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!

I had a hard time waking up this morning. Or to be more accurate…I had a hard time getting out of bed.

It was cold outside which has a way of enticing you to stay under the covers.

But more than that, I was just tired. Overwhelmed. Unmotivated.

The items on the plate seem to exceed the strength in the body.

At times the responsibilities…the tasks…the demands…the expectations…the anxieties…can all come flooding together.

It seems safer to stay at home, inside, in bed, than to start the day.

But I got up.

Forced my body to respond.

Then force-fed my mind God's Word.

Reading Scripture is not always a joy. In fact, like physical exercise, it often feels like a chore, like a hard-to-keep routine.

But it gives focus. Builds discipline. Trains the mind toward God, toward godliness.

This morning I reflected on these words.

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)

Don't fear. There is good news. Of great joy. To all people. For Christ is born. A Savior. The Lord.

Great joy.

I long for great joy.

It is a battle.

Joy doesn't yield its fruit easily. It doesn't come automatically. It is not something you can bottle up, package up, and buy…despite what the commercials say.

This world doesn't offer much joy when you look at it honestly.

Conflict. Crime. Division. Hatred. Sickness. Disease. Disaster. Death.

So how does the birth of a baby in Bethelehem make any difference?

God knows. God sees. God cares.

God loves.

So much so that He entered our world in the person of Jesus Christ.

God with us.

Immanuel.

God understands.

He knows our hearts. He knows our struggles. He knows our fears. He is not a distant God uninterested in us. He walks with us, weeps with us, suffers with us.

God saves.

He bears our burdens, bears our wounds, bears our sins…and offers us salvation, freedom, grace…in His Son, the baby of Bethlehem, the Lamb of God, the Risen Lord.

God reigns.

The story is not yet complete. There is a better day coming. There is hope for each day.

There is a reason to rejoice.

There is a reason to give thanks.

There is a reason to keep moving forward.

There is a reason to get out of bed each morning and walk in newness of life.

I love Christmas.

As I look back on fifty years of life, many of my memories are associated with Christmas. It is sort of a memory marker of the years.

Growing up in Green Cove Springs. Nyquist Circle. White house. Big yard. Hardwood floors. Christmas tree in the living room.

Watching the gifts grow under the tree. Counting the gifts for me. Waiting for Christmas morning.

The earliest gifts that I can remember getting were Rock'em Sock'em Robots and Smash-Up Derby. Punching robots until their necks pop up and crashing cars and watching their parts fly across the room. Every little boy's dream.

After opening presents, we had a huge breakfast around our family table. Bacon. Eggs…cooked in bacon grease. Sausage. Toast. Jellies. Juice.

It seems like a lifetime ago. But it is a sweet memory. Almost iconic. Like a Norman Rockwell painting.

As the years passed, our Christmas time grew even more special.

Many in my family trusted Jesus Christ for salvation.

Christmas was more than just a time of getting together and gift getting. It was a time to remember the ultimate Gift from God.

We sang Christmas carols together on Christmas Eve. Shared memories. Gave thanks. Laughed together. Focused on Christ.

The gifts became more fun too. We rarely put our names on the "From" line of the Christmas tag. Instead, we used fake names that hinted at the gift inside. Gifts from Mr. Norelco, Betty Crocker, Ronald Reagan, Rocky, and Willie Nelson soon found their way under our tree.

I can never remember feeler closer to my family than during those times.

Deep down I think we all knew that we were experiencing something special.

The last Christmas with my sister, Jill, is forever stamped on my mind. As we shared together in the living room, she began to cry. "I am thankful for this Christmas because I didn't think that I would have another one with the family."

The ravages of cancer continued to attack her body.

Weak. Tired. Skinny. Sunken skull from numerous surgeries.

Yet her faith was strong.

I still see her in my mind on that Christmas day. I want to freeze the memory in my mind. Go back to it. Relive it. Hug my sister once again.

But it is gone. And she is too.

The next few years were filled with more and more grandkids, more and more gifts, more and more memories, a bigger and bigger breakfast table.

My dad leading us in prayer.

My dad. The one who seemed to have no interest in Jesus Christ when I was young. Hard working. Self-sufficient. Hard to know. Focused on golf, gardening, and the weather. Yet broken by the death of his daughter. Drawn to her faith. Redeemed by her Savior.

Kneeling to the One born on Christmas Day.

The years continue to pass and I find myself reflecting more and more on these past Christmases.

I miss them. I want to recapture them.

I feel the pull of time. Always pushing us forward even when we want to stop and hold onto the moments.

Nostalgia brings a strange mixture of joy and sorrow. Smiling at the memory and weeping that the time is gone.

There's an age you reach when the time behind you becomes more than the time ahead of you.

It is easy to get stuck in the past.

But Christmas reminds us that we are part of a bigger story.

That our hope is ahead of us.

That the best is yet to come.

And that one day I will hug my sister again.

You were born in the midst of a war.

A spiritual war.

There are battles taking place in the heavenlies all around you.

Angels. Demons. Principalities. Powers. Spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.

It's another dimension. A reality that is unseen.

Physicists conjecture about a fourth dimension…even multiple dimensions beyond our apprehension.

Scripture says that they are right…at least in concept.

Pull back the curtain of our senses and there is a dimension dominated by angelic warfare.

Darkness versus light.

But not the Star Wars type.

The battle began behind the scenes of time when a created angel of God decided to rebel, decided he wanted to rule, desired to be like the Most High.

But his plans were thwarted. The Lord of hosts has no rival.

Judged and defeated by God, the rebelling cherub set his sights on God's most unique creation, male and female, made in the image of God.

Unable to attack God, the antagonistic angel aimed his arrow at the heart of humanity.

Entering the world. Taking the form of a serpent. He deceived the woman. He led the man into rebellion.

Darkness invaded God's kingdom of light.

Cancer entered God's creation.

What would God do? Would He abandon His creation? Would He scrap everything and start again?

In the midst of His judgment on the serpent, God issued a promise.

The battle of history began.

Behind every conflict, every act of hatred, every murder, every war lies a greater war.

The serpent hates God. The serpent hates the image of God.

He hates us…deceives us…enslaves us…destroys us.

And our hope lies in the birth of a Child.

Not any Child.

The woman's Seed.

Scripture associates the "seed" with the male.

But not this time.

This Child would be born of a woman.

A virgin.

A Child born without a human father.

The ancient prophecies looked to the day when the woman's seed would crush the serpent's head.