a myopic christmas

my·op·ic | [mahy-op-ik, -oh-pik]

-adjective

1. Ophthalmology. Pertaining to or having myopia; nearsighted.

2. Unable or unwilling to act prudently; shortsighted.

3. Lacking tolerance or understanding; narrow-minded.

A few words of seasonal wisdom from Chuck Colson on CT.

Sometime this Christmas season, you are sure to hear those rousing words of Handel's Messiah, taken from Revelation 11:15: "The kingdom of this world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ" (ESV). Tradition has it that the music so moved King George II that he stood to his feet out of respect for an even greater King. The rest of the audience followed, as have audiences for generations since. The Hallelujah Chorus is the culmination of our Messiah's story, a story that Handel rightly showed was foretold by the Prophets, heralded in the Annunciation, and has at its heart a message about a king and a kingdom.

Sadly, that kingdom message is often missed in our saccharine retelling of the Christmas story. Somehow we glaze over the angel's words to Mary, that she will give birth to a son whose "kingdom will never end" (Luke 1:33). The myopia continues as we read the Gospels. We skim over pages of kingdom references. We miss Christ's inaugural address when he opens the scroll of Isaiah and proclaims that Scripture has been fulfilled in the people's hearing (Luke 4:21). We muddle through the parables that tell us repeatedly, "The kingdom of God is like …." And we glance over the very reason our Savior was crucified, a sign crudely scrawled beneath the cross: "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews" (John 19:19).

Along the way, the Good News is truncated. An earth-shaking, kingdom-sized announcement is reduced to a personal self-help story. Our gospel has grown too small.

As I noted previously, the kingdom-natured, eschatological significance of Jesus' birth is largely overshadowed, not only by consumerism and commercialization, but by a narrowly-tailored Christmas theology. Consequently, the gospel is effectively "truncated," obstructing a Christ-follower's responsibility to, in the words of Schaeffer, "communicate the whole gospel in understandable terms."

In the midst of seasonal preparation, we must bear in mind the previous, present, and imminent significance of that which Pascal described as "the good news, which to me is irresistible." Otherwise, we undoubtedly rob the Christmas season of its distinctive merit, muffle the good news, and mitigate the glory our Lord's birth.

May we proclaim the entirety of the gospel in this final day of the Advent season, and in the days to come.

[ Come thou long expected Jesus, born to set Thy people free ]

[JSD]

the [keeper of the] promise

Christmas. We've but a few days before our anticipation becomes actualization.

Indeed, the "Christmas season" is almost entirely a season of anticipation and preparation. The tradition of Advent serves as a realigning of that anticipation back toward the coming of the Promise, as most seasonal expectation is geared toward one another's Christmas wish-list. Christmas, after all, is not merely a historical event, but a reaffirmation of the promise-keeping character of God.

More than any year recently, I have been drawn into the seasonal music of Michael Card. His album, "The Promise", is Card's abbreviated attempt to unwrap and illustrate both the prophetic significance and immediate response of those caught up in the Christmas narrative.

One song, in particular, has assisted me in reforming my understanding of Christmas' contemporary relevance.

[ Thou the Promise ]

Thou the Promise / and Keeper of the promise / our Salvation / and our only Savior / our Redemption / our Redeemer / Thou art ours / and we are Thine.

Savior, Servant / Deliverer, Messiah / our great King / Desire of all nations / tired eyes at last can see You / longing lips can speak Your name.

Jesus Christ / Jesus Christ / Jesus Christ

Thou the Lamb / and yet the Shepherd / Thou the Lamb / and yet the Lion / Thou great Judge / and selfsame Savior / in wonder we cry out to Thee.

Jesus Christ / Jesus Christ / Jesus Christ

Thou the Promise / and Keeper of the promise / our Salvation / and our only Savior / our Redemption / our Redeemer / Thou art ours / and we are Thine.

Card wrote an accompanying devotional to his Christmas record, and throughout his devotional to this song, he notes that the God of scripture is One who keeps His promises. Indeed, Jesus' birth marked both the inception of God's imminent redemption as well as the consummation of a host of prophetic promises.

Consider the Hebrews: a people waiting, watching, and hoping for a Messiah that would right the wrongs of a broken world. Generation after generation witnessed the incomplete state of things, the state of disruption between God and his people. As the Messiah was birthed in Bethlehem, his people desperately longed for his arrival.

The church, too, eagerly anticipates Christ's return. Yet, Christmas is often compartmentalized away from that eschatological anticipation, and is instead viewed as mere historical happening. Consider the common rhetoric: Christ came. He was born. He then lived, died, and rose. He ascended. Each truth is accurate, powerful, and founds the very essence of Christ-following. And yet, Christ's birth means far more.

His arrival signifies the promise-keeping nature of God our Father. He, the same God who promises the return of His Son. The same God who shall deal justly with all. The same God who will reconcile the world to himself. Consequently, Christ's birth cannot be reduced to an event of past significance only, but must be recognized as an affirmation of God's promise-keeping nature. Indeed, Jesus will return, for He keeps His word.

