angels

Christmas with the King

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I ran across a Christmas poem that resonated with me deeply. This year, I have known people who have lost loved ones. I was blessed to be a part of a crew of deacons that went caroling Sunday at the homes of a couple of our widows.

This poem speaks to the Christmas experience of those who are no longer here with us. I think they’re probably having their best Christmas season ever. And the good news is that for them it never ends.

“Martha Bennett sent us this encouraging poem in a Christmas Card. Thanks Martha, Thanks for your encouragement.

I’m spending Christmas with Jesus this Year

I see the countless Christmas trees
Around the world below
With tiny lights like heavens stars
Reflecting on the snow

The sight is so spectacular,
Please wipe away that tear.
For I’m am spending Christmas
With Jesus Christ this year.

I hear the many Christmas songs,
That people hold so dear.
But the sound of music can’t compare,
With the Christmas Choir up here.

For I have no words to tell you,
The joy their voices bring,
For it is beyond description,
To hear an angel sing.

I can’t tell you of the splendor,
Or the peace here in this place.
Can you just imagine Christmas,
With our Savior face to face?

Please let your hearts be joyful,
And let your spirit sing.
For I am spending Christmas in heaven,
And walking with the King!”

As Billy Graham said that when you hear he had died, it was not true. He had simply changed his address. That’s true for all those we love who aren’t here this year. They’ve simply changed their address, and their faith has been made sight.

Never the Same

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“The mind, once stretched by a new idea, never returns to its original dimensions” (Ralph Waldo Emerson).

You can say the same for the heart. There are certain experiences in life that stretch your heart, like marriage, having a child, death, or a loved one moving away. Once your heart is stretched, it can never go back to what it used to be.

I can honestly say that I have known people in my life that have left imprints in my mind and in my heart. Some are no longer living. Some have moved on to different places or different phases of their lives. I may never see these people again this side of heaven, but I know that I am different and better because of them.

You never know sometimes when it’s the last time you’ll ever see someone. You think there will be more time, more experiences like this one. Sometimes, you get closure and a chance to process the grief of a goodbye, even if it’s not the grieving of death. Other times, you don’t.

One option is to be bitter and to focus on what was that will never be again. Or you could be thankful for what was because it made you who you are now. God never promised that every single person in your life would be there indefinitely. Some are only meant for a season. Some are to teach you a lesson. Some are like angels used by God to minister to you in a particularly difficult passage.

The best way to pay it forward is to be that kind of person to someone else. Just as someone was once God with skin on to you, so you can do your best to be that to someone else. You can’t be Jesus, but you can be the physical manifestation of God ministering to that person as His hands and feet, His voice.

Some of you might be reading these words right now. To you I say, “Thank you. I am more like Jesus because of you.”

It’s Friday But Sunday’s Comin’!

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I can’t remember a lot of what I’ve done in the last week or so, but I can still remember a sermon from Tony Campolo that I heard when I was a student at Union University way back in the early 90s. It was close to Easter that year, and I seem to remember we were getting ready to go on our spring break.

I remember the sermon was based on the text by an old black preacher named S. M. Lockridge with the refrain of “It’s Friday . . . but Sunday’s comin’!”

The gist is that Friday was when everything looked hopeless. Jesus was dead and buried. The Pharisees and other religious leaders were celebrating. The disciples were crushed and defeated. But Sunday and the empty tomb were just ahead, unbeknownst to those who were witnesses to the events on Friday.

Here’s the text from the original sermon that set my world on fire:

“It’s Friday. Jesus is arrested in the garden where He was praying. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. The disciples are hiding and Peter’s denying that he knows the Lord. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Jesus is standing before the high priest of Israel, silent as a lamb before the slaughter. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Jesus is beaten, mocked, and spit upon. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Those Roman soldiers are flogging our Lord with a leather scourge that has bits of bones and glass and metal, tearing at his flesh. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. The Son of man stands firm as they press the crown of thorns down into his brow. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. See Him walking to Calvary, the blood dripping from His body. See the cross crashing down on His back as He stumbles beneath the load. It’s Friday; but Sunday’s a coming.

It’s Friday. See those Roman soldiers driving the nails into the feet and hands of my Lord. Hear my Jesus cry, “Father, forgive them.” It’s Friday; but Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Jesus is hanging on the cross, bloody and dying. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. The sky grows dark, the earth begins to tremble, and He who knew no sin became sin for us. Holy God, who will not abide with sin, pours out His wrath on that perfect sacrificial lamb who cries out, “My God, My God. Why hast thou forsaken me?” What a horrible cry. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. And at the moment of Jesus’ death, the veil of the Temple that separates sinful man from Holy God was torn from the top to the bottom because Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Jesus is hanging on the cross, heaven is weeping and hell is partying. But that’s because it’s Friday, and they don’t know it, but Sunday’s a coming.

And on that horrible day 2,000 years ago, Jesus the Christ, the Lord of glory, the only begotten Son of God, the only perfect man, died on the cross of Calvary. Satan thought that he had won the victory. Surely he had destroyed the Son of God. Finally he had disproved the prophecy God had uttered in the Garden and the one who was to crush his head had been destroyed. But that was Friday.

Now it’s Sunday. And just about dawn on that first day of the week, there was a great earthquake. But that wasn’t the only thing that was shaking, because now it’s Sunday.

And the angel of the Lord is coming down out of heaven and rolling the stone away from the door of the tomb.

Yes, it’s Sunday, and the angel of the Lord is sitting on that stone. And the guards posted at the tomb to keep the body from disappearing were shaking in their boots, because it’s Sunday. And the lamb that was silent before the slaughter is now the resurrected lion from the tribe of Judah, for He is not here, the angel says. He is risen indeed.

It’s Sunday, and the crucified and resurrected Christ has defeated death, hell, sin, and the grave. It’s Sunday. And now everything has changed. It’s the age of grace, God’s grace poured out on all who would look to that crucified lamb of Calvary. Grace freely given to all who would believe that Jesus Christ died on the cross of Calvary was buried and rose again. All because it’s Sunday.

It’s Friiidaaaay!

But Sunday’s coming!” (S. M. Lockridge, With Thanks to Dr. Michael G. Davis for the text version).