John Chapter 2: "Do Whatever He Tells You"

I've been doing a different kind of devotional practice since Christmas. Since I have more time in the mornings than I used to -- in fact, I need to ease very gently into each day now, since night-times are extra hard on my body -- I am spending longer in the Word. And it is very good.

I am basically practicing lectio divina more than I used to. One of the things I'm allowing myself to do is to spend time with daily passages of Scripture, sometimes by reading them more than once, or by reading them in different translations or in translation/paraphrase tandem. And then I am writing up my initial thoughts and responses to the passages in a document I am simply calling "ribbons" (to reflect the idea of ribbons I can carry with me during the rest of the day). Praying and meditating through the Scriptures is a good thing, and I feel I am doing it more deeply and purposefully now.

Sometimes the thoughts I have are long or even convoluted (I am trying my best to take my hard feelings and big questions to Jesus directly, laying them at his feet...and these days, I have so many difficult feelings and questions when I read the Scriptures, many of them borne of my illness) but sometimes what grabs me is just one phrase, one line or word, and the reflection is a simple one.

Such is the reflection I had today when reading the beginning of John chapter 2, Jesus's first miracle at the wedding in Cana where he turned water into wine. What grabbed me here was Mary's response when he told her "it's not yet my time." She simply turns to the servants and says "Do whatever he tells you." Bless her.

Now some verses you read in the Scriptures can be translated with slightly different nuances, depending upon the translation, which is one reason why it can be great to read more than one. Especially Scriptures like the Psalms, which are filled with images. But really, what can you do with Mary's simple words, her calm and loving imperative declaration to the servants who have run out of wine? Not much. Thus you get these "different" translations:

"Do whatever he tells you." (ESV)
"Do whatever he tells you." (GNT)
"Do whatever he tells you." (HCSB)
"Do whatever he tells you to do." (ICB)
"Mind you do whatever he tells you." (Phillips)
"Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it." (KJV)
"Whatever he tells you, do it." (MSG)
"Do whatever he tells you to." (TLB)
"Do whatever he tells you." (NIV)
"Do whatever he tells you." (RSV) 
"Haced todo lo que os dijere." (Jubilee, Spanish)

No translator or even someone moving into the more flexible realm of paraphrase wants to meddle with this one. (J.B. Phillips stretches a little by giving Mary more of a "motherly" tone with the verb "mind" but I honestly think that works fine.) None of the easier to read translations, including the International Children's Bible (ICB) feels they have to simplify this word. Mary has already done this for us. "Do whatever he tells you." There could be no clearer word than that. She wants the servants to obey Jesus. 

And wonderfully, they do. There's a good chance none of them has a real clue who Jesus is (he's not taken his ministry public yet) beyond the possibility that they know him as a neighbor or friend of the wedding family. But they do exactly what Mary tells them to do. Which is to do what JESUS tells them to do.We don't get many words from Mary, but you sense these are important ones.

And what he tells them to do might not have made immediate sense -- fill these twenty-thirty empty stone wine jars with *water.* "What? But Jesus, we're not out of water, and even if we were, no one at the wedding wants to drink it! We need wine!" Wouldn't it have made sense for at least one of them to (forgive the pun) whine that kind of question? But if they do, we don't hear it. John simply tells us that they do what they're told. They fill the vats with water, and then they draw the water out and take it to the master of the feast who discovers that he's drinking the best wine yet.

Of course, wine looks very different from water, so the servants must have known as soon as they got to their second obedient action -- drawing the water out from storage and pouring it into a pitcher they could carry to the master of the feast -- that something incredible was going on here. The water they had put in had been transformed into something completely different, something worthy of the wedding celebration. And so are we. We are transformed when we obey whatever Jesus tells us to do. When we obey, we are transformed more into the likeness of the true Master of the Feast, Jesus himself. 

Pencil Poised...Subversive Spirituality, Here I Come

I practically got shivers when I opened up my new-to-me copy of Eugene Peterson's Subversive Spirituality. 

This is a collection of Peterson's essays that I have loved, and returned to over and over, for years. For some reason, however, I just never owned my own copy. I would trot to the seminary library whenever I wanted it. And I would photocopy the essays that I especially needed to have on hand -- I know I've got copies of several of them stuffed into various binders and journals (I've come across them in the archaeological dig we've been going through as we pack and move).

