Entitlement

Over the last few years, friends of mine and I have sat around -- as old folks tend to do -- meditating and pontificating on the current condition of society, and projecting and prophesying about what is to come. Some of those friends, like me, have found themselves frustrated and fearful at the reluctance of "today's youth" to learn from mistakes -- ours as well as theirs, to heed wise instruction, and to turn from their impulsions and compulsions in order to create for themselves a better life, and create for those around and after them a better world. One word has appeared over and over in our discussions: entitled. "Why does this generation think they are so entitled?" And we shake our heads and crinkle our brows at the arrogance of these children, our children, our future. "They weren't raised that way."

In studying the story of The Advent this year, I was struck by the humility of this very young couple, Joseph and Mary as they arrived in Bethlehem after a long and arduous journey, and searched for a place in which to simply rest, at a time when they were awaiting more anxiously than anyone, the birth of the long-anticipated Messiah, the King of all kings, their very Savior, a baby.

This year our family welcomed two babes -- a granddaughter in July, and a grandson in November; both mothers and newborns received the most skilled and sanitary care available. While we are all aware babies are born everyday in some of the most rustic and difficult situations, the thought of a child being delivered in a manure-infused stable amidst farm animals, with a few old blankets or hastily shredded cloths upon which to lay either mother or babe, and only the light of a few reeds or clay jars to guide the way -- well, let's just say, knowing what my truck looks and smells like after one thirty-minute trip to the vet with two dogs, and in today's super-sanitized, bleachy wiped, brighter is better world, I can't quite get my head around it. Who wouldn't expect better conditions from the God of the Universe for the arrival of His Son into the world? When the inn keeper said there were no clean, comfortable sheets on which to lay this child God had entrusted to them, did these young parents say, "Oh, no, we have to keep looking then. Surely God would not want His Son delivered amidst bovine snot rockets and sheep urine." Why didn't Joseph demand better for his dear Mary and the child that had caused him so much distress, and at the same time, so much joy? Did Mary, possibly in the midst of contractions snarl, "Do you not know who I am -- who this is?"

And hours later, after Jesus had nursed and fallen asleep in Mary's arms, when "honored" guests arrived to see their Redeemer. Shepherds. They may very well have smelled worse than Joseph and Mary's animal companions! And so much noise and commotion. "I just got him to sleep!" From what we're told, Mary seems to be the quiet, reflective type, not some attention-seeking drama queen. A "house" full of guests -- complete strangers -- shortly after such an emotional and intimate event was probably not what she envisioned or maybe even desired. Did Mary close her eyes and whisper, "Really, Lord?"

And weeks later, upon entering the temple with the minimal sacrifice for Mary's purification -- the minimal sacrifice -- didn't Joseph question why God would allow His Only Begotten Son to grow up in abject poverty? Had Joseph missed something? Was there something he, as Jesus step-father should be doing? "Father, why would you give this child to me? And why would we, earthly guardians of the Most High King, continue to live as the poorest of the poor?" Did Joseph shake his fist and cry out to God, "I am so tired of living hand to mouth; I would have at least thought You'd want better for Your Son!"?

Entitlement. From what the Scriptures tell us, entitlement was not what these young newlyweds felt. They were honored. They were humbled. They pondered, and learned, and grew in their own walk with The Savior. They were servants and instruments. They obeyed and sought to serve their Lord of lords in all they did, and spoke, and thought. You'd think if anyone deserved to feel entitled, it would have been these two. Selected, called, tested, persecuted, grieved, over and over again.

Feelings of entitlement seem to be part and parcel of the human condition. If you've ever been disappointed with your raise, if you've ever purchased something you couldn't afford, or if you've ever been annoyed by the success of others, chances are you have felt in some way entitled. Entitlement is not just a condition of youth -- today's youth or otherwise. Entitlement does not just infect those who take advantage of others or pride themselves on being better than the rest in some way. Entitlement has spent a little time with each one of us. The question is I suppose, this Advent will you allow the humility that is found on your knees, alongside a feeding trough, gazing at a helpless but Holy Babe to replace that entitlement? He is Lord over you, He is Lord over all -- will you live in that way?

A Season of Grace

'Tis the season. What season is that, exactly? To gather with family? To exchange perfect gifts and warm sentiments? To feel nostalgic? To deck the halls (whatever that means) and sing songs we only care to sing when the hot cocoa is flowing and Jack Frost is nipping? To put ourselves in debt keeping up with our snooty sister-in-law's holiday spread last year? To lapse into depression and an alcohol-induced coma until it's all over? To dust off the shiny shoes and head to church for the first time since Easter?

