Love Came Down

“The Word (Logos) became flesh and dwelled among us …” (John 1:14). 

Plato, the Greek philosopher, reasoned that there must be a transcendent “idea” (or “form”) behind every object in the material world, one that precedes and shapes its existence. And if that idea exists, there must be a mind that conceived it and spoke it into being. These three transcendent realities—a divine mind, an idea, an utterance—Plato combined into one absolute and named it the “Logos” (the Word). 

Plato was very near the truth, so near, in fact, that early Christians referred to him as “one of our own.” But though he caught a glimpse of "the light that was coming into the world" he did not fully comprehend it. Something more was needed, something the wisdom of man could never conceive: The divine Logos and a mortal man came to bear one name: Jesus. That's what theologians call The Incarnation, and the rest of us call Christmas, the final, irrefutable proof that God really, really cares. 

Frederick Buechner had this to say: “What we need to know, of course, is not just that God exists, not just that beyond the steely brightness of the stars there is a cosmic intelligence of some kind to keep the whole show going, but that there is a God right here in the thick of our day-to-day lives who may not be writing messages about himself in the stars, but who in one way or another is trying to get messages through our blindness as we move down here knee-deep in the fragrant muck and misery and marvel of the world.  It is not objective proof of God’s existence that we want, but whether we use religious language for it or not, the experience of God’s presence. That is the miracle we are really after, and that is also, I think, the miracle that we really get.”

All through the Old Testament we’re told that God has been doing his best to get next to us, humbling himself, condescending to make himself known. But nothing can match what happened that night in a cave near Bethlehem. It was there that the Logos became the little Lord Jesus, a helpless infant with unfocused eyes and uncontrollable limbs, needing to be cuddled and cared for, “the infinite made infinitesimally small,” G. K. Chesterton said. "That is the miracle we’re really after ...nd the miracle that we got": The divine Logos become Immanuel: God with us.

John speaks of the Logos in a most personal way: “That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have handled—(this was) the Word (the Logos)” (1 John 1:1). The Greek word translated “handled” suggests something more than close at hand. It suggests familiarity and affection—a hug!

John was astounded by the thought that he had heard and seen Plato’s Logos, and had held him in his hands. The one who made up the universe and spoke it (or sang it) into existence was “pleased as man with men to dwell.” 

Why did He do it? 

It was love—pure and simple. "Love all lovely, love divine…” (Christina Rossetti ).

David Roper

11.30.20

Good Days

“He who would...have good days... Let him turn away from evil and do good (1 Peter 3:10,11).

Whenever I hear that boilerplate benediction, "Have a good day," I ask myself: “How can anyone ‘have’ a good day? Our days are too unpredictable.”

Peter assures us, however, that we can have a measure of control over life’s vagaries, something wise men and women have always known. Good days are the fruit of personal righteousness. If I want to have a good day, I must “turn away from evil and do good.”

Jesus put his imprimatur on that principle in the Beatitudes, by linking goodness and "blessedness," a word that goes way beyond happiness to a sense of profound well-being (Matthew 5:3-12). 

So then, how can we “have a good day”? By doing the right thing to the person right in front of us. Right now. 

No one has to tell us what that is. We know.

David Roper

11.27.20

When In Doubt

"John called two of his disciples to him and sent them to Jesus, asking, 'Are You the Coming One, or should we look for another?'" (Luke 7:19).

John the Baptist was languishing in prison with no end in sight. His ministry had ground to a halt; his followers had scattered. 

Then he received an unsettling report of Jesus’ efforts: His actions were contrary to everyone's expectations and his kingdom had not come.. 

 

John’s faith began to fail. 

 

One commentator writes, “John's faith failed a little." Another insists that his faith was “too robust to fail." Rubbish. John was a man like you and me: full of questions, uncertainty and unbelief. 

 

"Are you the Coming One or should we look for another?" John asked Jesus. This from one who had heard God's voice authenticating Jesus’ sonship and had seen God's Spirit rest on his Son (Luke 3:22). Who could doubt such acclamation? 

 

John could. We do.