I was placing an order for another old book that means a lot to me (the out of print Prayer and Temperament) on Advanced Book Exchange the other day. ABE is an amazing place to find bargains on older, used books. I've been wanting a return to some of the essays in Subversive Spirituality again, and all of a sudden it occurred to me that I could probably find a used copy very cheaply. And would you believe I found one for $3.65 and free shipping?

Granted, the copy is dog eared -- literally. The top right hand corner is bent. There are a couple of small tears in early pages, and a place in the opening chapter where it looks like someone must have had a paper clip for years. Those opening pages are a little worn and wrinkled looking, but the pages improve as it goes on (sadly, it looks like whoever owned it previously didn't get very far into reading it). But I don't mind the imperfections, especially because it has *no marks* -- no underlines, no highlighting, no nothin' of the sort.

Which means I get to mark it up. Oh happy me! I've got my pencil poised and ready, because it feels like I bump into something almost every paragraph that makes me say "oh!" or catch my breath, or decide I need to remember or to share. In fact, you may be seeing quite a few quotes make their way here over the next weeks and months as I meander my way through.

Just to get things started, here's a wonderful quote from his essay/lecture on the gospel of Mark:

"The Bible as a whole comes to us in the form of narrative, and it is within this large, somewhat sprawling narrative that St. Mark writes his gospel...Gospel is a true and good form, by which we live well. Storytelling creates a world of presuppositions, assumptions, and relations into which we enter. Stories invite us into a world other than ourselves, and, if they are good and true stories, a world larger than ourselves. Bible stories are good and true stories, and the world that they invite us into is the world of God's creation and salvation and blessing...Within the large, capacious context of the biblical story we learn to think accurately, behave morally, preach passionately, sing joyfully, pray honestly, obey faithfully."

So Do Not Fear, For I Am With You (Isaiah 41:10)

A few minutes ago, a friend posted this verse on FB. It's one of my favorites, and has been for a long time:

"So do not fear, for I am with you;
    do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
    I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

I pasted it here in the New International Version (NIV) because that's the version I learned via this wonderful music setting of the verse from Seeds Family Worship.  

Of course, this will now be in my head all day long. Somehow I think that's probably a good thing!

Peter "Before and After"

 In our morning Bible reading, the sweet girl and I recently completed the gospels and moved into the book of Acts.

It's been a while since I've spent a good length of time in Acts, and I'm finding myself swept up into the excitement of the early church as they experienced the indwelling of the Holy Spirit and began to preach and heal with boldness.

That boldness looks especially amazing when you've just stepped from the pages of the gospels. The "before and after" glimpses of Peter are astounding when you stop to ponder them. The power of the Spirit at work in Peter truly made him a new man. It must have astonished everyone around him. It must have astonished Peter himself!

I always think it's interesting that Jesus focused on the "Peter" part of Simon Peter's name. In Acts, we see the rock solidness of Peter's surrendered heart and the fruit of that surrendered heart and of all the years he spent apprenticed to Jesus.

When the sweet girl was very little, she used to say "mean man Saul" and "nice man Paul" whenever we read about Paul's conversion on the road to Damascus in her story Bible. The dramatic movement represented by Saul's change to Paul is so evident. The dramatic movement of Simon into Peter (Rocky, if you will) is more gradual, but nonetheless breathtaking.

If God can so radically transform the hearts and minds of Simon and of Saul, he can transform us too.

"But God Meant It For Good"

And as for you, you meant evil against me,
but God meant it for good
in order to bring about this present result,
to preserve many people alive.
~Genesis 50:20

That's the verse we're focusing on in learning time this week. It was playing in the background while I was cleaning up the kitchen this morning, and as I sang it, I found myself pondering it anew.

We often think of this verse coming in the context of Joseph's story, and it does, of course, though not precisely where I tend to place it in my mind. I tend to think of Joseph saying this to his brothers during their initial reconciliation. But he doesn't -- it comes much later, after the death of their father Jacob. Because it turns out that Joseph's brothers, even after all that time and even after their brother forgave them, are still worried that he might yet move into vengeful mode and pay them back for all those years of suffering he endured in Egypt. Even after all the weeping, kissing and caretaking Joseph's done in the preceding years, they're afraid once their father is gone, all bets are off.

Isn't this just like us? Even forgiven -- even assured of loving care, protection, friendship, GRACE -- all the things we don't deserve, we still sometimes go running back to the shadows of our sin. We're sure those shadows are long, way longer than the grace that's been extending over us. We're sure somehow that those old sins are going to find us out one last time and give us one more good kick in the teeth.

