To improve her sign language skills, Leisa immersed herself in the world of the Deaf. Soon she learned the problems they face. The Deaf are awkwardly ignored by hearing people, are expected to lipread flawlessly, and are routinely passed over for promotions at work. Most public events go uninterpreted.
Leisa’s signing steadily improved to the point where she felt at home with the Deaf. At a party, a Deaf person was surprised to learn Leisa could hear. Before Leisa could respond, another friend signed, “She has a Deaf heart.” The key had been Leisa’s willingness to live in their world.
Leisa didn’t “condescend” to be with the Deaf. Except for her hearing, she was like them. But Jesus did stoop to reach all of us—to live in our world. He “was made lower than the angels for a little while” (Hebrews 2:9). Christ “shared in [our] humanity so that by his death he might break the power of him who holds the power of death.” In doing so, He freed “those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death” (vv. 14–15). More than that, He was “fully human in every way, in order that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in service to God” (v. 17).
Whatever we face, Jesus knows and understands. He hears our heart. He’s with us in every way.
Photographer Ronn Murray likes cold weather. Very cold weather. “Cold means clear skies,” notes journalist Lee Cowan in a TV interview with Murray. “And that can open a window to the wonderful!”
Ronn and his wife, Marketa, provide Alaskan photography tours dedicated to tracking Earth’s most spectacular light show—aurora borealis (the northern lights). Murray speaks of the experience as “very spiritual.” If you’ve ever seen this iridescent display dance across the heavens, you’ll understand why.
But the lights aren’t only a northern phenomenon. Aurora australis, nearly identical to borealis, occurs simultaneously in the south. That’s because they’re the same kind of lights.
In the disciple John’s telling of the Christmas story, he skips the stable and shepherds and goes directly to the One who “brought light to everyone” (John 1:4
As our lives reflect this light of the world—the One who created aurora borealis and australis—we open a window to the truly wonderful.
In 1986, the Chernobyl nuclear disaster in Ukraine dominated the world’s attention. As the magnitude of the catastrophe became apparent, officials scrambled to the critically essential task of containing the radiation. But the job posed enormous problems. Highly radioactive debris cluttered the roof of the plant, and lethal gamma rays kept destroying the robots deployed to clean up the mess.
Finally the decision was made to use “bio robots”—human beings! Thousands of heroic individuals became “Chernobyl liquidators,” disposing of the hazardous material in “shifts” of ninety seconds or less. People did what technology could not, at great personal risk.
Long ago, our rebellion against God introduced a catastrophe that led to all other catastrophes (see Genesis 3). Through Adam and Eve, we chose to part ways with our Creator, and we made our world a toxic mess in the process. We could never clean it up ourselves.
That’s the whole point of Christmas. The apostle John wrote of Jesus, “The life appeared; we have seen it and testify to it, and we proclaim to you the eternal life, which was with the Father and has appeared to us” (1 John 1:2). Then John declared, “The blood of Jesus, [God’s] Son, purifies us from all sin” (v. 7).
Jesus has provided what His creatures could not. As we believe in Him, He restores us to a right relationship with His Father. He’s liquidated death itself. The life has appeared.
During World War II, US Navy medical corpsman Lynne Weston went ashore with the marines as they stormed enemy-held islands. Inevitably, there were gruesome casualties. He did his best to patch up wounded combatants for evacuation. On one occasion, his unit encountered an enemy soldier with a bad abdominal wound. Due to the nature of the injury, the man couldn’t be given water. To keep him alive, Petty Officer Weston administered intravenous plasma.
“Save that plasma for our fellas, Swabby!” bellowed one of the marines. Petty Officer Weston ignored him. He knew what Jesus would do. “Love your enemies” (Matthew 5:44).
Jesus did far more than speak those challenging words; He lived them. When a hostile mob seized Him and took Him to the high priest, “The men who were guarding Jesus began mocking and beating him” (Luke 22:63). The abuse continued all the way through His sham trials and execution. Jesus didn’t merely endure it. When Roman soldiers crucified Him, He prayed for their forgiveness (23:33-34).
We may not encounter a literal enemy who is trying to kill us. But everyone knows what it’s like to endure ridicule and scorn. Our natural reaction is to respond in anger. Jesus raised the bar: “Pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44).
Today, let’s walk in that kind of love, showing kindness as Jesus did—even to our enemies.
In a classic Peanuts comic strip, Linus’ friend berates him for his belief in the Great Pumpkin. Walking away dejectedly, Linus says, “There are three things I have learned never to discuss with people . . . religion, politics, and the Great Pumpkin!”
