3 and health-wise could not go.

I didn’t really want to talk about it with him; I knew so deeply his disappointment with getting old, having his ‘best’ years behind him.  I knew it was one more thing to let go. 

As I have said, I have been intertwined in this story for all of my 50 years. That is how old the church is in the Nduga valleys. My parents, Elfrieda and Mary worked hard to learn the language, bring medication, teach , develop Bible schools, build airstrips…they sacrificed and enjoyed the life they chose in the middle of this spectacular, rugged, unforgiving country. This thief of a country which also stole my parents, robbed me of my mother’s life, defined my imagination, graced my childhood with adventure and unbearable loss.  

50 years and there is sadness at what the Papuans are becoming from the hyperspace travel from grass hut survival to texting on cellphones.  They are fighting for a freedom no tribal government can mitigate. They are dying of aids no medical personal could have predicted. When we speak of future shock, we see it destroying a culture unable to negotiate the pitfalls of the 21^st century. I think of where we were in these past 50 years and the changes our own culture has undergone,  translate that to a culture that had not changed in a 1000 years. 

All my Parents knew is the love they had for Jesus had to be good for everyone, to give everyone a chance to hear.  Hindsight…yes, we should have, could have, would have …but what these people did was go to places beyond. It wasn’t a cool travel destination or exotic location that it has become…it was scary different and oftentimes deadly.

I wish my Dad had been healthy enough to go and that we all could have traveled with him. I wish that 50 years later the Nduga church will be able to weather the culture tsunami tearing away at its cultural shore. I wish my Dad could be present there. But maybe this is what is true and should not be undervalued in the present now. 

Dear Dad and Elfrieda,

I know this time right now is difficult because you want to be there in all the celebrations. I was thinking about this and realizing that some great day maybe not too far away we will stand before that THRONE and God will look at both of you and say, we celebrated with you every day, with every heart that turned to me, with every tear that fell in the frustrations and hard work. We danced for joy when the Ndugas turned their hearts. That day will be a grand day as we stand side by side with the fruits of your hard work, your many sacrifices and tears of joy and sorrow.
Our bodies become more frail and even though we live in disappointment for what we cannot do, I want you to know that God is not disappointed and He, with us all, celebrate those days before, and the days now...for it all is a sacrifice of thanksgiving in our youth and today. Your faithfulness is not before, it is every day.  Thank you both for listening to the    call of God then and the call of God today. You are loved