Joseph's words, which are so wise, also give us a glimpse into how much his heart has grown. Not only does he point to God's sovereignty, a lesson he learned in the trenches (and a lesson that took many years to reach full fruition) but he shows how very different he is from the teenager who stood before his brothers telling them about his dreams. Let's face it, the young Joseph was a bit of a braggart. He didn't deserve to be thrown into a cistern and sold as a slave, no, but his brothers' frustration, annoyance and jealousy of him is at least somewhat understandable. "Hey, cool! One day you're all going to bow down to me!" is pretty much the reading I take away from the young Joseph's initial telling of the dream. Of course the fact that he dreamed true (a gift from God) is only part of the story -- he couldn't possibly have imagined why his brothers would be bowing before him, or how it was all part of God's tapestry to save his people.

But here, older and wiser Joseph, assuring his brothers once again of his pardon and forgiveness, teaching them about God's sovereignty over their collective story, shows a deep humility. "Am I in the place of God?" he asks. It's a telling question, not only because it shows that Joseph's understands vengeance, grace, forgiveness ultimately belong to the Lord, but because it shows that Joseph is no longer dreaming about how awesome it would be to stand in that place -- to be the one receiving homage and worship. He knows now that whatever place God puts him in, even one of tremendous responsibility and power, is derived -- a place given to him by God, and for deeper reasons than he himself might possibly imagine.

Why I Love the Lectionary

Yesterday was one of those days when I remembered how close joy and sorrow can be. Some of the reasons I won't go into here, but maybe a "big picture" view will be enough to share what I mean.

My niece in Minnesota gave birth night before last to a precious baby girl. Mom, baby, and whole family are beautifully well, and there was great rejoicing throughout our extended family.

And yesterday's lectionary gave us the readings for Holy Innocents Day (transferred this year, because of 1st Sunday of Christmas falling on what would normally be St. Stephen's Day).

Rejoicing over a new baby....

Sorrowing over Herod's slaughter of the innocents in and around Bethlehem at the time of Jesus' birth.

It would seem that those two things are miles and miles apart. And yet...

This is one of the many reasons why I love the lectionary, love the scaffolding it provides for my life and my daily leaning deeper into God.

Left on my own, I am pretty sure I would gravitate to certain passages in the Scriptures again and again. In fact, I do -- and that's not necessarily a bad thing, as I think the Lord draws us, by His Holy Spirit, to certain places in the Word that speak to our deepest needs. It's why some of us have "life verses" or have memorized certain sections of Scripture or feel a deep affinity for certain figures in the Bible, the ones whose stories seem to connect with our own stories in startling ways, and so we go back to their stories often to mine them for riches.

But I still need the lectionary. I need it in is four-fold messiness, its imperfections, and its sometimes seeming arbitrariness about what to read and what not to read. I need it to pull me to passages I'd rather skip, thank you, and would probably not go near if I were given the choice for the day. I need it for the way it disciplines me to listen to snippets of the Story, and to hunt for the gold thread that binds that particular snippet to the wonderful whole tapestry of God's unfolding narrative.

I need it for the way it tempers my high ecstatic joys with reminders of the suffering that still exists, with reminders of the "now and not yet" nature of the kingdom.

I need it for the way it tempers my deepest, darkest despondences with real hope and light -- not sprinkled on top of the despondency like sugar on a cookie, but hope and light stirred deep into the batter of my soul, even on days when I really struggle with despair and frustration.

I need it for the way the voices in the daily passages sing, not just to me, but across the centuries to each other. Think of robed choirs on opposite sides of a chancel, or monks chanting Psalms in a darkened chapel in the early morning. Or friends at a table drinking coffee and sharing their hearts. Do you hear the way the words dance together, then apart, then together again?

The song across time this morning came from Isaiah 25 and Revelation 1. Isaiah and John sang together, a duet whose harmonies were painfully rich and beautiful. You could hardly tell where one voice started and the other stopped.

Jesus holds the keys of death and hades.
He died, and behold, he is alive forevermore!
He will swallow up death forever -- the covering, the veil spread out over all the peoples.
He will wipe away tears from all faces.
He will take away the reproach of his people.
He is a stronghold for the poor and needy, a shelter from the storm, a shade from the heat.
His voice is like the roar of many waters.
His face is like the sun shining in full strength.