 

These are hard times: Much is demanded of us and much is denied. Our troubles give logic to unbelief. “Sometimes it seems pure natural to trust,” George MacDonald said, “At other times, the whole earth is but dust.” Faith doesn’t grow naturally in troublesome times.

 

This being true, in spite of our confusion and distrust, we must do exactly what John did: Call earnestly. We must ask Jesus to increase our faith, for faith, like all good things, comes solely from Him. “(Faith) does not come from ourselves, it is a gift of God,” Paul insists (Ephesians 2:8). "Help my unbelief," is ever the doubter's prayer (Mark 9:24). 

 

George MacDonald wrote, 

 

Till I am one with him in thought and act,

I must breed contradiction, strife, and doubt.

My Christ is not yet grown to cast them out.  

 

Struggling today with fear and doubt? Don’t fret: you’re in good company. in due time Christ will grow and cast them out.

 

David Roper

11.24.20

The Books and the Parchments

"When you come, bring the cloak that I left with Carpus at Troas, also the books, and especially the parchments" (2 Timothy 4:13).

A number of years ago I "did time" in the Mamertine Dungeon in Rome where Paul spent his last hours. It's a cold, dank place, cut out of solid rock with a small hole in the ceiling to admit light and air and through which prisoners were lowered. 

 

I sat on the stone floor with my back against a wall, took out my little New Testament,  and read through the book of 2 Timothy, imagining what Paul must have felt as he penned his last words.

 

In time I came upon the verse above, almost a throw-away line: "Bring the cloak, the books and especially the parchments." 

 

It was winter. Paul wanted his woolen poncho; his beleaguered body ached in the bitter cold of his cell. He wanted his "books," most likely the classical works of that period. And he wanted his "parchments," the scriptures that he loved.

 

Paul knew that his days were numbered. (He escaped this imprisonment through death.) He had time on his hands while he waited. So he turned again to the books and scriptures that he loved and redeemed the time by growing. 

 

What better thing can we do in sequester when we find ourselves at loose ends?

 

"This time, like all times, is a very good one, if we but know what to do with it," Emerson said.

 

David Roper

Princes

Put not your trust in princes,

in a son of man (adam), in whom there is no salvation.

When his breath departs, he returns to the earth (admah).

on that very day his plans perish.—Psalm 146:3,4 

 

Some years ago, while touring the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, Egypt, I came across a room full of embalmed mummies laid out in glass cases. Most of them were "princes"—shakers and movers in the ancient world. Many bore names I recognized from history.

 

One case contained the remains of a very small man, barely  5' tall. The card on the case read "Ramses the Great, the greatest, most celebrated, and most powerful pharaoh of the Egyptian Empire.” I stood there amazed. 

 

This is the man Percy Shelly enshrined In his poem, “Ozymandias,” adopting the name the ancient Greeks gave him.

 

And on the pedestal these words appear:

"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:

Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"

 

This is the man who terrorized the Ancient Near East for seven decades, whose kingdom stretched from Libya to the Euphrates. 

 

Once famous for his statesmanship, architecture, military genius, administrative ability, and building activity—now he was nothing more than an unsightly bag of bones, a “son of man, in whom there is no salvation” (146:3). 

 

That’s the problem with every “prince” (or president): Their plans expire when they do. That’s why our hope must be fixed solely on the eternal Son of Man, who made and rules ”heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, who keeps his word forever” (146:6), and who, because he dearly loves us, has promised to save us to the end (146:8; Philippians 1:6). He’s the only Prince whose plans will endure. 

 

Carolyn has a saying, “Men will always disappoint you; try Jesus.” That’s the psalmist's point of view—exactly.

 

David Roper

11.14.20

Little Prayer Bird

My prayer-bird was cold—would not away,

Although I set it on the edge of the nest.

Then I bethought me of the story old—

Love-fact or loving fable, thou know'st best—

How, when the children had made sparrows of clay,

Thou mad'st them birds, with wings to flutter and fold:

Take, Lord, my prayer in thy hand, and make it pray.

 (George  MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul).