The author of Hebrews speaks of the "great cloud of witnesses" that surrounds contemporary believers and urges them onward in their proverbial race. They have witnessed the glory of God's great work. They celebrate the imminent return of Jesus. They themselves evince God's promise-keeping nature.

May we be motivated by the eschatological significance of Christ's birth, even as we carry our crosses, knowing one day all will come to pass.

Come quickly, Lord Jesus.

[JSD]

only the present

Robert Lupton gets me every time.

In one of his several anecdotes from his work, Theirs is the Kingdom, Lupton summarizes the life-stuggles of a psychologically-decrepit neighbor in his downtown Atlanta neighborhood. Immediately following the elderly lady's narrative, Lupton points out the call of Christ:

"If you would save your life, you will lose it; but if you lose your life for My sake, you will find it." [Matthew 16:25]

Lupton continues:

The church is engaged in a similar struggle. We are in a death drift that moves us from serving to preserving. Our spontaneous fellowship soon becomes a program. Bearing one another's burdens becomes a budget line item. Self-sacrificing friends become paid professionals with titles (counselor, minister, director) and salary packages, longevity guarantees, and retirement benefits. Our meeting places turn into "holy places" with stained glass, polished oak, and locks. Taking "no thought for tomorrow" becomes sentimental rhetoric as we build bigger barns and amass insurance and endowments and reserve funds against unpredictable events of our future.

But the church has not future. We have only the present.

In this present moment we must spend, lavish, and give away our tomorrows for the sake of His kingdom today. In short, we must die. Today. That is that only way to save our lives. The church is called to live at Golgotha. If perchance tomorrow morning we discover that our depleted spirits have a new supply of energy, that the emptied offering plate is full once again, and from sacrificial dreams whole new dimensions of life have burst forth, then we will begin to understand something of what th resurrection is about. On the other side of death, each death, stands our risen Lord. And He beckons us.

Participate in a simple exercise: attempt to justify a recent exorbitant expense according to the teachings and life-style of Jesus. You'll soon find cause for confession, and the validity contained in Lupton's above statement.

Even further, Christ's calling is not so simple as an all/nothing dichotomy, for even our Lord maintained even the simplest possessions. Indeed, we must navigate the tension between stewarding and lavishing in that which we own. The call of the Christian is not instant suicide; it is the daily cross-carrying, practice of sacrificing oneself for the betterment of others in the pattern of Jesus Christ.

What authenticates Lupton's admonition is the context of the entire work. He's hardly out to rail against tradition; indeed, he actively advocates for solid orthodoxy and the absolute need for substantive believers to transport that faith and living into the urban sprawl.

In a genre that is regularly politicized, radicalized, and sensationalized, Lupton speaks from experiential wisdom and a broken heart. Through a series of anecdotal narratives, Lupton reveals patterns and problems of domestic, marginalized people groups residing within the city, and consequently reveals both the pitfalls and successes of certain urban-missional habits. He speaks not as a commentator, nor a policy expert, but as a neighbor. A Good Samaritan.

If you don't own a copy of Theirs is the Kingdom, its worth every penny of the Amazonian S+H.

[JSD]

inerrancy

Just getting into this discussion. I found relevant commentary by Keller appropriate, per usuale.

I’ve heard people talk about epistemological humility saying that you have to admit that it’s hard to judge what the Bible says because there are so many interpretations. It’s hard in a postmodern situation to get people to take your seriously. [So] I think you need spiritual humility. As a sinner, I know I have prejudices. And I know you do too. And there are things you want the text to say and you don’t want the text to say. So we have to be really careful about being too quick to say this is what it says.

Basically, being spiritually humble [does not mean] talking about how difficult it is to figure out and judge all the various interpretations and figure out the culture distance; instead if they see me just being spiritual humble about it and asking them to do it, then they’ll follow. I don’t think it’s an epistemological humility [we need], saying the text is indeterminate and I really don’t know what it means. I think a spiritual humility along with a clear interpretation of the scripture is what has taken me through. And it’s New York. It’s not a backwater place.

Here's a related discussion that accentuates Keller's statements above and appropriates the role of Scripture in orthodoxy and orthopraxy.

That is, after all, the unavoidable crux of this issue. It would seem, to me, that if one claims to hold scripture's authority at arm's length, while subsequently articulating a particular view of Jesus and his teachings, one remains entirely susceptible to one's own critique in holding that narrow view of Jesus's life-claims.

Consequently, any rhetoric on gospel living and Christ-following, it would seem, is absolutely hinged upon one's posture towards the text.

More to come.

________________________________________________________

UPDATE:

A couple of other useful resources on the topic:

• Prof. Kenton Sparks critique of the traditional notion of inerrancy @ BioLogos
• J.I. Packer's defense of the doctrine of inerrancy @ KevinDeYoung
• The Chicago Statement on Biblical Inerrancy

[JSD]