To which we cry: YES! And we see and know, deep in our hearts, that who and what Isaiah and John saw and knew, across the many years that separated them, was one and the same Lord and God, one and the same kingdom vision. The seamless Story told in different pieces, different patches, different pictures and voices. If only we have eyes to see. If only we have ears to listen.

Praying that God will give me those eyes and ears more and more in the coming year.

That Tiny Little Word "So"...

This week's gospel readings have us in John 11, the story of the raising of Lazarus.

This has always been one of my favorite stories in the gospels, not only for how it shows us the love and power of Jesus, but because I am blessed to have sisters named Mary and Martha. The stories involving the sisters in Bethany have always felt especially close to my heart for that reason.

I've read John 11 so many times that the contours and curves of the narrative almost feel worn smooth. So when I hit a surprising "bump" in my reading yesterday morning, it grabbed my attention.

I was reading in the English Standard Version (ESV) and got to verses 5 & 6:

"Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So, when he heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was."

Jesus LOVED them. So when they were sick and in need, he....rushed to their side to do everything he could right away to fix things! That's what we expect from this story, isn't it, when we're reading with our natural mind and heart? That's what makes sense to us.

I was reminded of a scene with the sweet girl from sometime last month. She wanted something, something badly, and we wouldn't let her have it (I honestly don't recall what it was, but it wasn't something we wanted her to have at that time, and we were trying to help her work through her initial response, which involved a lot of anger and petulance.) She got a little tearful and said "But don't you love me? If you love me, and it's a good thing, why won't you let me have it?"

So often this is the state of my heart before God. Sometimes I'm angry and petulant, but sometimes I move past that and just end up weepy. "But Lord," I say, "this isn't a bad thing I want. It's a good thing! It's something you'd bless! I don't understand why I can't have it!"

And it's harder sometimes, isn't it, when the "thing" we want isn't so much a "thing" as something even more important and intangible (but just as real a need as any desire for a more tangible object). Lord, I want healing for this person I love. Lord, I need to be able to feel your presence NOW.

That tiny little word "so" really jumped out at me. Jesus loved them, SO he waited. Some translations use the word "yet" or "but" which alters the meaning a bit, or at least bends to our natural bellowing in the face of this kind of thing. The "so," tiny as it is, helps me comprehend at least a fraction more of the deep love and wisdom of God.

He loved them too much to give them the quick and easy "fix." He could have rushed to their side and healed Lazarus, and yes, that would have blessed them (how many times do we see Jesus heal in the gospels, so simply and quickly and in immediate response to a request made in faith). In this case, he had a bigger blessing in view, one that would not only do more in the lives of Mary, Martha and Lazarus than they ever would have imagined possible (and we ourselves can only imagine the soul growth and the deepening trust Jesus' actions brought forth in the hearts of these dear friends) but a blessing that encompassed many more people who witnessed the raising of Lazarus and who came to know Jesus as a result of it. Jesus had the kingdom in view, and his waiting was part of that kingdom work.

But Jesus never loses sight of his friends or how much he loves them. Maybe that's why John gives us that glimpse of Jesus weeping at the tomb. I remember I used to wonder, why was Jesus weeping? He knew what he was about to do! But his friend is dead, and has been dead for four days. As we see Jesus weeping in that moment, we realize that he knows what his waiting has cost these beloved friends in terms of real anxiety and grief. He knows, more than anyone, the darkness and sadness of death and how it's left its mark on his good world. He knows, more than anyone, what it will cost to defeat it.

It dawned on me that there's one other place in John's gospel where the word "so" has jumped out at me before. That would be in chapter 3, verse 16. "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life."

He loves us so...enough to weep with us, enough to give us what he truly knows is best, enough to keep the world and the kingdom in view even while working in the small seedbeds of our hearts.

There is so much to that tiny little word "so."

Wonderful Storytellers: Bob Hartman

I'm finding myself loving good storytellers these days, especially those who are particularly adept at retelling old stories in ways that make us hear them anew. Storytellers and writers who manage fresh but faithful re-tellings of Bible stories are at the top of my list, inspiring me to want to dive again into some Bible story re-tellings myself this summer.

I thought I'd introduce a couple of my favorite Bible storytellers here. And I thought I'd start with Bob Hartman.