About four hundred years after Jesus death and resurrection a story began to circulate in Christian circles that Jesus, as a young  child, made little birds out of clay and caused them to fly away.

And when the Lord Jesus was seven years of age, he was on a certain day with other boys his companions about the same age. Who at play made clay into several shapes, namely, asses, oxen, birds, and other figures. Each boasting of his work and endeavoring to exceed the rest. Then the Lord Jesus said to the boys, I will command these figures which I have made to walk. And immediately they moved, and when he commanded them to return, they returned. He had also made the figures of birds and sparrows, which, when he commanded to fly, did fly...” (The First Gospel of Jesus' Infancy, Ch. 15).

The story was repeated about two hundred years later in the Quran.

The story is almost certainly apocryphal. Jesus' miracles were never done for play or for fun and the tale seems silly on the face of it. But MacDonald makes an apologue of it that has become a source of great comfort to me.

Sometimes my prayer birds flutter about and fall to the ground; they seem to have no life of their own. But I know I can count on Jesus: He can take them in hand and make them pray. 

Paul assures us that Jesus' Holy Spirit helps us when we don't know how to pray. He makes intercession for us with a power and passion that exceed our poor words (Romans 8:26).

So we don't need to worry if our prayers seem to flit about aimlessly and die. Jesus can breath life into them and make them fly.

David Roper

11.13.20

"All The World's a Stage..."

"Each one should remain in the condition in which he was called. Were you a slave when called? Do not be concerned about it. (But if you can gain your freedom, avail yourself of the opportunity.)" (1 Corinthians 7:20,21).

The Stoic philosopher, Epictetus, himself a slave, wrote, “Remember that you are an actor in a play, playing a character according to the will of the playwright—if a short play, then it’s short; if long, long. If he wishes you to play the beggar, play even that role well, just as you would if it were a cripple, a great leader, or an everyday person. For this is your duty, to perform well the character assigned you. That selection belongs to another" (Enchiridion, 17). 

Some of us are born into privilege—a gift to be delighted in, but never presumed upon. Others are born into poverty. Some are given the opportunities we long for; others are denied them. Some are born beautiful or buff; others fall out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. Some of us are born red, or yellow, or black, or brown; others are born white. "That selection belongs to Another.”

Both the Stoic Epictetus and the Apostle Paul remind us that whatever we're given by the "playwright," wherever we fall on the ethnic, intellectual, social, and physical scale, our task is to accept that part by God's grace, and make the most of it, manifesting his beauty in our place.

Is there room for mobility and change? Of course there is! History is replete with stories of men and women who were bit players and turned their small part into starting roles. Some have done so with great courage despite great opposition. Certainly, as Paul insists, we should avail ourselves of every opportunity that’s given to us. But this begins with acceptance and wisdom—and a desire to make God known through what has been given. 

And in the end, when we stand before our Lord, the only thing that will matter is not the role we have played here on earth, but the kind of person we have become.

David Roper

11.8.20

Go Your Way

“But you, go your way till the end; for you shall rest, and will rise to your inheritance at the end of the days" (Daniel 12:13).

The Book of Daniel ends with a blizzard of end-time events and symbolic dates that even Daniel didn’t understand (12:8), and, and in my opinion, no one else has satisfactorily deciphered. Daniel stands where we stand, confused and conflicted by the bedlam of our days. What are we to do?

The angel's answer is simplicity itself: "Go your way to the end and then you shall rest."

Go your way; do the work God has given you to do. Leave the execution of justice to God and his infinite wisdom. Trust him to set everything and everyone right in the end. 

And "then, you shall rise to gain your inheritance at the end of the days." 

This is God's pledge and our solid hope, the answer to all we most desire but may have missed out on here on earth. Those who are lonely will find eternal companionship and love; those who have struggled long win sin and failure will be given the goodness of Christ; those who have lived in perpetual conflict will find order and peace; those who have been wearied by life's troubles will find rest. This is our sure inheritance at the end of our days: We shall "shine like the stars forever more" (12:2).

