Tag: Christmas

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on submission

(This is excerpted from my December Tethered Letter, a monthly long-form letter including reflections on faith, creativity, and home life along with the latest news and recommendations. You can sign up to receive these here. )

Recently I’ve been wrestling with what it means to live in a posture of submission. Submission, in a few words, is accepting where we’re placed, taking up the responsibility bestowed on us in that place. Inherent in the concept is that we are submitting to a particular authority who has been placed over us.

These days a lot of people are talking about submission, whether they realize it or not. We’re in heated debates around the clock about what we’re to do with all of these authorities in our lives, passing down public health regulations, or perpetuating broken unjust systems, or seeking to overturn lawful systems. What do we do when the local church we’re a part of decides to do something we don’t think is right? What do we do when our state or national leaders do the same? How do we even know what’s right in a given situation? Do we protest? At what point do we rebel? Do we sit down and shut up and see what happens? 2020 has brought this question to the forefront: whom do we serve?

Our typical response to this question places authorities in our lives in opposition to each other. We say “I serve God alone,” which is true at its core, but is usually said in the context of refusing to submit to the authorities God has placed in our lives. I find it striking that throughout 2020 believers on all sides of the political spectrum have been using this phrase. I have used it more times than I care to count – to make a point, to justify my actions and the actions of others, to affirm the truth, to affirm myself in the eyes of others. Our motivations are never just holy or evil, it seems, but always a tangled mess of affections driving us in opposing directions.

I’ve come to believe that for followers of Christ, submission goes deeper than a tacit affirmation of God’s authority over all other authorities. Submission to authority, in Scripture, is one of the most powerful and holy postures we could ever take. And of course, that means it is the hardest one for us to assume.

Peter makes a point of its importance in 1 Peter 2:

“Be subject for the Lord’s sake to every human institution, whether it be to the emperor as supreme, 14 or to governors as sent by him to punish those who do evil and to praise those who do good. 15 For this is the will of God, that by doing good you should put to silence the ignorance of foolish people. 16 Live as people who are free, not using your freedom as a cover-up for evil, but living as servants of God. 17 Honor everyone. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honor the emperor.”

Submission to God (the Final Authority) necessarily puts us in submission to the human, flawed authorities He places over us – family, church, and state. It also puts us in a place of submission to those around us; we are to honor everyone, to submit to one another (Ephesians 5). These are not, ultimately, to be warring circles of authority. They are separate, yet they are interlocking. The authorities in these circles carry responsibilities that differ from circle to circle. Parents nurture and discipline their children. The church nurtures and disciplines the saints. The state nurtures and disciplines society. The state is not ultimately responsible to raise and discipline my child, unless I abdicate that role in some form. The church is not responsible to govern the nation, and the nation is not responsible to care for the spiritual life of its people.

These are all things that bear more clarification and in-depth wrestling than I have time for in this letter, of course. My point is not so much about the particulars of each sphere of authority. My point is that God ordains and appoints them all. Too often we use this truth as a Band-aid, or an excuse. We should never downplay the suffering that comes from abusive and unjust leadership. Just because God appoints an authority does not mean that person’s actions pleases Him. The great truth that God appoints every authority in our lives is not a justification for the actions of those authorities. Rather, it is the structure by which He preserves the fallen human race, punishing those who do evil and rewarding those who do good; it is, in the end, a mercy.

So we, who serve Him, who submit to Him as His children – what are we to do with these authorities? Scripture is clear: submit, with the only exception being when they ask us to sin against God. Submission must predicate and transform every interaction we have with authority, including (especially) confrontation.

Unfortunately, I tend to use my freedom as a justification for rebellion, without first doing the hard work of submission. I am free, yes, but I am also under people in authority – authority that God has given to them. The picture that Peter paints (and Paul in Romans 13) is prioritizing submission, even when it is to extremely ungodly leaders. We display humility in the good work of submission so that we have favor in their eyes when the time comes to confront them.

In essence, we are to imitate Christ. We are to live in the light of the Incarnate Word.

“Therefore if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, 2 then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind. 3 Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, 4 not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.

5 In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:

6 Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;
7 rather, he made himself nothing
by taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
8 And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
by becoming obedient to death—
even death on a cross!

9 Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
and gave him the name that is above every name,
10 that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
11 and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.”

The truth of Christmas is encapsulated in Christ’s submission to His Father – a child taking the nature of a servant. Christ did not use His freedom and equality with God as an excuse to avoid what His Father was asking of Him – which included submitting to the most unjust acts in the history of humankind. And in this act of submission, we see a power beyond any that authority can offer. It is precisely because Jesus submitted Himself to incarnational life, death, and resurrection that He is given the highest place of authority.

Likewise, the power of God lives in us when we submit – to our state leaders, to our church leaders, to our family leaders, and to each other. It does not live in us when we demand our rights. It does not live in us when we seek to overthrow the authorities God has put in place. It lives in us when we follow the example of Christ, who came as a child – the lowest in every circle of authority, the least of these. May His Name be lifted up above every name. May it be that every knee bows and every tongue confesses that He is Lord.

