Prayer and the Spirit--some thoughts on Romans 8

“…the Spirit comes to help us in our weakness,

for, when we do not know how to pray properly,

then the spirit personally makes our petitions for us

in groans that cannot be put into words; and He

who can see into all hearts knows what the Spirit

means because the prayers the prayers that the

Spirit makes for God’s holy people are always

in accordance with the mind of God.”

--Romans 8: 26-27

 

The prayers of the Spirit are always in accordance with the mind of God… I’ve never really pondered what that means.  What is the Spirit’s prayer?  I guess, that is something I’ve usually glossed over when reading Romans.  I think my focus has probably been on the beautiful assurance that even if I don’t know what to pray for, the Spirit does and will pray for me. And that has always seemed like enough for me.  I took comfort in the fact that if I was thinking I needed a new bright red Schwinn bicycle with gears and hand brakes and a bell on it, perhaps the Spirit would know I would do better with a blue one.  That was kind of how I thought this worked.

 

But after a Pandemic year and a Pipe-Freezing Snow-mageddon, I began to wonder, what’s going on here?  Is it me or is it the Spirit? Somebody sure seems to be praying wrong.  Because I sure wasn’t praying for a pipe-bursting freeze and a state-wide power outage and a week without running water.  Maybe it was my wife! She had been wanting to go camping, so maybe God was answering her prayer—because that’s what we were doing. Camping in the living room, gathering snow and rain water to flush the toilets, melting bags of ice that a friend bought for us so we’d have drinking water.  We were –at least for these city-folks—roughing it.  Living the Little House on the Prairie dream, so to speak. Heck, we even made molasses candy in the snow, like Ma and Laura used to do!  And so, yes—we might admit that there was something of a blessing in this weird break from our normal lives.  We were a little quieter and a little more intentional for a few days.  We were a little more dependent on each other and on our neighbors.  And even in the evening as the world grew dark and the battery powered lanterns came on, we would sit listening to a battery powered radio and playing games by candle-light in the growing dark. And just when it was getting to be too much and our nerves were beginning to fray and the charm of roughing it was wearing thin, the power came back and stayed on.  And we all cheered. It felt like a prayer had been answered.  But then, the phone rang; it was my mother-in-law. She was in the ER. The doctors weren’t certain what was going on, but she seemed to have some internal bleeding. In the end, this was only the beginning. After more than a week in the hospital we learned she has cancer in her stomach and possibly other places, and according to the doctors, only months to live.  It felt like a sucker punch. Like we’d been tricked into thinking everything was finally okay, getting back to normal, and suddenly—wham!

 

Is this what it means to be in accordance with the mind of God?  As St. Teresa of Avila famously said: If this is how God treats His friends, no wonder He has so few…

 

 

 

And so, suddenly the world has stopped. And all the headlines and talk about freezes and pandemics and Ercot and elections and masks and ZOOM and re-openings, it all seems like so much nothing.  Looking into the eyes of a person who knows she is dying, seeing that fear and confusion and that helplessness seem to grow in the quiet of her exhausted gaze… Suddenly everything seems to be put into perspective. And suddenly I want to cry out—but I don’t have any words.

 

And yet, according to Paul, that is exactly when the Spirit intercedes for us “in groans that cannot be put into words…” 

 

Looking into my mother-in-law’s eyes, that is the prayer I see; that prayer that cannot be put into words.

 

In the book of Job, there is that wonderful, strange prayer of his; standing before his friends, Job turns to God and cries out, “Please just leave me alone long enough that I may swallow my spit!” (cf. 7:19).  We all feel that way sometimes. The world, our life, our trials overwhelm us and all the prayer we have left in us is to cry out: Leave me alone! But if we offer even that to God, we can trust that the Holy Spirit will set it right in the translation.

 

For us, for the moment, all our prayers are for my wife’s mother. For a miracle, for healing, for comfort, for hope… that she won’t be afraid and that she will know she is loved, by her family, and by her Lord. And the rest we just have to leave to God.