This week I've been thinking about the beginning. That first "Christmas." Which, when you read the story, wasn't really Christ-mass at all. No incense. No uncomfortable wooden pews. No shiny shoes. The Portuguese call Christmas "Natal" -- much more accurate, I think. Anyhoo, I was thinking about Mary, specifically. No disrespect intended, but I was thinking about who I was at the age of fourteen or fifteen. I know culturally and chronologically there are vast differences in Mary and I, but even as a woman in my forties, I can't imagine being "worthy" of such an honor. I know Catholic tradition teaches Mary was without sin but Scripture doesn't teach that, so you are free to move on if you don't like where I'm going with this. But, when we look at the Nativity, when we bask in the glow of this radiant mother and Child, when the corners of our mouths begin to curl up at the serene yet contemplative smile on the lips of the tiny virgin, do we ever think about Mary teasing her sister with the big nose and bad teeth, or tearing off the sweater her mother made her wear, as soon as she rounds the corner? Truth is, God is not a works-based God. He doesn't love us because of anything we have done. He doesn't count us worthy because of our good intentions, or mature countenance, or charitable nature. And here it is: Mary was no more worthy to be named "Mother of the Messiah" than you or I. Just let that roll around in your head for a minute. I am scared to think how this story would have turned out were an angel to have appeared to me twenty years ago much less, when I was in my teens!

We are told in the Scriptures what went through Mary's mind. Initially she was disturbed by an angel telling her she was favored. She knew the lies she had told and the things she had coveted. She knew she was not worthy. Can you imagine? "There must be a terrible mistake! This angel obviously has the wrong address. If I let him think it's me...well, I just can't let this charade go on!" After the angelic announcement, it is recorded that Mary merely questioned the logistics of it all: "You do know I'm a virgin, right? I'm going to be married in a few months; I've stayed pure almost to the chuppah, and now you tell me this? You're not asking me to do anything I shouldn't, right?" We're not told that Mary adopted anything but a heart of submission and obedience, and I'm sure the Holy Spirit had a lot to do with that as well, but this young woman was specially selected to be the Mother of the King of Kings -- personally, I can't believe she didn't wrestle with the whole concept. There were so many things to consider, and those are the things upon which I have been meditating.

• Why me? and are You sure?
• This is not what I had in mind. This could change my whole life.
• What will people say? This could ruin my whole life.
• I am so not ready for this.
• I am so alone.
• What if I fail?

Did days pass when she felt nothing, heard nothing? Did she ever think she was mistaken? And when it came time to make the journey to Bethlehem -- an arduous, dangerous journey, thirty-nine weeks or so into this very young woman's first pregnancy -- where they would find no place but a feeding trough to even lay the Newborn King, did guilt or doubt slither in beside to rob her of what God had bestowed on her?

Whatever God has spoken to you, whether He has called you serve Him in full-time ministry or simply to visit that church down the street, whether you feel led to give all you have or just want to break the chains of abuse that have bound you most of your life, whether something is causing you to question the lifestyle and relationships you have fought to keep for so many years or you have walked closely with Jesus for as long as you can remember, God calls us because of His grace. And sometimes He calls His children to what can appear to be complete insanity -- a virgin birth, a sixty-mile camping trip in your ninth month of pregnancy, a King wrapped in rags.

In this season, this season of warmth in spite of cold, this season of light springing from darkness, this season of glory wrapped in the humblest of circumstances, reflect on the grace given each of us by the Almighty God of the Universe, who claims us not because of who we are, but because of Who He is and what the tiny Babe was born to do.

I Wish I Knew

Anyone who has ever loved someone knows just how important it can be to please that someone. Obedience is thrust upon us as little children, and takes root in our behavior because of the fear of unpleasant consequences. In my childhood those unpleasant consequences regularly included "the belt." Call me a very slow learner. But as I matured, I learned that obedience was a great way to please someone you really like. Watch little hands shoot to the sky as any Kindergarten teacher scouts for volunteers. Granted, some children, or some part of each child enjoys the enormous prestige associated with being Line Leader or stowing storytime tuffets back in their cubbies, but children that age generally desire to please authority, even authority that doesn't seem to particularly like them. While disobedience brings an unwanted yield, they learn that obedience and acts of kindness result in smiles, praise and a much more pleasant harvest.

As I grow in my faith, I become more eager to please God. There again, a portion of my desire stems from wanting things to go smoothly. If I obey the commandment "Do not kill," for instance, I avoid regret, jail time, and having to clean DNA out of the wood chipper -- just kidding. But, when I pray for God's will in my life, I greatly want to seek it, to know it, to follow it, out of obedience to Him. I want to show Christ to others -- in my kind words, my generous giving, my patience and love for them. I want to show grace to others, and demonstrate that the things which matter most to me are not the things of this life -- temporal, fleeting, mortal -- but the things of heaven.

All that being said, come with me to the mailbox, where today, December 13, 2014, I find a bill. A bill for insurance. Insurance that has gone up by fifty dollars a month! And sit with me while I do a bit of filing. Water bill. Sewer bill. Medical bill. Pay stubs from a job that raises the cost of my benefits annually -- an amount that exceeds my raise each year! Top execs will, no doubt, give themselves another nineteen percent increase. Attaboys all around! Would you like to ride with me in my fourteen year old vehicle? Almost 200,000 miles on her. Feel the engine race as it prepares to accelerate but my transmission does not. It's taken me three transmissions so far, to get that unique lack of shifting capability. The only question left unanswered is whether I will actually be able to get my credit card paid down enough so I have room to put yet another costly repair on it, or I will be calling AAA to pick up my truck and my trans for scrap first. "Account Balance: $12."