He currently lives and writes in England, but he used to live in our area, and I had the privilege of attending a storytelling workshop he did at our seminary about a dozen years ago. As much as I enjoyed it then, I had no idea how much his books would come to mean to our family, and especially to my daughter. She loves his stories and could listen to them by the hour. She doesn't mind listening to them over and over, which is a good thing because I find myself wanting to read them over and over, since they lend themselves readily to repeated readings and tellings.

Our all-time Hartman favorite is probably Early Saints of God, a collection of saint stories from the first several hundred years of the church. We read it during the month of November every year, as a way of celebrating All Saints. Just lately, however, we've been reading and re-reading Angels, Angels All Around, a wonderful collection of Bible stories involving angels. Based on Biblical accounts, and on the marvelous diversity of God's creation, Hartman decided to make each angel unique and especially suited to its particular calling, which makes the stories shine with creativity.

Thus the angel who ministers to the despairing prophet Elijah in the desert is a maternal, spoon-wielding angel in an apron, whose recipe for cake is...well, heavenly. The angel who holds up a sword in Balaam's path is properly fierce, and practically rolls his eyes at the stubborn, donkey-ish behavior of the prophet. The angel who slips into prison to rescue Peter is a slender, boyish imp with a mischievous grin (think Peter Pan or Puck) who doesn't mind at all pulling a fast one on the jailers. The angel who ministers life to Hagar and Ishmael in the desert comes in the guise of a vulture (who drives all the real death-preying birds away). The angel in the fiery furnace with Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego has a literally blazing smile and fiery-bright hair. The angel who answers Daniel's prayer and shuts the mouths of the lion's in the den is himself large and leonine, able to distract and wrestle with big cats. And Gabriel's visit to Mary -- well, it's full of surprises, mostly because the young girl is not at all like the angel expects.

Those are just a few of our favorites from the book -- there are several more stories we love too!

What I enjoy about Hartman's saint and Bible stories is the way he manages to sustain attention and interest, through creative uses of repetition and appropriate bits of humor, but how he always manages to hone in on an important truth about God's nature and character. You can tell this is a man who has wrestled, lovingly and faithfully, with the stories he's presenting. We love these stories and we learn from them too.

Hartman has also written a number of folk story and animal story re-tellings. We love his Lion Storyteller Bible and The Lion Storyteller Christmas Book (some re-tellings of the nativity, but also some stories based on traditional Christmas folktales from around the world). And I was really excited to find out that he has a new collection forthcoming, Mr. Aesop's Story Shop, based on the ancient stories of Aesop. I discovered that through this brief but very good online interview someone did with him this past spring. He talks there about the art of storytelling and also mentions some other exciting projects he has in the works, including a book he described as "Tom Wright for 8 year olds." I can't wait!

As Far as the East is from the West...

so far does He remove our transgressions from us. Psalm 103:12

The sweet girl and I were reading Psalm 103 the other evening, talking about each verse as we came to it. When we got to verse 12, I stretched out my hands and said something like: "Think about a map and how far apart east and west can be. It's like God puts our sins so far away from us that we can't see them or reach them anymore."

The sweet girl thought for a few moments. And then she said, "It's sort of like he puts them away in a drawer. And then we never wear them again."

I love that image, and I've been pondering it ever since. (It reminds me of how good it is to really meditate on the Scriptures with my daughter.) Think about it. When the Lord forgives us, he doesn't just put away our sins. He puts them away for good, and doesn't ever expect or want us to "wear them" again.

And we do sometimes wear them, don't we? I know I do...sometimes pridefully, but often as not unconsciously. I trot the old stuff out, including sometimes the transgressions I've already confessed and been forgiven for. I should be free of these, free so that I don't put them on and live out of them ever again, but sometimes I forget. I wear the old clothes instead of remembering that he has dressed me in new robes of righteousness and love. Those days when I am wearing tatters instead of the beauty he's designed for me, it's especially good to remember his graciousness and mercy.

I'm also reminded of clothing ourselves in God's armor, and of the Celtic tradition of dressing prayers...prayers prayed during ordinary, daily activities such as putting on your clothes or kindling the morning fire. St. Patrick's breastplate is related to the Scriptural admonition to put on the whole armor of God, but also seems to partake of that Celtic tradition. "I bind unto myself today..." is a prayer for protection, as one takes up the the shield the Lord has provided, but it's also a girding for battle, and it's a very specific prayer for this particular day. Maybe as we dress each day, we should remember who we belong to and what he has asked us to wear as sons daughters of the King. And we can be thankful that he has put away our old ragged and stained clothes forever.