 But now, as I finish this, I think I might have an idea just exactly what it is the Spirit prays:

 Our Father, who art in Heaven

Hallowed be thy name.

Thy Kingdom come.

Thy will be done,

on earth as it is in Heaven.

Give us this day

our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses

as we forgive those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil…

 

Amen

 

 

 

 

 

 

Right where we belong--some thoughts on the act of reading Acts

 

“He spent the whole of the two years

in his own rented lodging. He welcomed

all who came to visit him…”

--Acts 28:30

 

This is describing how Paul was being held for trial in Rome.  It sounds kind of like he was under house arrest. I love the phrase: in his own rented lodging.  It sounds so cozy and cheerful. Something out of a British children’s book about a badger, a mole and a well-dressed bear off for a seaside vacation. But what caught my attention was the “two years.”  It is the second time within a few chapters that Paul has been held somewhere for 2 years  (stemming from the charges brought against him by the Scribes and Sadducee and his arrest in Jerusalem [cf. 21]). The implication is that Paul spends at least the last 4 years of his life in captivity: first in Caesarea (cf. 24:27) and then in Rome. 

 

Because the phrase was repeated, it caught my attention. At first, I wondered whether “two years” might be a symbolic length of time.  Something like the idea of Jonah being “three days” in the belly of the whale, or the Jews wandering in the desert for “40 years” or Jesus fasting in the desert for “40 days.”  Most scholars, theologians, preachers seem to treat those numbers as symbolic; possibly just meaning “a long time.”  But, as far as I can tell these “two years” in Caesarea and two more years in Rome have always been read in a literal sense.  Paul was in captivity for 4 years (in addition to travel from Jerusalem to Rome, plus getting shipwrecked and spending a few months in Malta).

 

Anyway, that is how I read scripture—some odd detail catches my attention, and off my little brain goes like a cat chasing a lizard (that was brought in with the potted plants from patio because of the freeze…just saying…).  BUT… this is how scripture reads me.

 

As I was sitting there cogitating over Paul and those two years, I found myself suddenly remembering a strange remark that Agrippa made to Festus (no—not the guy from Gunsmoke). At the end of chapter 26, Agrippa says:

            “That man could have been set free if he had not appealed to Caesar.”

Which sounds strangely like they are saying: If only Paul hadn’t made that rash appeal to Caesar, he could be free and on his way.  If only he hadn’t been so foolish, if only he hadn’t been so ridiculous, he could be a free man.  But, because he did, now he has to go to Rome and –well, you know what happens there...

 

And now I am suddenly thinking about how it all must have seemed so ridiculous and wasteful.  Two years doing nothing in Caesarea, followed by two more years “doing nothing” in Rome, and –in the eyes of the world—it was all due to Paul’s bad choice; his mistake. If only he hadn’t appealed to Rome.

 

Because of Paul’s rash choice he is forced to curtail his missionary travels and waste these valuable years in a holding pattern.  At least that is what it looks like in the eyes of the world. But, in God’s eyes, it is quite a different thing all together.  Paul is right where God wants him to be. He is doing exactly what God wants him to be doing. He is spreading God’s message of love and salvation to the world—even as he is held in custody. First, sharing it with the local officials and their households in Caesarea (Agrippa, Festus, Felix, et al), and then to the whole world through Rome, where he will be held and then finally (as tradition has it) put to death. Nothing glorious, nothing especially noteworthy, nothing particularly honorable about any of this; and yet, many would say, he changed the world.

 

How often do so many of us find ourselves contemplating those wasted years, those bad choices we made, haunted by a series of “if only” thoughts. If only I had studied harder in school. If only I had gone to law school. If only I had passed the bar. If only I had passed any bar… Sorry, Griffs! If only I had bought Apple when it was $2 a share.