Do you feel the panic setting in? I do. "Shut out the lights!" "Stop wasting milk!" "Maybe I could get another part-time job." "If I stop eating altogether..." "What's the going rate for a pint of blood these days?" Hardly sounds like the same person who had her heart set on obedience just a bit ago.

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?“And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." ~Matthew 6:25-34

I don't have an answer. I wish I did. The stress I feel when it comes to paying our bills sometimes overwhelms me. I would love to be debt-free. I would love to look at the balance in our checking account and know that -- at least -- our bills would be covered this month. Some say I can. That God is faithful. He will provide the money to pay our bills and put food on our table. Some say He might not, but He will be with me wherever He calls me. And I say I'd have to listen to a lot of complaining in the meantime. Irony is, the one who does the most complaining is the one costing me the most! This spoiled housemate of mine. Blame always follows panic.

So, how do I trust? How do I lose the panic -- and the obnoxious whiny voice that screams out "What are you doing?! You had that on for fifteen minutes! You can wear it again!!"? How do I stop blaming others and start focusing on my responsibilities? When I find out, I will let you know. Meantime, I'll just be walking with Jesus and holding His hand.

Grace Is the Final Word

Once upon a time, there were two women -- sisters -- and they lived together. Word got around that a very famous man -- a superstar -- was coming to visit them, and he was bringing his entire entourage. Their house was nice enough, and cozy, but would it be nice enough for such a highly regarded public figure? And their furniture was almost brand new, but would it fit his sense of style or meet the standards of comfort to which he was accustomed? And food! What on earth would they do about food? They'd definitely have to go grocery shopping. The one sister -- we'll call her Martha -- took charge. After all, that's the kind of person she was -- a doer. She handled the planning, the procuring, the cleaning, the cooking, the decorating. In short, she did it all. While Mary, the other sister, sat around absorbing the moments of anticipation -- or some kind of silliness like that. Mary was all about living in the moment. (Who really "gets" those type of people? How can you live in the moment when things haven't been made ready, flawless?)

The day arrived, and so did their guest. By this time Martha had just about had it with her lazy, crazy sister.

"Mister," Martha said to their famous guest, "look at all this work! Look how I'm sweating! My nails are chipped from all this cooking and pot washing; I haven't even had a moment to change into something decent after all this cleaning. She'll listen to you -- tell Mary to get off her duff and help me out!"

Their prestigious guest replied, "Martha, it's OK. I didn't ask for all of this. You've gotten yourself all uptight over trivial things, but Mary's heart is really where it's at. I'm not going to take her peace or her grace from her. In fact, you oughta try it some time."

Every time I read this account in Luke 10:38-42, I get a little miffed. You see, for years I have been a Martha. I watched my mother scrub baseboards and iron white cotton curtains like a madwoman in the days leading up to the holiday season. When I got my own place, I was proud of my things and my ideas for decorating; I wanted everything to stay just as it was -- on display, like some kind of museum of good taste and refinement.

Well, there are so many things wrong with all of that. First, the obvious: Greed. "Don't touch my stuff. Don't flatten my cushions. Don't handle anything you might break." And with that comes Pride. "It's all mine. I did this." Thirdly, there's the silliness of missing the point. We are supposed to enjoy our guests, enjoy the time spent with friends and family -- not spend it popping up and down like some kind of neurotic prairie dog, hurrying and scurrying to make things just right. It's time spent with those we love that lasts, not impeccable decorating or spotless tableware. Fourth is delusion. It will never be flawless. Why waste whatever time you have with those you've invited, pursuing futility? Fifth is fear. The fear of others judging you. "Did you see her TV? It's not even a flat screen! And one of her dining room chairs had a big scratch on it!" Who gives a rip?! Anyone who judges your stuff should be more than happy to add you to their Christmas list.

But the sixth problem with Martha's (and my) attitude is the ignorance of grace. And folks, the Lord just brought this to me today -- this passage in Luke is about grace. Martha was doing all of these things to make herself and her home ready. She was working to appear acceptable and worthy of the company of such an esteemed guest -- a King, the King, Jesus! She wanted to impress Jesus with her ____ -- well, you fill in the blank. Things? Works? Abilities? For years I believed being a Christian was about getting it together, being righteous, living an exemplary life, smiling through the pain, denying myself through gritted teeth. And then I'd snap. I'd be some ranting, crazy shrew who was sick and tired of doing everything herself, who couldn't take another minute of the ignorant swine and indolent freeloaders around her. "How can I ever be the kind of Christian I'm supposed to be when I'm surrounded by people like this?! Lord, do something!"

The truth is, for Martha and all the Martha's like me, He already has. Mary chose to rest in the knowledge that no amount of toil could prepare their home or her heart enough for a King. That she must step aside and let God's grace make things right. That getting ready for the King to stay with you means nothing more than opening the door and listening to Him, looking toward Him, staying near Him. Our work, our scrubbing, our straightening out, our redecorating will never hide the true shortcomings from a God who formed us and knows the innermost parts of us; it will never be enough to fully make the homes of our hearts good enough for Royalty. We must come to Jesus exactly as we are, sit down and accept His grace. It is finished.