For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the anxious longing of the creation waits eagerly for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself also will be set free from its slavery to corruption into the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth together until now. And not only this, but also we ourselves, having the first fruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting eagerly for our adoption as sons,the redemption of our body (Romans 8:18-23, NASB).
On a friend's blog this week, I commented that in Advent the yearning for happy endings comes so strong that it feels like grief. Perhaps my ongoing infirmities are affecting my emotions, but I feel that especially this year, and it's leaving me a tough melancholy, wistful. Is anyone else sensing that in their Christmas preparations?
Charles Wesley captures this in his Advent hymn, "Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus":
Come, Thou long-expected Jesus,
Born to set Thy people free;
From our fears and sins release us;
Let us find our rest in Thee.
Israel's Strength and Consolation,
Hope of all the earth Thou art;
Dear Desire of every nation,
Joy of every longing heart.
Born Thy people to deliver,
Born a child and yet a King.
Born to reign in us for ever,
Now Thy gracious Kingdom bring.
By Thine own eternal Spirit
Rule in all our hearts alone;
By Thine all-sufficient merit,
Raise us to Thy glorious throne.
This Friday has me holding longings, both sublime and ridiculous:
longing for freedom;
longing for release from fears and sins;
longing for rest, Strength, Consolation,
longing for Hope;
longing for the Desire of every nation, the Prince of Peace;
longing for Joy;
longing for His Kingdom;
but also longing for a decent hair day (thicker hair period, while we're on the subject);
longing to look nice for my husband's work Christmas party tonight;
longing for time and a comfortable position to read the books sitting neglected;
longing for sweet coffee with cream and something chocolate on the saucer;
longing for brilliant ideas for the 3 gifts left to procure;
longing for my ankle to heal;
longing for the ache in my ribs to let up;
longing for subtraction rather than addition of medical concerns;
longing to see and hug my Nonni, sister, and little nephews;
longing for shalom, peace, wholeness, in body, soul, spirit, and relationships;
and through it all, longing for Jesus, the answer to all our longings.
When the singer reached the refrain, "Be born in me," in church Sunday, memory's portal carried me back nearly two and a half years. On July 14, 2010, my doctor diagnosed my chest pain, extreme fatigue, and weakness as a lupus flare with possible inflammation of the membrane around the heart. He treated me with a steroid adjustment and bed rest for at least a month. My youngest nephew's first birthday was days away on the other side of the Metroplex, when we asked him about an exception so I could attend, he said, "Decisions have consequences."
The next day, I began my gratitude list over again at one and wrote this in my journal:
My best point of reference for this enforced inactivity is my friends' pregnancy bed rest, but even that is "rest so..." [as opposed to rest, period]. I don't have another life depending on my obedience or to look forward to as fruit. Perhaps You, Lord Christ, will be born in me more fully through this?
That became my prayer over the ensuing weeks. Over and over I asked, pleaded with God that Christ would be born in me more fully through this affliction.
To clarify my intent in those words, His actual historical, literal, human birth happened only once, to a real maiden who had never been intimate with a man but conceived Him by the Holy Spirit so that He was in truth "the only begotten God" (John 1:18) and also in truth Son of Man. Mary was a unique woman in the ancient Near East, and she came of age when Caesar Augustus ruled the Roman Empire. My journaled notes and prayer did not mean to minimize or supplant in any way that historical reality.
At the same time, every Christian who has been born of God by faith in His Son is a son of God, the Scriptures teach (e.g., John 1:12-13; Romans 8:14-17; Gal. 3:26; 4:6; 1 John 3:1), and at the same time, in a poetic sense, every Christian bears the Son of God afresh in his or her flesh as the likeness of Christ in character and deed is borne out in her or him. Paul told the Romans in Romans 8:28-29 that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love Him, and that the good to which all things work is conformity to the image of Christ. This conformity to Christ is what I meant, in plain terms, but sometimes I understand metaphor better than plain terms.
The Spirit of Christ indwells the believer, so Christ is in us already, but His likeness may and ought also to be borne out in us as we become transformed into that likeness, from glory to glory (2 Cor. 3:18).
"Be born in me," I prayed again Sunday with the singer portraying Mary. Be born in me, Lord Jesus.