 

If only Paul had not appealed to Rome…

 

But the lesson I learned from those two years with Paul in Caesarea and again in Rome is this:  being a beloved servant of God is not about being right.  It’s not about making “right choices.” It’s about being beloved. We are not defined by our mistakes, or by our successes—in the end, we are defined by the love of our Creator.   And we are called to live in that love, and to be a sign of that love for the world.  And that is exactly what we see in Paul, wherever he was, whatever situation he found himself in, even awaiting his own execution, he was being a beloved servant of God—and, like his master, he was welcoming all who came to him.

 

So, you see, this is how reading scripture works on me.  Even while I am busily distracted by some minor detail or some repeated phrase, foolishly chasing after some strange “two years,” the Lord is there in His love and planting seeds –casting them carelessly onto the soil of my soul.  Some falls on rocks, some among thorns, but other on rich soil where it will bloom, thirty, sixty, a hundred-fold. The trick is remembering He’s not only in charge of the seeds, He’s also in charge of the soil.  Like Paul, wherever you find yourself—in sunny Cancun, or without water and electricity in a frozen Houston suburb-- rest in that love and make welcome all who come.

 

 

Why don't we live forever? A Theology of Need in Genesis 3 & Acts 17

 “…and He did this so that they might seek

the Lord and, by feeling their way

towards Him, find Him…”  Acts 17:27

 

These words are from Paul’s sermon in Athens, at the Areopagus.  He is explaining to the Athenians the glory of the one God; a God who needs no temple, no altar, no statue to honor Him. Paul is telling the Athenians that there is a God, greater than any they have imagined; greater than Zeus, and Apollo, greater than all their honored gods. He proclaims to them the one God, the God who made all things and gives breath and life to all living creatures.  A God who decrees even the times and limits of their habitation of the earth; of their lives—of our lives. And, Paul says, He did this, He set that limit upon our lives, for a reason: that we might seek Him.

 

That is where I paused in my reading today.  Thinking about this note, I was reminded of a joke from a teacher I know.  He says: Life is a lot like a sexually transmitted disease, but –on the plus side—at least it‘s terminal.

 

At least it’s terminal!  He jokes.  It sounds clever—especially at 7:15 in the morning, when you are getting your first cup of coffee or checking your mail. We all laugh and wander off to our classrooms, but… For me, this joke has always left a strange little itch of a thought, something like a tiny splinter, catching at the back of my brain.    

 

And then to read Paul’s words this morning; it was as if something snagged on that splinter. A beautiful seamless garment catching on an imperceptible thorn…

 

And there was something else it reminded me of: in the third chapter of Genesis, there is that strange moment when God expels Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden –not as punishment for their sin, but—so that they do not reach out their hands and eat from the tree of life and “live forever.” (cf. Genesis 3:22-23)   

 

That idea that God didn’t want humans to live forever has always puzzled me.  Why?  Wouldn’t living forever be a good thing? It would free us from the fear of death, and wouldn’t that solve a lot of the world’s problems?  No more Covid. No more cancer. No more starvation. No more hospitals. And no more funerals!

 

Why was that “tree of life” even kept apart? Why were we not supposed to eat from it? What was it God feared?  Or what was it God wanted for us that required us not to live forever? I think the answer to that question is found in what Paul is teaching the Athenians here. 

 

God was not afraid of us living forever, but afraid for us.  God understood that, if we were to live forever, we would be doomed to thinking we were sufficient unto ourselves; we would begin to think were our own gods.  For our own good, we needed temporal limitations as a kind of driving force –an urge within—an itch of sorts, to make us begin to scratch the surface of our existence, make us begin to seek something else, something beyond ourselves. For only in seeking to scratch this itch, to resolve the problem of our limitations, our need for shelter, for safety, for sustenance, for security, for help, for another…. only be scratching at the itch of our insufficiency, our mortality, would we discover that beneath the surface of this life, there is something more, something so much more. 

