His humility humbles me.

I have 38 minutes left until Christmas 2008 ends, so Merry Christmas! (I accidentally wished my cousin a happy birthday instead this morning…)

I’ve been reading through the Apostle Paul’s epistles, and when I reached Philippians, I was about to skip it because I’d read it so many times already in the past couple months.  But as I began reading through Colossians, I felt a little uneasy (maybe “guilty” is a better description), so I went back to Philippians and began reading.  Then after 2:1-11, I got “stuck.”

I’ve been reading and meditating on that one passage for the past week, and it’s like I’m reading it again for the first time.  My thoughts have ranged anywhere from, “Huh?” to “That’s crazy…” to “Oy…”

And His humility humbles me … not to say that I’m humble, but something about reading of God the Son’s humility for the sake of making the many righteous, and for the sake of the Father’s glory, breaks me.

It wasn’t easy for Him.  It wasn’t only His death that came at a cost; His incarnation came at a cost, too.  And He didn’t humble Himself and become a servant because He loved lowliness for its own sake.  He didn’t become the Son of Man because He thought it would be easy or suiting to Him.

He humbled Himself in willing obedience to the One He loved for the sake of those He loved: mankind in all his broken, sinful, ruined deadness.  The same ones I struggle to love and humble myself for.

Yes, we are to be humble because He is God Most High, not us.  And yes, we are to be humble because we are but dust.  And yes, we are to be humble because we are frail and embattled sinners.  But we’re also to be humble because our Lord humbled Himself.  It doesn’t make sense for servants to scorn humble servanthood when their very own Master humbly served (serves).

His heart is for the glory of God and the complete salvation of the lost.  So great was His desire that He even “made Himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.  And being found in human form, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.”

In following Him, then, can’t we be obedient to the point of smaller things?  Can’t we then strive to imitate His humility and serve for the sake of seeing the many made righteous, covered with the righteousness of Christ, to the glory of God the Father?

Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made Himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.  And being found in the likeness of men, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.  Therefore God has highly exalted Him and bestowed on Him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.
(Philippians 2:1-11)

Simply Jesus.

A week ago, I was rummaging the shelves of a store, looking for Christmas cards.  Santa Claus in his usual get-up, three lean wise men, a velvety puppy with bright red ribbon, a cozy cottage with gray smoke leisurely circling out the chimney …

They were cute but not quite what I was looking for.  To be honest, I didn’t really know what I was looking for; all I knew was that those weren’t it.

I turned the corner and started rummaging through the shelves on the next aisle.  The classic nativity scene, comical elves, a single ornament hanging from a branch …

Then I saw a square-ish card with a cute picture of baby Jesus in some straw.  “Too cutesy.”  I was ready to rummage on until I saw what was written under the picture: Simply Jesus.

I think I stared at that for a good minute or two.  Simply Jesus.

Your love is strong.

When we cherish sin in our hearts — not necessarily that we consciously love the sin, but even that we passively allow it to thrive unchecked — we, in effect, are telling God that we despise His love.  No God, this sin is more attractive, and this is where I’ll cast my affections.

When we open our hearts to sin, no matter how “small” we may reckon it to be, we close our hearts to the Holy One who sent His Son to bear the weight of our sins and die.  In clinging to our sin, justifying it or excusing it, we are saying that we despise the demonstrated love of God.

Is it no wonder then that we who persist in our sin are least aware of the love of God?  Is it no wonder then that we who refuse to repent of our sin most question His love for us?

We see how our sins push away even those closest to us.  We see how our sin repels those who (humanly speaking) should love us best.  And consequently, we don’t wonder so much whether He does love us but whether He can still love us.

But His love is stronger than we think or know.

Even when we sin and would appear hateful and unlovable to all (even ourselves), His love is strong.

Even when believers crumble, feeling helpless to sin and forgetting that sin shall have no dominion over us, His love is strong.

Even when it seems that human will and sin have had the final say, His love is strong.

Even when our hearts have wandered, His love is strong.

Even when we fall and “stupidly” trade in His way for our way (whether it’s creatively ours or another’s way that we’ve adopted), His love is strong.

Even when all else forsake, His love is strong.

Even when we’re like Gomer, naked and shameful and altogether undesirable, His love is strong.

Even then.

His love isn’t a feeble, helpless love.  His love is strong to transform, strong to penetrate the hardest of hearts, strong to work repentance where it seems impossible, strong to perfect what He’s begun in us, strong to pursue and win the affections of His people, strong to remain unaffected by any apathy or indifference or deadness, strong to save to the uttermost, strong to give even one more day of grace before He comes in righteous judgment, strong …

How can it be that things that would dry up any human well of affection don’t even begin to alter His love for us?  How can it be that His love isn’t based on anything meritorious or lovable to be had in us?

I don’t know how.  All I know is that’s His character.  That’s who He is.  And all I know is that when I look to Him — not to myself or man or history or circumstances or sin — I see His love, vast and strong.

And I don’t get it.  But there it is.  Or rather, there He is.

Two things You told me
That You are strong
And You love me
Yes, You love me

Your love is
Your love is
Your love is strong

Nathan Update.

It’s been a week since little Nathan was supposed to stop breathing.  But he’s still breathing … and fighting.  After living through Saturday night and Sunday, the doctors said that because of all his brain damage, Nathan will remain in a vegetative state, most likely without sight or hearing.

But until God says, “No,” his family is praying for a full recovery.  They are praying for God’s glory in Nathan’s life, and though they hope His glory will be manifested in Nathan’s full recovery, they are resolved to trust Him no matter what His answer is.  God’s will — His good and perfect will — be done.

Let’s keep praying with and for the Andaya family.  You can check his website for updates.  Also, if you have a moment, send them an encouraging note here or here (see their email addresses).

