The attendance at a Memorial Service for a precious ninety five year old lady,
today was instructive for me. I heard
the stories of testimonies from her sons and a couple of her grandchildren. I was impressed and convicted with the phrase; “faith,
family and memories was what her life consisted of.” Also, that she most loved the holidays, like
Christmas; when the entire family gathered together. Someone said although she would not be here
for this Christmas, she was in her home eternal.
In
his poem Journey of the Magi, T.S. Eliot imagines the reminiscent thoughts of
one of the Magi who journeyed from afar to witness the birth of Christ.
Using the voice of a pagan king, Elliot portrays the weight in the soul of a
man who has truly confronted the uniqueness of Christ, the king. The poem
powerfully concludes:
"Birth or Death? There was a birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt I had seen birth and death.
But had thought they were different, this Birth was
hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our palaces, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
with an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death."
Coming in contact with the Christ, proclaims Eliot, setting one's eyes on the child who was born to die is in a very real sense like dying ourselves. To me, the poem seems to strike a somber note. That to the chagrin of Bettyann and my daughters, although, I also realize it is the proclamation echoed triumphantly
throughout New Testament Scripture. For example, The apostle Paul spoke readily of life in Christ using the words and imagery of death. "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me" (Galatians 2:20). Jesus uttered similarly, "Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it" (Matthew 10:39).
In this season of Advent, I am walking with fellow believers of various persuasions of the Christian faith, professing to be watching and waiting, remembering and anticipating with those who first watched God step into the world through the means of a dirty stable. I remember those who first set their eyes on the child who was born to die, becoming, in a sense, as Christ was on that first night, homeless and out of place. I remember, too, that I am far from home, longing for the kingdom I know in part. For having embraced the person of Christ, I proclaim the reality of his kingdom and find myself as Eliot describes, "no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation, with an alien people clutching their gods." The message of Advent awakens my sense of homelessness, stirs my longing for home, and reminds me that I am waiting for the return of the king.
In one of the most comforting conversations between Jesus and the disciples, Jesus gives a description of home and the certainty of my place in it. "In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going" (John 14:2-4). Compounding this hope, his words are followed by one of his most quoted promises. As Thomas replied, "But Lord, we don't know where you are going, so how can we know the way?" Jesus answered: "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."
Christ is the herald of my homelessness and the harbinger of my home, even as he proclaims the kingdom among us and himself the way. As G.K. Chesterton once penned,
"For men are homesick in their homes,
and strangers under the sun...
but our homes are under miraculous skies
where the Yule tale was begun."
The message of Christ's birth is a certain message of hope and home. He who took on the fullness of humanity became homeless that I might come home. He proclaims a kingdom about me and prepares me a place within it. Today, I say, I WILL LET MY HEART PREPARE HIM ROOM.
"Birth or Death? There was a birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt I had seen birth and death.
But had thought they were different, this Birth was
hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our palaces, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
with an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death."
Coming in contact with the Christ, proclaims Eliot, setting one's eyes on the child who was born to die is in a very real sense like dying ourselves. To me, the poem seems to strike a somber note. That to the chagrin of Bettyann and my daughters, although, I also realize it is the proclamation echoed triumphantly
throughout New Testament Scripture. For example, The apostle Paul spoke readily of life in Christ using the words and imagery of death. "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me" (Galatians 2:20). Jesus uttered similarly, "Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it" (Matthew 10:39).
In this season of Advent, I am walking with fellow believers of various persuasions of the Christian faith, professing to be watching and waiting, remembering and anticipating with those who first watched God step into the world through the means of a dirty stable. I remember those who first set their eyes on the child who was born to die, becoming, in a sense, as Christ was on that first night, homeless and out of place. I remember, too, that I am far from home, longing for the kingdom I know in part. For having embraced the person of Christ, I proclaim the reality of his kingdom and find myself as Eliot describes, "no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation, with an alien people clutching their gods." The message of Advent awakens my sense of homelessness, stirs my longing for home, and reminds me that I am waiting for the return of the king.
In one of the most comforting conversations between Jesus and the disciples, Jesus gives a description of home and the certainty of my place in it. "In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going" (John 14:2-4). Compounding this hope, his words are followed by one of his most quoted promises. As Thomas replied, "But Lord, we don't know where you are going, so how can we know the way?" Jesus answered: "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."
Christ is the herald of my homelessness and the harbinger of my home, even as he proclaims the kingdom among us and himself the way. As G.K. Chesterton once penned,
"For men are homesick in their homes,
and strangers under the sun...
but our homes are under miraculous skies
where the Yule tale was begun."
The message of Christ's birth is a certain message of hope and home. He who took on the fullness of humanity became homeless that I might come home. He proclaims a kingdom about me and prepares me a place within it. Today, I say, I WILL LET MY HEART PREPARE HIM ROOM.
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