 

Later in Acts, as Paul looks toward what will become his final mission trip, he announces “…it is clear to me that imprisonment and persecution await me…” (20:23b)   And yet Paul is not afraid.  He is set on going forward, toward whatever will come; imprisonment, persecution, or worse.  As fearful as these seem, Paul is set on going forward with his mission.  Because he knows, it’s not about him. It’s not about his will, or comfort or pleasure.  There is something much worse than discomfort, worse than imprisonment, worse than persecution that we should fear:  and that is the curse of thinking we are enough, thinking the world revolves around us; the curse of becoming our own gods.

 

We need the prison of our mortality, and the persecutions of the flesh—vulnerability, weakness, sickness, pain, exhaustion, hunger, desires—to open our eyes to our own insufficiency, that we might discover the truth and the blessing of our need. And discover there, in our hunger, in our insufficiency, in our longing for something more, something beyond ourselves, a kind of theology. A theology of need.

The honor of humiliation--some thoughts on Acts 5:41 and the Lord's prayer

 “…glad to have had the honor of suffering

humiliation for the sake of the name…”

--Acts 5:41

 

 

How often do we (do I) offer myself to God, to submit to God’s will, to serve God, to bring God’s love and presence into the world, to reveal God’s glory through my life—how often have I made that offer, and yet always with some stipulation attached? Some small print, some terms & agreements! In the hope that –like the rest of us—God won’t read them.  But will be bound by them anyway.

 

Yes, Lord, I say loud and clear, and all the while I am whispering: but on my terms!  Yes, Lord, I will serve You, give my life to You, but –like Frank Sinatra said, You have to do it My way! You have to reveal Your glory through me, My way!

 

I will be Your servant, but serving You has to look like this:

1.      I give myself to God

2.      God glorifies my work (out of gratitude for my gift)

3.      All my friends and coworkers sees how humble and holy I am (and tell me)

4.      Everybody loves me and sings my praises for being so humble and holy

5.      I win the Nobel Prize for Humility and Holiness and give a big speech that gets on the front page of every newspaper in the world

6.      CBS offers me my own morning show with Hoda

 

It’s all there, Lord. In the small print. When you clicked “accept” You agreed to the Terms & Agreements. It’s not my fault You didn’t read them…! You’re the one who is supposed to be so high and mighty Mr. Omniscient!

 

But, of course, I have to wonder: is that really giving? Do we treat anyone else this way? 

 

Happy Birthday! Here’s your present. It’s a brand new Maya Angelou, Barbie! You can keep it as long as you agree to follow MY Terms of appropriate playing and enjoyment. Otherwise, you have to return it to me, in the original packaging with all shoes still in pairs.

 

No, of course not.  That’s not really giving.  But I know, deep in my heart, that sounds a lot like the way I treat my gifts to God.  If I am honest with myself, I may be saying: Thy will be done, but what I really mean is My will be done. Instead of giving myself to God, too often I’m really asking God to give Himself to me.   

 

Reading the book of Acts this morning, I came across this odd idea of being glad for the honor of suffering humiliation for God.  The disciples have been arrested and chastised, and flogged even and they leave with the bruises and welts still on their flesh, glad for the honor of suffering humiliation for God’s name.

 

And that made me begin to contemplate my own terms & agreements. Called to mind, my ever-present ego, always making demands and putting stipulations on my gifts to God. The disciples aren’t telling God how to run things, they aren’t telling God what glory looks like, they aren’t even demanding equitable or fair or just treatment. Instead, they give themselves wholly to God and whether that means hunger or plenty, heat or cold, suffering humiliation or being praised for healing a lame beggar, they praise God; they give all glory and honor to Him.  Even to the point of being “glad to have the honor of suffering humiliation for the sake of the name” of Jesus.

 

This is what it means to truly live out the prayer: Not my will, but Thy will be done. (cf Luke 22:42)

No small print. No stipulations. No secret Terms & Agreements.  Just: Yes.  In good or bad, honor or humiliation, silence and suffering, laughter and celebration… Always, yes.

Whether pandemic and poverty or prizes and Post Toasties! Always, Yes.

