HEELCATCHER

I like things a certain way. I guess all of us do to some degree.

But at times I can become obsessive.

I can straighten chairs to the smallest degree to make sure they are straight. Get upset over a bent corner on my books. Perfect a written paper to the point that every page ends at the same spot.

Maybe I am just weird.

I click my nails between my teeth (to the annoyance of my wife).

I stratch the same spot on my back.

I over-analyze my food. I have "texture issues" which means that I don't want pulp in my orange juice, lumps in my potatoes, or chunks in my tomato sauce. As I've told a friend, "When it comes to food, I want my liquids to be liquids and my solids to be solids. I don't want a drink or a sauce to have a chunk in it and I don't want my solid food to squirt in my mouth."

Since I don't eat any fruit (see above), I have come to depend on smoothies for my fruit intake. I have had the same smoothie (with the same basic recipe) practically every morning (unless I am on vacation) for the past 10 years of my life. And in some sense, I wouldn't mind eating the same food for every meal for just about every day of my life.

Wow, now that I think about it, that is weird.

At times, people have joked with me about being OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder).

I never gave it much thought.

Until I struggled with panic attacks.

And then I realized that one aspect of OCD is what is called "brain lock." Getting stuck on a thought, almost like a scratch on a record, and thinking about it over and over again.

I read Can Christianity Cure Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder? by Dr. Ian Osborn (a great book, by the way) and realized that people like Martin Luther and John Bunyan probably suffered from what psychologists would call "OCD." Luther was so focused on his sin in the monastery that he confessed over and over and over again. The joke among the monks was that "Luther feels the need to confess every time he breaks wind." Meanwhile, Bunyan was so obsessed with the idea that he committed the unpardonable sin that he entered long periods of extreme depression and doubt, convinced he was eternally damned.

My struggles are nowhere near Luther's or Bunyan's or many others I have known who have suffered with OCD.

But I know what it is like to feel trapped…stuck…plagued with thoughts that are hard to escape…to have panic attacks when the ongoing oncoming waves of anxiety overwhelmed my ability to swim above them.

So what does OCD have to do with Christmas?

I read an interesting article by Jeff Peabody in which he compared Jesus being swaddled as a baby to the limitations He faced as the eternal God in human flesh.

This historical detail from Christ's birth suddenly transformed into a personal sign for me. Because I no longer saw just a baby in a blanket, but a God who entered into my boundedness, who shared inside knowledge of all I was feeling.

…The conditions of his advent were a small metaphor for his entire life. As the Son of God became flesh and bones, he experienced an unfathomable limitation of himself. The universe closed in around him, restricting him with time and space. Having a human body was like being swaddled, as it contained Almighty God in unnaturally small dimensions.

…The simple image of Jesus, God's gift to us, being wrapped up in cloths comforts me with the powerful truth: He understands the bindings on my mind and soul as only someone who has a shared experience can. The concept of Immanuel, God with us, takes on a new and profound clarity. ("The Gift of Wrapping," Christianity Today, December 2018)

To be our sympathetic High Priest, Jesus had to be made like His brethren (Hebrews 2:17). He had to take on flesh. He had to suffer. He had to experience our weaknesses. He had to deal with thirst, hunger, tiredness, sorrow, physical pain, emotional pain, mental pain, thoughts so overwhelming that He sweated blood.

He had to become a man.

More than that…He had to become a baby.

Helpless.

Limited.

Dependent.

Confined.

Swaddled in tight cloths.

To understand.

To empathize.

To comfort.

To save.

The same tight cloths that wrapped Him as a baby wrapped His dead body after His crucifixion.

But His restricting cloths were set aside in the freedom of the resurrection.

And so will ours.

In this tent [our present body] we groan, earnestly desiring to be clothed with our habitation which is from heaven [our new glorified body] (2 Corinthians 5:2).

If you are groaning today…in your body…in your mind…in your soul.

Look to Jesus.

Immanuel.

God with us.

Man literally drives himself into a blind obliviousness with social games, psychological tricks, personal preoccupations so far removed from the reality of his situation that they are forms of madness, but madness all the same. …Man is literally split in two: he has an awareness of his own splendid uniqueness in that he sticks out of nature with a towering majesty, and yet he goes back into the ground a few feet in order blindly and dumbly to rot and disappear forever.

Ernest Becker,  said these words in his book, The Denial of Death, winner of the Pulitzer Prize in 1974.

He wrote the book the year before his death from colon cancer…at the age of 49.

It is a fascinating book, one of my favorites, because it is so honest, so stark, so real.

Becker struggled with the reality of death. He refused to put on rose-colored glasses. He refused to play the psychologial games that we often play. To deny death, to diminish its reality, to distract ourselves with entertainment, sports, TV binges, shopping, fame, fortune, alcohol, etc.

Modern man is drinking and drugging himself out of awareness or he spends his time shopping, which is the same thing. (Becker)

Becker sees death for what it really is. The end of life. The finality of saying good-bye. The decay of the body. The terror of the unknown.

He also struggles with the message of Christianity.

He is not a believer…and does not appear to become one…but he is intrigued by the Christian faith.

He is enticed by its hope.

As an ideal, Christianity, on all the things we have listed, stands high, perhaps even highest in some vital ways, as people like Kierkegaard, Chesterton, the Niebuhrs, and so many others have compellingly argued (Becker).

Whereas as the world often describes Christians as people with a pollyanna, irrational view of life, Becker realized it was actually the other way around. People who pretend that man is some kind of god who can solve all of life's problems or who look to science, sex, romance, education, or heroism as some kind of "salvation" from the sheer reality of death and the meaninglessness of life are the ones living in an illusion. For all its potential faults, in Becker's mind, the Christian faith at least looks at life and death honestly and recognizes that salvation, if it is available, must come from outside ourselves.

Redemption can only come from outside the individual, from beyond, from our conceptualization of the ultimate source of things, the perfection of creation. It can only come…when we lay down our individuality, give it up, admit our creatureliness and helplessness (Becker).

If we are to be saved, then it must come from beyond…from above…from God.

Not from ourselves.

Then the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord." (Luke 2:10-11)

A Savior is born.

From above…into our world…for us…for our salvation.

Salvation from our own brokenness and the brokenness of our world…from our own sin and the sin of our world…from the finality of death and the decay of our world.

If there is to be true hope, then it must transcend death. And it must come from outside of ourselves.

From a Source that has unlimited power and life.

From an eternal God who loves us enough to save us.

This is the person of Jesus.

This is the message of Christmas.

This is our hope.

And this is good news!