At the beginning of 2020, Philippians 3:10-14 was lodged in my heart in the first few weeks of January. This passage became a lifeline for me throughout this year, a directional goal – to partake in the sufferings of Christ and in the new life He offers. This year, I’m taking a step back (one chapter back, it seems) toward understanding what it means to actively and passionately submit like Christ did, to more deeply partake in His death and life, to submit in love to those around me. I don’t know how to do this, and I don’t do it well. I only know that the more I look to Christ, the more I will see what it means to submit to God and those around me.

This is what the incarnation of Jesus Christ – the core of Christmas – is all about. And this year, regardless of who’s in power where and for how long, I am determined to enter into the joy and peace of that submission, celebrating the Living God Who came down to our level, that He might bring us up to His.

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new liturgies

I first tried my hand at liturgical writing when I was living in Chicago and part of Western Springs Christian Reformed Church. The worship of this body of believers was truly my first introduction to responsive written prayers, scripturally-rich orders of service, and the liturgical calendar. Initially, I was skeptical. I came from a house church tradition which upheld freedom and the leading of the Holy Spirit and eyed any form as rote and unnecessary.

But the more I experienced the order of worship at WSCRC, the more richly I encountered the story of Scripture. I began to understand more clearly how the Gospel crashes in on our daily lives and imbues our daily rituals with meaning. But mostly, when I had no words, I could rest in the arranged Scripture and the recorded worship-words of historic and contemporary saints.

I was reminded each week of the glory of God, the necessity of continual confession and repentance, the assurance of God’s grace and pardon of my sin, and what it means to live a new life in Christ. I feasted at the table of Word and Sacrament, and every time I returned I found something new. It was the exact opposite of what I had believed about “high church liturgy” growing up. It was not a substitute for encountering God, it was an aid – and such an aid submitted to His Lordship and engaged in with a heart of faith elevated my eyes and ordered my steps.

So since then, I have continued to write words of worship for whichever church body I am a part of. One in particular strikes at a very present moment in the church body: A Liturgy for Separated Worship. This responsive prayer revolves around the unique situation many of us find ourselves in right now – separated bodies meeting both online and in-person. This is not the way it’s supposed to be, but it is currently the way we function. Until embodied worship begins again, every service feels like we’re missing part of ourselves. This liturgy is free until the end of the year, when it will hopefully not be needed.

Looking to the next stage of the church calendar, I’ve also recently uploaded the following new liturgies:

All Saint’s Entry & Exit Liturgies: In some sense, this liturgy is another one that groans with the weight of separation – between the Church on earth and the Church triumphant.

Advent Introits: Lamps Lit & Canticles: These two sets of introits offer Advent candle-lighting responsive readings on scriptural themes of waiting and singing.

Peace on Earth: A Christmas Pageant: This full service is designed as a concert or pageant for your Christmas celebrations. Includes a short children’s drama, Scripture readings, reader’s texts, and suggested hymns.

Christmas Exultation: A festive, joyous responsive reading for churches to use during Christmastide (particularly on Christmas morning).

I’ll continue to upload more (and write more!) in the ensuing weeks. I hope they are of encouragement to you and your church body in worship.

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the burden of Christmas

For the last few weeks, Christmas has felt less like a meaningful celebration of the Incarnation and more like a giant, hairy elf with terrible body odor strapped to my back. Slowly, agonizingly, this beloved holiday has been driving me into the ground with every step. I smelled it when we introduced our kids to one of our favorite classic Christmas movies and they spent the entire time running in circles around the room and hitting each other. One child, after receiving his gifts, became so fixated on all the gifts he didn’t have that we had to have several Very Serious Conversations. And then there’s those evenings when all I want is a few moments of peace to read one of fifty available Advent devotionals and my two youngest toss banshee screams back and forth like they were playing football. You lay one down and the next just picks up the cry, like some sort of infant relay system.

Of course, it’s not just the kids that get on my nerves around this time of year. It’s everything.

Buying gifts for friends and family becomes a psychotic form of Russian roulette, where our relationship hangs by the thread of dubious knowledge of each person’s deepest longings. In my waking moments, when I could be focusing on the “true meaning of Christmas,” I find myself in a catatonic state, too tired to lift a finger except to push the “next episode” button on The Crown. I feel sick to my stomach half the time from overeating or eating the wrong things or not eating enough of the right things or just because my stomach hates me maybe.