 

And in that yes, we will find true peace. Because it isn’t really about us, about our plans and priorities. It’s about becoming who we were truly made to be… children of light, children of hope, children of God. And all it takes is found in that one word… No small print, just one simple: Yes.

 

 

 

To serve is divine--A Meditation on John 13

 “Jesus knew that the Father had put

everything into His hands, and that

He had come from God and was

returning to God…”  --John 13:3

 

 

Just before the last supper, the night before He was to die, according to John’s Gospel, Jesus seems to have a deeper or more profound knowledge, special insight, into His mission, His role, His person.  He knew that God had delivered everything into His hands—implying a kind of completeness—and John seems to recognize that Jesus understood in a new or special way where He had come from, and where He was going.  Some theologians have interpreted this as depicting or expressing a moment when the human consciousness of Jesus is receding into (or reuniting with) the wholeness of the Divine; as if to say that whatever limits may have been upon His human understanding are fading as He prepares to re-unite completely with the Father. 

 

Okay, but my first reaction is: I guess.  But, if He’s God, didn’t He really know this all along[1]?  

 

My second reaction, is to ponder. And this morning, reading this chapter of John’s Gospel on the front porch with the blue jays pecking at the peanuts and a flock of thrushes peppering the sky, darting in and out of neighboring trees, hopping about in the grass, I found myself pondering this idea: Jesus suddenly knew these things and knowing them, what does He do?  He overturns all religious and cultural conventions: He acts like a servant and begins washing His disciples’ feet. (cf13:5).

 

And when Peter complains about Him doing this, Jesus doesn’t explain. He just says: You’ll understand this later.  And to make sure, He sits the disciples down and tells them point blank: Pay attention! This was more than just a hygiene lesson. If you want to follow me, I just showed you the way. (cf 13:15)

 

It is easy to be sentimental and say to ourselves, I want to be like Jesus. But, living it is something else.  For instance: last night I came home from work tired, neck tight from slouching over a computer. All I wanted was to change clothes, go for a walk and read a little Agatha Christie. But I could see that Lynne was working very hard, and there were still chores that needed doing, litter boxes that needed cleaning, etc. So, I changed clothes and started to help.

 

At some point I realized there were no dinner plans.  So, I got out tortillas, eggs, salsa and cheese and started making tacos.  And seeing that my wife was just as tired as I was, I brought her a couple of tacos on a plate and gave her a kiss. I told Sophie and Lucy there were taco fixings and warmed up some more tortillas and sat down to eat. A Hallmark movie was on the TV, and I felt like I finally had a moment to myself, so I opened up the I-pad and started looking at the NY Times. But, sometimes Paul Krugman isn’t as fun as Facebook, so I started flipping through pictures and silly videos. Just as I was beginning to wonder why I was watching another TCM commercial, Lynne asked me if I would be willing to rub her neck. For an instant I felt like Peter. Resentment welled up inside me. I had just done everything, cooked, served, even protected the leftovers from a cat. Inside me a voice cried out: What about me? Don’t I deserve to be massaged, or comforted, or even just left alone?

 

But living like Jesus isn’t just about sentiment, and humility, and it certainly isn’t about fairness.  It’s about divinity. Knowing who He is and what He was made for, Jesus empties Himself and becomes a servant—a slave.

 

Pondering these verses, I realize that every moment, every choice, it is all in my hands. I can choose to follow the example of Jesus, or I act like Peter and complain. I can choose to pursue my own desires and ego.  Or I can lay down my life (or my I-pad) in service to my wife, and to God: the one who made me and to whom I will return.

 

And, like Jesus, I can know: This is what I was made for.

 

Lord,

Open my eyes, that I read Your word more clearly,

Open my ears, that I hear Your message more fully,

And open my heart, and let me be filled

with the love that is found there.