Hooray for Biblical Literacy

During our Virginia trip, my mother-in-law passed on a water-squirt toy to the sweet girl. It was a little one she'd gotten from a box of Cheerios: a plastic version of the donkey from the umpteenth Shrek movie, and S. has been having a good time playing with it in the bathtub.

The sweet girl isn't familiar with the Shrek films, but she's quite enamored of movies these days, especially the first two Toy Story films. (We're hoping to make a family outing for the third in the theater.) So she was asking about the donkey. I've only ever seen the first Shrek film myself, and that was long ago when it was first released. I couldn't remember much beyond the fact that the donkey was voiced by Eddie Murphy, which I knew wouldn't mean a thing to her. So I told her that the movies were sort of funny fairy-tales and that Shrek was a friendly ogre and the donkey was his friend. "He's a talking donkey," I said.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, as light dawned in her eyes. "Sort of like the donkey in the Balaam story!"

I'm sure there's an essay or sermon illustration in there somewhere...

The Love Song in Genesis

A few days ago, the sweet girl and I reached a milestone. We finished up a nearly year-long journey through the Bible.

Last August, right around the time we began the new school term, we began reading in Genesis for our morning Bible reading. Our morning time is the most prolonged reading/learning time we have in the Scriptures most days. Although we didn't read the entire Bible this year, we did read large portions of each book. I tried to read significant passages (with at least key verses/passages in shorter books) so she would get a taste for each book, what it said and how it was saying it.

We've been using the International Children's Bible as our version. And last week, we finished up with the final words in Revelation. (As the sweet girl likes to say, the Bible goes from "In" to "Amen"!)

Our recent time in Revelation may have something to do with her musing yesterday, which seemingly came out of nowhere, "everything has an ending." As I reminded her, everything has a beginning too! And we're back to the beginning this week, because as soon as finished up with that final "Amen" that's what she wanted to do...go back to the beginning and start all over. That made my heart sing!

I find myself almost wishing there was something beautiful we could do to mark the occasion of beginning anew with the story. I once helped rolled a Torah scroll in the synagogue to mark the beginning of a new season in their lectionary. I've always loved the beauty of Torah covers, and am thankful for the lighting of the Advent candles that mark the church's move into the new year's Bible reading too.

The sweet girl really loves the book of Genesis. I'm so delighted that she does, because it has long been one of my favorite books. I still recall hearing a sermon series preached on Genesis when I was just a few years older that S. is now, and how that series (though long and pitched to adults, not children) captured my imagination. Certain characters and stories in Genesis have always stood out to me in sharp relief, and certain passages feel huge and momentous.

I love that this is the book where everything begins, and where we're introduced to the living God. I love how we get to know God: his delight in making, his even deeper delight in saving, his ardent desire to rescue and win the world back once our disobedience takes us far from him. I love how we get to know his people, in all their messy fallenness, and how we see ourselves in them. I especially love the moments where everything seems poised, on tip-toes, for God's inbreaking, and how everything seems to paint a picture of his rescuing love: bits of songs and prophecies, God's clothing of Adam and Eve, his shutting of the door of the ark, a rainbow arched in the sky, God's voice and call suddenly sounding out loud and clear to Abram, the ram in the thicket, the window opened onto heaven and the ladder of angels in a very ordinary place as scheming Jacob sleeps, dreams dreamed, men weeping as they reconcile with brothers. I love how the Spirit broods over the face of the deep in the very first verses and continues to hover, and how the whole book, though the first of God's revelation, is already shot through with that deep vision of the triune God, God-in-community, like a gold ribbon we're going to see again and again as the story continues to unfold in the pages of Scripture.

God's love song starts in Genesis, and it's so utterly beautiful. I'm so thankful my daughter loves to hear it. I pray that her ears will become more attuned to God's love song the longer she reads his words and lives in his world.

Of Jesse's Lineage

After a couple of weeks of playing "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" during our Advent devotional time, the sweet girl asked if we could do another Advent song as we began our third week. I chose "Lo How a Rose E'er Blooming." I love this beautiful hymn, and it seemed especially appropriate today as we lit the rose colored candle for the third Sunday.