The song also carried me back to January of 2012, when the verse impressed on my heart was Psalm 81:10, "I am Yahweh your God, who brought you up from the land of Egypt. Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it." All the year long, I have been ruminating on what it means to open to God and what it takes to make room for His filling, so that more and more and more I might "be being filled with the Spirit" (Eph. 5:18).
The one thing I have learned this year is that suffering, that "having what you don't want or wanting what you don't have," in Elisabeth Elliot's words, is one of God's most-used instruments in opening me up and emptying me. Suffering cleans out my old self, that "flesh" which can do very well on its own without God's help, thank you very much; evicts the idols I've built and the lies I've believed; and carves out more room for the grace and power of His Spirit to be realized in my daily experience.
The song prays,
I am not brave I'll never be The only thing my heart can offer is a vacancy I'm just a girl Nothing more But I am willing, I am Yours.
A vacancy and willingness. That really is the only thing I can offer, and even that is a gift of grace.
Jesus was born from Mary out of suffering, too: not just the physical suffering of pregnancy labor, and delivery in a time before epidurals and sophisticated modern obstetrics but also the emotional and social suffering of the shame and ostracism of pregnancy before marriage. Why should I expect the bearing of His likeness to be comfortable or pain-free? I shouldn't, of course, but sometimes I do.
Even so, God did not leave her in isolation. He included Elizabeth in the secret and spoke to Mary's betrothed under cover of darkness, in the hidden place of his dreams. At least those two friends supported her in the bearing of the Christ Child.
Nor does He leave me alone. Less than a month after that journal entry, He led me to start this blog and used it to give me also a support community larger than my immediate family. If Christ is being "born" and borne in me more fully through this, that reflects in no small measure His help through you kind souls.
Someday, dear crumbles, when we "know fully as we are fully known," we will see clearly what our trials have wrought and, I hope, give thanks together to the glory of God.
Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when Christ appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. All who have this hope in him purify themselves, just as he is pure (1 John 3:2-3).
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Until that "day when our faith shall be sight," I continue to practice gratitude to our God now for His many gifts:
the faith example of His earthly mother and father::untarnished hope::the gift of thorns::grace for an unproductive, unwell week last week::increased blood pressure medicine bringing readings back to normal after several days::two more weeks in the walking boot::with breaks in a transition brace and athletic shoe::three bits of very good news from Mezzo::incipient plans for Christmas Eve with youngest sister and her family::all the candy made but two batches::my excellent toffee apprentice (You learn well, grasshopper.)::seeing friends at church Sunday::an amazingly perfect surprise gift from Amore::unexpected encouragement::waking Monday to a dusting of snow on lawn and grill cover::cold nights and better sleep::lovely visit from some of my in-laws::good Mexican food on a cool day with good company::bright red of a cardinal in bare tree branches::note from a friend::the Best Gift, not under a tree, but risen, ascended, and returning in glory. Come soon, Lord Jesus!
(still counting gifts, #8329-8349; why stop at one thousand?)
The whole of Christ's life was a continual passion; others die martyrs, but Christ was born a martyr. He found a Golgotha, where he was crucified, even in Bethlehem, where he was born; for to his tenderness then the straws were almost as sharp as the thorns after, and the manger as uneasy at first as the cross at last. His birth and His death were but one continual act, and his Christmas Day and his Good Friday are but the evening and the morning of one and the same day. From the creche to the cross is an inseparable line. Christmas only points forward to Good Friday and Easter. It can have no meaning apart from that, where the Son of God displayed his glory by his death (John Donne, quoted in Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus, ed. Nancy Guthrie).
Thanks be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ for all His good gifts:
songs of worship :: opportunity to attend a marvelous church Christmas concert :: Mezzo singing in the choir :: time with Mom and Dad for brief errands :: Dad bringing stopgap groceries :: weather that can't make its mind up :: 81 degrees on December 1? :: bit of definite improvement in ankle :: library book to read with a friend :: new book of Advent devotions :: sick day today :: lots of fuzz therapy :: Amore coming home for lunch :: autumn roses :: the gold of our poplar (we think) tree before the winds came :: discovering this lovely Nativity poem :: this week's memory verses :: He Himself is our peace, making unity of estrangement (Joy Dare #8223-8240)