---

[1] My instinct, too often, is to look for a loophole or point of debate.  Which may just be part of growing up as the middle child in a largish family. Always watching for a way to score points, make an impression, make myself stand apart from the crowd…   But it probably also comes from studying theology and philosophy at the University of St. Thomas with those delightfully odd Basilians and their Thomistic Center.  We were taught to ask questions, to be curious, to explore ideas and push against the envelope—but always with humility and always in service of the truth. 

 

The Law & the Woman & the Capitol protest: some thoughts on John 8: 3-5

 “The scribes and Pharisees brought a woman along
who had been caught committing adultery; and making
her stand there in the middle they said to Jesus: Master,
this woman was caught in the very act of committing
adultery, and in the Law, Moses has ordered us
to stone women of this kind.
What have you got to say?”

--John 8:3-5

What a fearful statement.  The scribes and Pharisees make such a fearful claim when they say, Moses ordered us to stone women “of this kind.”  The implication is that the Law, from God, commands us to kill her. What other choice do we have? It’s God’s law! 

But then, as if to trick Jesus, they ask: What do you think?

There are a few things here I would like to think about.  First, that word “ordered.”  Did God actually “order” His people to kill anyone guilty of adultery? In Leviticus (20:10) and Deuteronomy (22: 23-34) the punishment for adultery is prescribed as death (for both man and woman). And the idea behind it is that it is a grave sin and must be driven out of the community.  So, in a sense the scribes and Pharisees are right.  And yet, how does Jesus respond?

His answer isn’t: No. You’re wrong. You misinterpreted the Law. Or even to blame them for spying on the woman. What were they doing, that they were able to catch her “in the very act?”

No. He responds with silence.  He kneels down and begins “writing on the ground with His finger.” (8:6) Why?  Why doesn’t He correct them? Why doesn’t He chastise them?  In Matthew’s Gospel, when the same guys come with another question about God commanding a writ of divorce, Jesus seems almost to shake His head and sigh, “It was because of the hardness of your hearts that Moses allowed you to divorce…” (cf. Mt 19:7-9).  Why doesn’t He say something like that here, too?  I wonder. 

They are saying something provocative and dangerous. And it is very clear that they have come to Him not seeking answers but an excuse for something they already have in their hearts. They are truly hungry for blood. This crowd has been riled up and is ready to erupt.

On some level, they remind me of those people in Washington DC who stormed the capitol. People who were clearly riled up and ready to explode.  They were not in Washington to seek answers or debate issues. From all appearances, they were there to cast stones.

I have been wondering about that event for a few days now. The horror of it, the anger that overwhelmed many of the protesters --turning them into a violent mob. Five people died. But I have also been thinking about some of the faces I keep seeing on the news. On many of them I see anger and rage and frustration, but on others I see smiles and something like glee. In some of these pictures and videos, I see what looks more like a bunch of middle-aged high-schoolers out for a last fling—a lark! A kind of Spring Break from Covid and isolation and the exhausting lives they find themselves trapped in. 

I do not mean to denigrate their anger, or deny that they may sincerely feel aggrieved; may even sincerely feel like their election was stolen. But… how do we stop this craziness? How do we stop this divisiveness? How do we stop our country, our society, our culture from self-destruction, from becoming nothing but a raging series of reactionary riots?

One way might be to look to Jesus for an example.  The crowd comes to Him, ready for a fight, hungering for justification and confrontation.  And instead of correcting them, or engaging in their anger, He listens and even takes notes.  And by doing so—what happens? The tension is released. The crowd is dispersed—in fact, it disperses itself. The frenzy that caught up the crowd has been calmed, because someone helped them slow down and think—slow down and remember who they were. Not riotous murderers, but people, families, fathers and brothers and sons, mothers and daughters and… people. Just ordinary people who have struggled with their own sins and failings, their own weaknesses and longings.

Jesus doesn’t argue with them or their understanding of the Law.  He simply listens to them, to their concerns, and then asks them to remember who they are.

What a beautiful lesson we get every time we open the scripture. If only we have eyes to see and ears to hear.