♥

Remaining TEAchable.

Today was our ladies’ Christmas tea at church.  It was my first time decorating a table, not to mention it was a bit last minute … but when I went to church last night to set up, a couple ladies really helped me out (i.e., the cloth napkins were borrowed, the table cloth was borrowed, and the cranberries were “donated” to me by the next table’s hostess).

It was so sweet being on the “being teached” end again.  It was sweet not knowing everything … or rather, knowing that I didn’t know everything.

What kinds of utensils do I need to bring?  How do I fold the cloth napkin?  How do I set the utensils if all I have is a spoon and fork?  How many plates do I bring?

As I left church last night, I was so thankful for the simple reminder to remain teachable — not only when I know I don’t know, but especially when I think I know something!

It’s becoming more difficult, especially as I grow older, to keep a teachable heart.  I’m not quite there yet, but I’m sure a time will come when nothing I hear will be especially novel anymore.  But even then, to learn with eagerness.  Even when I’m reading 2 Corinthians for the thousandth time, to come with a heart ready to learn, ready to learn the same truths in deeper shades.  Even when I think I have life and God figured out according to my pantry of various experiences, to humble myself before Scripture and others’ counsel when they don’t match up to my opinions or worldview.

“God only wise, forgive me for my pride.  Forgive me for my obstinate heart.  Give me a teachable heart, Rabboni.”

“When Giving Thanks Is Tough.”

Last night, my friend Jaimee called me.  Her 10-month old son, little Nathan, had been in the hospital for weeks.  I don’t understand all the medical terminology, but in brief, he’d had a handful of major surgeries on his brain and had been hospitalized.  She called me yesterday to tell me that the doctors said there was nothing they could for him anymore.  Nathan had (has) little time left.

This is one of those times when words fail.  When the hurting, the shattered hopes for his recovery, and the God, I don’t understand can only be expressed through tears (or worse, through a deadness that threatens to dry the tears and harden the heart).

On the way back from the hospital last night, I was trying so hard to reconcile what I believed to be true about who God is and what was happening.  When I woke up this morning, I compared my view of God with the image of Jaimee, TJ, and little Nathan in the hospital.  God who says He is Love and a broken, hurting family.  God who says He is sovereign and unchanged circumstances.  The Who and the what didn’t seem to fit together.

Today, I read through my notes from last week’s sermon again, When Giving Thanks Is Tough (Habakkuk):

Habakkuk asks God, “O LORD, how long…?”  He’s tired and disillusioned, even angry, but he’s honestly seeking God’s face.  (God would rather we move toward Him in complaint than away from Him in disappointment and disbelief.)

When He feels distant, when He seems to be silent, we’re given the choice to fasten our hope on God’s unchanging character — not just as a knee-jerk reaction to blessing but in the midst of dismal circumstances.

Habakkuk questions God’s concern … and then His very goodness.

C.S. Lewis wrote this in his journal after his wife died of cancer: I don’t think I’m in much danger of ceasing to believe in God.  The real danger is of coming to believe such dreadful things about Him.  The conclusion I dread is not, “So, there’s no God after all,” but “So this is what God is really like…”

When every ropes breaks.  When every door shuts.  When you ask for strength but only see weakness.  You think, “He knows my hurt, my struggle, my concern … then why?”

Our problem and concern is the hurt.  God’s concern is us … perseverance …

In Habakkuk 2:1, Habakkuk says, “I will take my stand at my watchpost and station myself on the tower, and look out to see what He will say to me, and I will answer concerning my complaint.”

Part of the LORD’s response to him is, “But the LORD is in His holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before Him” (Habakkuk 2:20).  He is in His holy temple.

We cannot always grasp His methods, but we can know Him.  This doesn’t mean that there’s no pain, but it’s tempered by the knowledge of who He is.

Habakkuk prays.  His prayer is a walk through the past, remembering God and His deeds.  I don’t know much about His ways and methods now than I did then … but I know Him.

Habakkuk praises God.  Circumstances haven’t changed, but he has.

Habakkuk 3:17-18 — “Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the product of the olive fail and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold and there be no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the LORD; I will take joy in the God of my salvation.”

Though all visible signs of God’s blessings are stripped away and even when His presence seems to be absent, I will rejoice.  That’s the kind of trust He desires in us and a gratitude that doesn’t change, because it’s fixed on His unchanging goodness.

Habakkuk wasn’t born like this.  Remember the clenched fist?  It didn’t come naturally to him.  He learned it.

Reflect and remember.  Rejoice, because He’s always good and faithful.

When I gave up thinking within myself about the theological implications of this painful situation and instead began taking my conflicted, broken thoughts to God Himself, I began to remember (not just in the sense of recalling to my mind but really knowing and remembering) who He is … because I was talking to Him.  He’s Abba.

He is on His throne.  He is also near, so near, to the brokenhearted and the crushed in spirit — to Jaimee and TJ, to Grandma Kit and Grandpa Jim, to other family, to little Nathan, to our church family.

And we will praise Him … even if it’s through tears and struggles.

Grumpy.

I promised more posts, and they’re coming … but not for a little while.  My writing here has been more sparse, mainly because my real journal has been a little more inundated than usual.  But believe me, you wouldn’t have wanted to read anything “honest” from me for the past few weeks.  If I was honest, it would have been nothing but complaining, grumbling, and the like.  And while it’s necessary to be honest, it’s not necessary to vent … and especially not here.

But I will post some sermon notes from last Sunday (by the end of this week, I hope).  Our pastor took us through the book of Habakkuk, and the sermon title was When Giving Thanks Is Tough: From Honest Complaint to Heartfelt Praise (Habakkuk). It cut me to pieces … not that I really want to return to being what I was before I was cut up …