When once our heavenly guided soul shall clime,   

Then all this Earthy grossness quit,  

Attired with Stars, we shall for ever sit,   

Triumphing over Death and Chance and Time.—John Milton

David Roper

11.10.20

The Art of Acceptance

 

Surely I have calmed and quieted my soul,

Like a weaned child with his mother;

Like a weaned child is my soul within me.—Psalm 131:2

 

The election is over, give or take a few votes. It’s been a bitter, disruptive process that consumed our time and energy for more than a year. We should be glad that it’s over. 

 

Perhaps your man lost and the other man won. “Let not your heart be troubled.” God knew the final count all along. And truth be known, he was integral in some inexplicable way in its outcome. We can trust his wisdom and judgment. 

 

Our response is not mere resignation, but joyful anticipation, knowing that God is able to turn an event that seems to be irrevocably bad into eternal good, a result that J.R.R. Tolkien called a “eucatastrophe,” a comic (happy) ending to a tragic story that pierces us with joy. 

 

We can have this happy and hopeful outlook only because we know that “all things work together for good” (Romans 8:28). We may not see the goodness in every event, but we can know that God will accomplish his purposes in the end and his intentions are always and only good. (We live by faith and not by sight.)

 

This is a call for simplicity and humility. It evokes memories of the day that Jesus placed a little child on his lap and asked, ‘Who is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” (Matthew 18:1-4).

 

David Roper

11.7.20

Keeping the Faith

I kept the faith, even when I said,

“I’m greatly discouraged.”—Psalms 116:10

 

These are perilous times. We’re troubled by the political chaos all around us, the ever-encroaching pandemic and the pandemonium that reigns in our cities. Anxiety and depression are normal reactions to the unsettling nature of our days.

 

To be discouraged and to voice our despair—even in wild tones of panic—does not mean that our faith has failed. (“We should never be discouraged” is a hymn-line that Carolyn excised from her hymn book and replaced with her own rendition:"We can always be encouraged.") Discouragement and dismay are not failures of faith, but an invitation to turn to our LORD and cling steadfastly to him.

 

The psalmist said that his mind was filled with discouragement and dread, yet he "kept the faith” (116:10). Faith is not cold, unfeeling stoicism, but clinging to God in our fear (116:2,4,13,17). "I will continue to call on Him," he vowed.

 

Paul quotes the Septuagint's version of the psalmist's words (2 Corinthians 4:13), agreeing that faith and fretfulness are often found together. Paul despaired of life itself, yet he clung to his belief in God's help in time of need. As pain cries out for God's healing, so fear cries out for God's help. 

 

This, and not the stiff upper lip, is what the psalmist called “keeping the faith.”

 

David Roper

11.6.20

Postcript

 I took a spectacular fall last week—I cratered, as snowboarders say—in consequence of which I began a three-day stay in the hospital for observation. It’s impossible to sleep in hospitals, as you know, and I had a lot of time at night to think about things. It occurred to me that I’m mortal after all. God has been gracious and given me several bonus years beyond our alloted three score and ten (I'm 87), but, as Yogi Berra said, “Most folks my age are dead these days.” That being true, one item on my agenda one night was to write an epitaph for my grave. I came up with what follows…

POSTSCRIPT

 

“Though John performed no mighty works,

 all that he said about this man (Jesus) was true.”

 

—John 10:41

 

John the Baptist had been dead for two years and the memory of his ministry was fading away. That’s the way it is, you know, when you’re eclipsed by a more illustrious successor. 

 

But as the crowds gathered around Jesus near the spot where John was teaching, they remembered the Baptist’s words and remarked: “All that John said about this man was true.”

 

Most of us, like John, are not miracle workers. We live fairly unremarkable lives. But we can tell folks about Jesus—what we’ve seen and heard of him. If we do, we will have served one of life’s purposes and after we’re dead and gone our words may come to someone’s mind and become the means by which that person moves closer to the Savior. Like seed buried in the ground, words can lie dormant for years and then spring up to eternal life. 

 

And so, as I thought about John’s legacy that night I thought of my own. What an epitaph for one’s life! “He did no mighty works, but everything he said about Jesus was true.” It’s the sentiment I want on my stone.

 

David Roper

11.1.20