 

Lord, open my eyes that I may read Your word more clearly

Lord, open my ears that I may hear Your word more fully

and open my heart, that I may be filled

with the Love that is always found there.

 

 

    

A Christmas box from a friend

 “…one gift replacing another…”

--John 1:16

 

Gift giving has been on my mind lately.  Tis the season, you know.  In particular, I have been thinking about this one friend of ours who has sent us a gift box every year for the past –almost 30 years it seems.  She was a friend of mine in college, and over the years we have kept in touch by phone and mail, but our lives have gone off in their different directions. After college she moved back to Denver. She married, has 3 grown sons and a daughter. My wife and I are godparents to her daughter and she is godmother to one of ours. Like most people, we keep in touch by phone call and Facebook and letters, and remind each other how much we are loved. But, Barb is different from most friends.  She takes this whole friendship thing to another level.  And it includes gift-wrapping!  Every year just before Christmas she sends us a rather large box (or two--sometimes) filled with wrapped presents.  And when I say filled, I mean filled. She sends us a box full of presents; multiple presents for each member of the household. Books, toys, jewelry, clothing, candy, kitchenware, herbs from her garden. I think she even sent the cats a present one year. Each gift is wrapped and labeled, often with a silly note. And, keep in mind, she’s been doing this without fail for almost 30 years now. Some of the presents are silly, but some are beautiful, and so perfect—they seem like gifts from God. 

 

For instance, a couple of years back she gave me a black plastic fountain pen. It came in a goofy retro ‘50s packaging and looked like it was something she may have just tossed in at the last minute—thinking: Herman likes to write. He might have fun with this. And yet, it quickly become my favorite pen—and now, I do all my writing with it.  I think it may have even changed the way I write! The pen seemed to be filled not with ink, but with words, with ideas, with poems, with inspiration. But, I guess what it was actually filled with was love.

 

We joke sometimes about it, but it has become a part of our Christmas that we all look forward to. Not the presents themselves as much as the box! It has become for us a sign of Christmas, of the promise of Christmas. Has the box from Barb arrived yet?

 

There have been years when her gifts were just about the only presents under our tree.  And though we have on occasion reciprocated with boxes of biscotti and books and crafts and other homemade items, we have never met her level of generosity, nor have we ever been as regular and timely.  Yet still, regardless of our efforts, every year, the box from Barb arrives and on Christmas morning we open it with delight.  Her generosity, her constant and abundant generosity came to mind as I was thinking about this phrase from the beginning of John’s Gospel.

 

“…one gift replacing another…”

 

In other translations it reads something like “grace in place of grace already given…” or “grace upon grace.” Gift upon gift… Whichever translation, I hear in it a statement of overflowing abundance and generosity.  A vision of God’s love; a seemingly bottomless box of personally wrapped presents poured forth again and again! As soon as we open one gift, we find another. And if we aren’t happy with that, there is one more and one more after that.

Reading God’s word, I hear not a message of judgment and warning, so much as a message of love and generosity.  Again and again, the prophets remind us of God’s tender love for His creation.  They remind us again and again of His seemingly endless mercy and the abundance of His grace, His love for His creation. Each time we fail, we stumble and fall, He is there to lift us up and offer us again some new sign of His love, always replacing one gift with another, one grace with another, one covenant laid over another.  Until finally He gives Himself wholly and utterly into our hands. Taking upon Himself all our sins—our stumbles and falls, our rejection of His many gifts—He becomes the gift itself. Unexpected, undeserved, He is the gift.

 

Like that box from Barbara, that box overflowing with gift upon gift, God’s love comes to us grace upon grace and here at Christmas we are called to come together in joy over the abundance of God’s love.  It comes to us again and again, renewed again and again in great and small ways alike—even in the simplest and humblest gifts, individually wrapped and waiting for us to open with delight.  It may look like a Pez dispenser or a bookmark or a box of tea, a pair of socks, or even a newborn baby in a borrowed manger. Thank you Barb for helping me remember, the gift is always love.