O Christmas Tree (reprise)

I wrote this in December of 2004, but I still enjoy telling the story. Here it is again.

We did it! Saturday we set off in search of the perfect Christmas tree, a Lamb family tradition.

I told this story Sunday in my sermon, but left out some of the details. For those of you who missed it, I’ll bring you up to speed.

First, you have to know that I have a love/hate relationship with the annual tradition. I normally dread it and complain about it because it normally takes hours upon hours in the cold or rain or snow or in two out of the three elements. The reason it takes hours is not because of me.

I love my wife. I do. She’s wonderful, talented, cute…but she’s picky and when it comes to the tree, picky is only the beginning. She must have the perfect tree. She will have the perfect tree. We don’t take leaning trees nor trees with bare spots nor anything that is not a Frasier fir. It must fit perfectly with the decor of the family room where the tree will sit and we never seem to get the same kind of tree year to year. What she wants is in a continual state of Christmas flux. I was very scared this year when we set out and she said, “I know exactly the kind of tree I want. We need a taller thin tree, but full, so that it will fit alongside the sofa near the game closet. I have a picture of it in my mind.”

Fear. Much fear.

We arrive at the first lot, which is always the lot where we found the perfect tree the year before. Our thinking, however misguided, is that they must cut trees from the same tree farm that we got last year’s wonderful tree. This mentality is the same ridiculous one that guides lottery players to go buy tickets from the location where a big winner was picked. The perfect tree could turn up anywhere. There’s only one, after all.

I get out of the van and go lift the rear hatch. The kids have scuttled out into the labyrinth of trees and my wife has followed. I pick up my heavy coat, put on my leather gloves, close the back hatch and start walking toward the trees. As I reach the front of the van, she is walking back toward me.

“We found it,” she said, without warning me. “I think we found it. Come take a look.” In two minutes, I had spun the tree every which way, displayed it from every angle and by some act of God, with the angels rejoicing (singing Hosanna in the highest) my sweetheart said, “Let’s get it.” And we did.

I didn’t initially admit to her that I was somewhat let down about the whole thing. It had just been too easy. There was no pain involved. I wouldn’t have to lift 50 trees and stick my arm with 50 sets of needles. How can a tradition that requires so much effort normally be relegated to a simple business transaction? We found what we were looking for and we got ready to leave. I was happy, but sad.

To get the tree home we had to tie it on the roof of the van. The gentleman who was helping us said, “You gonna need some twine?” Sarcastically, my beloved said, “While you are up there, you could probably just reuse what he didn’t cut off last year.”

Sure enough, as I looked up on the roof rack, there was a part of last year’s twine, still attached. I reached up to cut it off with my pocket-knife and poked my finger with the point of the knife. I was happy again. I guess I had gotten some pain after all.

The tree is decorated now and it looks just perfect.

Pressed, But Not Crushed

Reading: Psalm 116

There is so much tragedy in the world that for our sheer sanity, we often become numb to the pain of others. It isn’t right, though. Pain is pain and should be recognized. But we sometimes forget how much life can hurt until something happens to us personally. You can only be sheltered from tragedy for so long.

There are times in most of our lives when sorrow and stress and circumstances press us so greatly that we fear we won’t survive. We can’t see through the pain to another moment, let alone another day. Our hearts are broken. Our will is beaten down. It seems as if there is no goodness in the world and that no one really cares or knows this kind of pain.

It is during these times that two important things are likely to happen to those who believe.

1. A believer will fall to his/her knees and admit to God that he has no control in the situation and that he needs relief.
2. God will most often answer with needed peace and comfort.

God didn't create us to ignore us. He didn't send his Son into the world to give us a vision and split. He wanted a relationship with us where we would come to Him at any time — in times of joy and times of pain, in times of celebration and times of need.

When in pain, many people turn to the Psalms. The Psalms are different than most of the rest of the Bible in that they communicate very personally the inner convictions and feelings that come from the heart. The writers, David and others, bare open their souls with painful moments of betrayal, fear and emotional longing. They give us an excellent picture into human nature and our helplessness to control a world that is not ours to control. When nothing is left to do but cry out over a bad situation, David isn’t afraid to do it. He knows where strength is to be found.

The distinguishing characteristic that all the "giants" of Scripture share is this unwavering acknowledgement that God is a source of strength when all options seem to have run out. Later in the New Testament, Paul expresses it this way:

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. — 2 Corinthians 4:8-10 (NIV)

P.S. -- A warning: When the peace of God comes and you are relieved and feel the tremendous weight lifted from you, don't forget to thank God. Take a moment to remember the pain and see what God did for you. As you thank Him, you'll be teaching yourself once again about His unfailing love.

God at Panera

"The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel"— which means, "God with us." — Matthew 1:23

I’m eating lunch at Panera. I grab my food and nod my head to pray. Sometimes I do this. Sometimes I don’t. It always feels weird, but I feel better when I do. So I pray.

I look up and begin to eat. I dip into my soup and listen to a theological conversation happening behind me. An Episcopalian priest is educating a follower on the nature of fallen man and his relationship to God. It’s an interesting conversation in light of what I see in front of me. Three elderly women have gathered around a table for lunch. They hold hands and pray with sincerity. To my right, a woman eating by herself has something about St. Francis on her shirt. Behind her a middle-aged couple sits in a booth. The gentleman is too young for an oxygen tank, but he has one. His wife is wearing a simple cross around her neck. They haven’t lost hope.

God and thoughts of God are still surrounding us. God is still and will always be central to our way of life. No matter how much the world and the media and people who don’t know Him wish to cut him out of the equation, God will not be forgotten. Why?

It’s because hope is found in God. Real hope happens when we continue to look to Him and for Him. Hopelessness happens when we’ve abandoned the search and given up on the relationship. Hopelessness happens in my own life when I become so enamoured of myself that I don’t need to look to him and I don’t need to listen, so I ignore and stay away.

I love this about God. He’s invisible, and yet most of us believe in Him and many of us trust Him more than anyone else we know. Who else could make their presence known in such subtle ways as to be unrecognized and recognized all at the same time? Just a taste of God in your life will make you miss Him when you get too busy.

I don’t have a problem with faith. Maybe I’m gullible. But I sure enjoy the hope. I’ll spend a lifetime savoring it until hope is no more and joy is our ever-present reality. Until that day, I’ll settle for glimpsing God at Panera and listening to signs of him in the air.