And the music. I’ve invested several months of blood, sweat, and tears in musical offerings for the season’s worship, to come out the end of it sick to death of all the beautiful, meaningful carols I’m supposed to love. (Please know that I love my church dearly, this is just how musicians generally feel at the end of the Christmas season). I’ve been nervous that I might start laughing maniacally at the starting notes of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” or yell “Yippee-ki-yay, $%^&#**&$^#” in the middle of the Advent candle reading. Thankfully, I’ve only heard “O Holy Night” three times this season. The fourth might signal the end of all things good and holy.

the grinch within

To cut to the chase: over the month of December, I’ve been gradually transforming into our favorite snarling bad banana with the greasy black peel. And before you think too unkindly of me, consider how many times you yourself may have thought this exact phrase: “All the noise, noise, noise, NOISE!!”

I can’t be the only person who goes a little crazy during this season, right? RIGHT? But the craziness around me isn’t the burden I’m talking about. It’s the catalyst of that burden.

It’s very easy for me to feel that if we had just done something differently, all of this would have been a very rosy Christmas memory that would have turned into tradition and eventually be recounted by teary-eyed grandchildren at our funerals. If only we had limited the sugar cookies to one instead of three. If only we had played a board game or gone on a walk instead of watching a movie. If only I could focus on all the deep theology of these carols, or take comfort in repeating the sounding joy. If only I was less selfish and more attentive, more patient, more consistent with discipline, more loving, more gentle – all the things I should be as a parent that I am so often, clearly, NOT.

the confrontation that is Christmas

This is the crushing weight of Christmas, for parents and I suspect, to some degree, for all of us. We recognize that traditions and rituals are valuable, but so many of us find ourselves bent low under the heavy load of our own expectations of the season. We’re terrified of missing opportunities to show our families love and make memories. We’re anxious about offending others or not speaking the truth enough at seasonal gatherings. We’re losing sleep over the trajectory of those closest to us, of our church, of our country, of our world, and this season brings all of those things into sharper focus. We’re worried that we’re not doing enough. We’re worried that we’re doing too much.

And then comes the clarion call of Christian culture everywhere, beckoning us to “keep Christ in Christmas.” So often, this is just another chain around the neck. Another burden on the back. Jacob Marley would be proud if he wasn’t dead as a doornail.

I’d love to inject more Christ into my Christmas, but right about now I’m sliding down my sofa, slowly and surely, like a full diaper down a toddler’s bum. A full diaper with a half-eaten plate of cookies propped up on its expanding waistline and a rising storm of child-wails emanating from the next room. The more I strive to keep Christ in Christmas, the more my efforts are thwarted by my own prodigious inability to do that very thing. Christmas confronts me with the fact that I can’t accomplish what I think I should be doing as a good Christian parent.

Every year, I feel the tension of striving and subsequent failing. I know where I want to be, in mindset and action, but I cannot achieve it. Certainly it’s true that the problem is within me, not within these rituals and reminders. It is my obsessive desire to prove myself worthy, to show God how pious I am, to show that I am of great use to Him and a great dad to my kids. You see, the problem is not that I cannot achieve Christmas nirvana because I’m weak, but that I keep expecting myself to overcome my weakness by my own effort.

the comfort of not having to do all that stuff

The burden of our modern Christmas is like the Law: shot through with a better thing, designed for a better purpose. It reminds us that we are weak and dearly loved, and that yes – all will be well, and all manner of things will be well. But this is true not because of something we muster up within ourselves as good Christians, but because Christ has accomplished for us what we could never accomplish on our own.

This is why Advent is spoken of so often in terms of peace, comfort, and rest. Comfort, comfort my people, says your God. Speak comfort to Jerusalem, for her warfare is ended. Fear not, for I bring good tidings: Jesus has come to save you when you couldn’t save yourself.

All of my struggles and efforts reveal how much I need God. And His response to my need was to reveal His love in the Babe in the manger, the Man on the cross, the Risen Savior. For our Father so deeply loved the world that He sent His only Son to reveal the deep love of the Father to us.

And this only Son longs to give us rest:

“Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.”

Matthew 11:28-30

Christmas, ultimately, is another opportunity to let go of my striving and receive the free and glorious gift of Christ. In my fallow, frozen ground, the Seed of the manger takes root, and the Messiah lives within me.

a prayer for those burdened by the holidays

For all the things I have done and left undone – forgive me, Father. But for all the things that serve to bring to light my need of You, I give You thanks. For all the reminders that I am weak and You are strong, I give You thanks. For all the things I don’t have to do, or read, or say, or be in order to be loved by You, the devotionals I don’t have to read, the carols I don’t have to sing, the rituals I don’t have to observe, the wars I don’t have to win, the peace I don’t have to locate, the energy I don’t have to gather: I give You thanks.

And I give You thanks that in freedom, I can partake of these gifts.

For the gift of Christ that requires no commensurate gift, no intentional ritual, no offering, excellent or otherwise, no decoration or tinsel: The gift of Your Son, Who takes away the sin of the world, lifts the burdens from our backs, and gives us true and lasting rest – we give You praise.

May You release us again from these burdens into Your arms, You Who transforms everything. May we see with new eyes and know with new hearts the beauty in all of this brokenness, and make something beautiful of it in the name of Christ.