Complaining at Christmas?

The Wise Men Journeying to Bethlehem – James Jacques Joseph Tissot

It’s Christmas week. The fourth week of Advent. The time when all the scurrying and baking and frenetic wrapping reach their zenith. This can also be a season ripe for complaint.

Complaint about the weather. Complaint about traffic jams, visiting relatives, toddler fits, and shopping trips. In the midst of candy canes and popcorn cake, we prop-up idyllic Christmas celebrations, which can be unexpected setups for disappointment. Even in this season of comfort and joy, grumbling can rise like steam from the wassail.

I’m certainly not immune to complaining. Even if I don’t voice my dissatisfaction, my mind is all too eager to write a negative script. Why? M. Craig Barnes suggests, “Complaining is usually a veiled lament about deeper issues of the soul.” (Pastor as Minor Poet, 16) Barnes goes on to add, “The primary symptom of a soul that has become sick is that it becomes blind to the poetry of life.” (38) When we complain, the presenting issue may not be the issue.

Complaint may seem off-topic for an Advent meditation, but the ubiquity of societal (and personal) grumbling is evidence of our longing. If we’re wrapped too tightly in wish dreams, our senses dull to the grand story unfolding before us. How enthralling, explosive, and poetic was the Incarnation! The shattering of time with the advent of the Christ-child was a longing fulfilled. A promise kept. The genesis of hope and assurance of renewal that affects this very moment.

Even so, we wait. Our souls lament as we cry, “Come quickly, Lord Jesus!”

And yet there’s a song in the air! Can you hear the Creator singing His melody of grace harmonized with justice, mercy, and kindness? Release yourself into the mystery, wonder, and beauty of Salvation’s song that satisfies our soul’s longing and extinguishes complaint.

As we celebrate Christmas this week, let’s remember the One who had justification to complain, yet never did. Who with incomparable humility carried the Song of Love to the Cross and sung redemption into eternity. Thanks be to God for the gift of our Savior — Jesus!

Merry Christmas!

A Prayer against Complaint

Holy Song-Singer and Word of Life,
Jesus, our Savior, strong and good;
Forgive my complaint and steep me in joy —
Have mercy on me, a sinner.

 

“In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death— even death on a cross!”
(Philippians 2:5–8, NIV)

Are You Listening?

Strong coffee. The smell of a campfire. A well-tensioned film. Belly laughs. Cutting with a sharp chainsaw. Crickets at dusk. Old books with cloth covers. Wrestling with my boys. Fresh-cut grass. A clever sentence. Candle-lit rooms. Shade trees in hot breezes. Neck nuzzling with my girls. The rhythmic roll of breaking waves. The flip-flap of Cottonwood leaves. My wife sneaking her hand into mine. The fragrance of springtime Lilacs. The dark quiet of morning. Weathered barns. Bacon.

All delightful to me. Satisfying. Pleasurable. Comforting. Restful. The tightness of life unwinds when I receive even staccatoed moments with such things.

Delights are divine gifts. Blessings for our human experience. In our image bearing of God, we delight because He delights. For certainly, God has much to delight in.

I wonder at the vastness of His created universe. We grapple for the edge of the expanse and close our fingers around more of the same void. Our place in it all seems miniscule, yet inspiring and wonderful. Unfathomable and delightful.

Still, with all that we see and have yet to uncover, the epicenter of God’s delight is not supernovas or Saturn’s rings. Jupiter’s spot or a shooting star. It’s not constellations or continents or crustaceans. It’s not anemones, butterflies or Redwood trees.

It is us.

We are His delight. We are the objects of His affectionate gaze. We dwell under the friendly sky of the Father’s love for His Son, Jesus. A love so strong and pure and holy that the Father and Son wanted to share it – with you, and me. And by grace, through faith, we can. It’s a wonderful, delightful envelopment. It’s also mysterious. Perplexing. Illogical. Incomprehensible.

Why, with all in which He could find joy, does God delight in me?

Didn’t He hear how I spoke to my daughter last night? Or observe how I was stingy with my time? Didn’t He notice how I received those compliments too proudly? How about the thoughts that exploded in my mind as ‘she’ walked by? Or the running list of selfish excuses? My retreats into silence? Those times I avoided conversation? Walked the other way? Looked away? Pretended not to hear?

God – how can I be delightful to you?

Even before the echo of this question wisps away, my doubts are chased by melodious tones. Soft, pleasant, peaceful sounds. Unearthly sounds. Divine sounds. Sounds that swell to a rapturous song. A song of delight. A song for, and about me.

“The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.” (Zephaniah 3:17, NIV)

My head can’t piece it together. Delight and love and joy and singing.

For me.

Me?

My life seems quite uninspiring. At times, undelightful. Still, the Mighty Warrior sings and saves. He releases heavenly strains that cascade upon my soul. My task is to listen. And believe. And rest. And feast on joy so graciously offered.

Despite my fledgling faith, I must do the hard work of seizing the truth and power of God’s delight in me. To be true to His joy-filled crafting of who I am. To acknowledge my worth through His Son. To respond in love, gratitude, and whole-hearted giving.
  
Our souls respire on our delights. We seek them. Work for them. Treasure them. Replay them. I yearn to accept and understand more of God’s love and enjoyment of me. His delighting not just in what I do, but who I am in Jesus. Delight that traverses moments when I’m a passive husband. An absent father. A neglectful friend. I’m a man who makes mistakes and messes and missteps. But Someone is always singing my song.

He sings yours too.

Are you listening?