The Great Pumpkin existed only in Linus’ head, but the other two topics are oh-so-real—dividing nations, families, and friends. The problem occurred in Jesus’ day as well. The Pharisees were deeply religious and tried to follow the Old Testament law to the letter. The Herodians were more political, yet both groups wanted to see the Jewish people freed from Roman oppression. Jesus didn’t seem to share their goals. So they approached Him with a politically charged question: should the people pay taxes to Caesar? (Mark 12:14–15). If Jesus said yes, the people would resent Him. If He said no, the Romans could arrest Him for insurrection.
Jesus asked for a coin. “Whose image is this?” He asked (v. 16). Everyone knew it was Caesar’s. Jesus’ words resonate today: “Give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s” (v. 17). His priorities in order, Jesus avoided their trap.
Jesus came to do His Father’s will. Following His lead, we too can seek God and His kingdom above all else, directing the focus away from all the dissension and toward the One who is the Truth.
In 1921, artist Sam Rodia began construction on his Watts Towers. Thirty-three years later seventeen sculptures rose as high as thirty meters over Los Angeles. Musician Jerry Garcia was dismissive of Rodia’s lifework. “That’s the payoff,” said Garcia. “That thing that exists after you’re dead.” Then he said, “Wow, that’s not it for me.”
So what was the payoff for him? His bandmate Bob Weir summed up their philosophy: “In eternity, nothing will be remembered of you. So why not just have fun?”
A wealthy, wise man once tried to find the “payoff” by doing everything he possibly could. He wrote, “I said to myself, ‘Come now, I will test you with pleasure to find out what is good’ ” (Ecclesiastes 2:1). But he noted, “The wise, like the fool, will not be long remembered” (v. 16). He concluded, “The work that is done under the sun was grievous to me” (v. 17).
The life and message of Jesus radically counter such shortsighted living. Jesus came to give us “life to the full” (John 10:10) and taught us to live this life with the next one in view. “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth,” He said. “But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven” (Matthew 6:19-20). Then He summed it up: “Seek first [God’s] kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well” (v. 33).
That’s the payoff—both under the sun and beyond.
In 1960, Otto Preminger provoked controversy with his movie Exodus. Based on Leon Uris’s novel, it provides a fictional account of Jewish refugees emigrating to Palestine after World War II. The film concludes with the bodies of a young European-Jewish girl and an Arab man, both murder victims, buried in the same grave in what will soon be the nation of Israel.
Preminger leaves the conclusion to us. Is this a metaphor for despair, a dream forever buried? Or is it a symbol of hope, as two peoples with a history of hatred and hostilities come together—in death and in life?
Perhaps the sons of Korah, credited with writing Psalm 87, would take the latter view of this scene. They anticipated a peace we still await. Of Jerusalem, they wrote, “Glorious things are said of you, city of God” (v. 3). They sang of a day when nations—all with a history of warring against the Jewish people—will come together to acknowledge the one true God: Rahab (Egypt), Babylon, the Philistines, Tyre, Cush (v. 4). All will be drawn to Jerusalem, and to God.
The conclusion of the psalm is celebratory. People in Jerusalem will sing, “All my fountains [springs] are in you” (v. 7). Who are they singing of? The One who is the Living Water, the Source of all life (John 4:14). Jesus is the only one who can bring lasting peace and unity.
The army wouldn’t give Tony Vaccaro a chance as a photographer, but that didn’t stop him. Between terrifying moments of dodging artillery shells and shrapnel that seemed to rain from the trees, he took pictures anyway. Then, as his friends slept, he used their helmets to mix the chemicals to develop his film. The nighttime forest became the darkroom in which Vaccaro created a timeless record of World War II’s battle of Hürtgen Forest.
King David lived through his share of battles and dark times. Second Samuel 22 says, “The
David soon pivoted from desperation to hope. “In my distress I called to the
David turned his difficulties into an opportunity to tell the world about his faithful God. We can do the same. After all, we rely on the One who turns darkness into light.
We camped under the stars, with nothing between us and the infinite West African sky. No need for a tent in the dry season. But the fire was crucial. “Never let the fire go out,” Dad said, prodding the logs with a stick. Fire kept wildlife at a distance. God’s creatures are wonderful, but you never want a leopard or a snake meandering through your campsite.
Dad was a missionary to Ghana’s Upper Region, and he had a knack for turning everything into a teaching moment. Camping was no exception.
God used campouts as a teaching point for His people too. Once a year, for an entire week, the Israelites were to live in shelters made of “branches from luxuriant trees—from palms, willows and other leafy trees” (Leviticus 23:40). The purpose was twofold. God told them, “All native-born Israelites are to live in such shelters so your descendants will know that I had the Israelites live in temporary shelters when I brought them out of Egypt” (vv. 42-43). But the event was also to be festive. “Rejoice before the Lord your God for seven days” (v. 40).
Camping may not be your idea of fun, but God instituted a one-week campout for the Israelites as a joyful way to recall His goodness. We easily forget the meaning at the heart of our holidays. Our festivals can be joyous reminders of the character of our loving God. He created fun too.