Everything seemed to dovetail beautifully (and unexpectedly, totally unplanned by us!) for our evening devotions tonight. First we had an unexpected hour together beforehand as a family, just the three of us, and spent it watching some old home videos of Christmases past, including the sweet girl's very first Christmas. That video includes some footage that's very special to us, of what turned out to be our last visit with both of my husband's grandparents. They were nearing 90 that Christmas and both of them passed away the following spring, within a few months of each other. It's so lovely to have this recording of them opening their Christmas gifts in their living room, with Great-Grandma Lucille smiling and talking with our dear baby girl. And wonderful now for S. to be able to see that she really did meet her great-grandparents.

Then the little Advent paper chain we've been putting together, which has a different name or title for Jesus each evening, had the title "Son of David." We talked about what it means for Jesus to be called the Son of David. The sweet girl and I have been studying ancient Israel in school this autumn, so we've gone over David's line a few times, especially when we were reading the book of Ruth. She knows that David was the son of Jesse who was the son of Obed who was the son of Boaz who was the husband of Ruth. Talking about our own family trees as well as David's fit in beautifully with the line in "Lo How a Rose" which reminds us that the promised one was "Of Jesse's lineage coming..." We discussed what the word lineage meant and tied it back into our talking/celebrating/remembering of our own family as well.

I love such fruitful heart-shaping moments, especially the ones that feel like sheer gift. You couldn't plan them this well if you tried!

And as usual, I found myself soaking all of this up in my own heart. It dawned on me as we listened to the song and reflected together on Jesus' lineage that I often focus on the amazing blessing of Jesus' royal heritage and the joy and beauty of God's fulfilled promise...but how seldom do I just ponder the power of the simple fact that Jesus had a lineage. Like you and like me, he had a family tree. The one who made real trees! The one who made people and all the families of the earth! The eternal Word who has always existed, who has always been with God and is God, who made everything in heaven and on earth! He had no beginning (there was never a time when he was not) and yet he chose to be born of a woman, to place himself within a human family, to carve his name in a line of human beings. The root of everything, the blossom that grows from a stump, chose to humble himself and be born here on earth, to place himself within the confines of a particular family tree. It's breathtaking. He had a lineage. It makes me want to go back to all those "begats" I usually skim over in Matthew and Luke and read them with a newly thankful heart. In fact, I think I will do just that this week.

The Living Word

The sweet girl seemed especially attentive during our morning Bible reading today. We spent a longer time than usually really talking about the reading, which happened to be from the end of Joshua. She was very excited about Joshua's recounting of the story of the people of Israel, from Abraham onwards to that very moment. We've read many of those stories together since September. I think she is beginning to really grasp the bigger picture, the full story of the Scriptures.

She had that "lit up" and interested look when she suddenly exclaimed "Mommy!" in a tone that usually precludes the announcement of a new insight. And then she said this, in a very excited tone: "The Bible has an ending. But Jesus doesn't!"

Wow. Just wow. I love it when the light goes on for her, because so often, in God's gracious providence, it makes lights go on for me too. I love that she's grasped the preciousness and wonder of God's written story, but that she can discern the difference between the story itself and the author behind it. The written Word, as we have it, does indeed have an "ending" -- we can turn the last page and close the book. But the Holy Spirit invites us to step into the ongoing story that doesn't stop with the last page and began long before the first one was ever penned. And the Author of the Story himself, the Alpha and Omega, the Word that spoke all into existence, has no ending. Amen and Amen!

Laughter Is The Best Medicine

For about the past five weeks, we've been reading through Genesis during morning Bible reading. The sweet girl has been intrigued by the longevity of some of the people we've read about.

Earlier this week we finished Genesis by reading about the deaths of Jacob and then Joseph. Jacob lived "only" to the age of 147, and Joseph only made it to 110! Impressive, but not nearly as long-lived as their ancestors like Noah and Methuselah.

This morning I was making breakfast when the sweet girl popped up with a question.

"Mommy, why didn't Jacob live as long as his ancestors?"

I pondered for a moment, then replied in much the same vein I had yesterday. "Well, we don't really know. But some people think it's because when the earth was very young, there was less pollution and fewer germs, so perhaps people lived longer."

She seemed to find no fault with this, but added wisely: "Or maybe Abraham and Sarah lived longer...because they liked to laugh A LOT!"

Hmm...makes sense to me! Can you imagine the patriarch and matriarch being interviewed for some senior magazine? "And what's the secret to your long life, Mr. and Mrs. Abraham?...Oh, well, we long ago learned that it's important to laugh a lot. Even at ourselves. We even named our kid laughter!"