Jesus the Refugee

This morning at church our Gospel reading came from Matthew Ch. 2.13-23.  As we spent time in the passage, I got stuck on this...that Jesus, as an infant, became a political refugee.  Facing certain death due to an infant genocide, Jesus was scooped up by his mother and step-dad, and they fled...for their lives.  Instantly images of the refugees out of the Sudan or Uganda began to flood my mind, as did images of the Rwandan genocide; and after briefly determining between me, myself, and I that Hotel Rwanda was Don Cheadle's best performance...I was brought back to this; here, we had Jesus the refugee.  Sure, he was still Jesus the infant-King, Jesus our Emmanuel but, he was at the same time, Jesus the refugee.  One fleeing while children on all sides were slaughtered...going to live in Egypt as a political refugee.

I tried to imagine it...I tried to picture Joseph and Mary, clutching Jesus close as they gathered what little they had brought with them and throwing it on the back of their donkey and hightailing it out of Bethlehem.  Was Joseph certain of their safe passage, because you know, an angel had told him to leave?  Or did he doubt himself as they hurriedly packed and fled?  Was Mary still resting in the Magnificat she has sung?  Was she still 'pondering these things in her heart'?  Or did her sense of security evaporate as her betrothed awoke and said, we got's to go...


...and then i was left with this...

What an amazing God-with-us.  Not only would he become an infant child, but an infant child born into a politically unstable social environment whose birth would spark a genocide and force he and his family to become refugees in a strange land.  We fret over much.  The things that cause us to question, to doubt, that leave us wondering where God is, I am chastising myself now as I think the small things I've gone through in life.  Here was my Savior, choosing this life to give my life hope, meaning, and newness...

...thanks be to God.

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Do You Remember the Time?

Wrote this a few weeks ago and wasn't able to get it posted...here it is now though!
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It's the most wonderful time of the year.  And no, I'm not referring to Christmas.  Next week is my Christmas.  It's called Thanksgiving.  And if I hear any Christmas music before Friday...heads will roll...sort of...

The thing I love so much about this holiday has everything to do with the marathon meals my family would have at Grandma and Grandpa's in NY.  There would barely be enough room on the table for the plates we would eat off of because there would be so much food.  And we would sit there for hours and hours.  We'd eat everything, Grandma would bring each adult male their own pie...yes, their own pie. Why only the adult males?  I don't know, probably because the women has more sense to not try and eat a whole pie.  And then, we'd bring everything back out onto the table.  We'd never leave.

We would sit around and play a little game called, Do you remember the time?  No, not the Michael Jackson Song, and it wasn't really a game...it was more of a, who can tell the best story time?  My Dad would talk about dismantling a VW Beetle with friends and getting it rebuilt in the Presidents office at his school.  My Uncle would talk about driving around town in a car with his buddies and my aunt scaring the crap out of two townies who thought they wanted to fight.  "Please, god, don't kill us." (my personal favorite).  Then my uncle and my dad would talk about playing catch in the bedroom, top bunk to bottom bunk...with my other uncle.  We'd sit around and laugh and eventually would find ways to make new stories.  We all still laugh about the time my cousin watched my dad build a mountain of food on his plate and then with fear in his eyes, wrap two arms around his own plate as if to say, please don't take mine.

These stories were wonderful, they were bonding.  I can tell half of these stories as well as they can because I've heard them over and over...they never get old.  In Joshua, after they cross the Jordan, Joshua tells the people to grab twelve stones and build an altar to God.  So they can remember.  So that whenever they pass by hear and people ask why, they can say, do you remember the time...so they can celebrate what God had done.

We need to do this.  We need to remember, we need to take the time to tell people the stories of what God has done in our lives.  Like an old army vet describing his war wounds to his grandkids, we need to describe the moments when God has shown up and saved us; when he made a way out of no way.  It's uplifting, and more than anything, it is a reminder of the greatness of God and the supremacy He has.

So, tell me, what's your story?  What is it that you remember?  What is it that God has done for you?  Finish this sentence, "Do you remember the time...

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so we headed out to Costco.  it was pouring here, the temperature had dropped and it felt like we were deep into our Portland fall. cold and rainy.  everyone was in a good mood, the boys sang almost the whole way there...well, Dom sang.  Eli had dropped his toy and i was able to reach back and grab it. Mandy asked Eli if I was his hero and Eli said yes.  Soon Dom said, 'He's my hero too!!'  Then he broke out into song, 'Heroes, heroes, heroes, they are brave.  Heroes, heroes, heroes, they are brave. Heroes, heroes, heroes, they are brave.  Heroes, heroes, heroes, they are brave.'  After about 5 minutes of that, Eli asked Dom if the song was over.  Dom's response...'Heroes, heroes, heroes, they are brave.  Heroes, heroes, heroes, they are brave....'

i love my kids. they are getting so big, becoming sponges too...Dom is constantly asking about the meaning of words and phrases.  its wonderful.

so, back to Costco.  i'm driving around the parking lot (not fun at 5:30 on a Friday night) and i'm lucky enough to find someone about to pull out from the second spot to the front.  with 2 toddlers and one infant...its nice to be able to get out of the rain and have less puddles to drag the boys away from.  so i stop, put my clicker on and wait for the person to pull out.

and thats when it happens, some 50 something dude stops watches the person pull out, sees me there, and zips his lil beat up station wagon right into the spot.  as the boys would say, this is when mean Daddy came out.

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"  I pull up behind his car, stop mine...roll down Mandy's window (to her horror) and I wait.  the dude just sits in the car, probably terrified...i think; at least part of me hoped so.

Mandy looks at me and says, 'Set a good example right now.'  I don't budge.  'What are you going to say to him?' she asks.

"I'm going to tell him what a jerk he is!"  I declare.

"Haha...you're going to tewll him what a jewrk he is." Eli cackles.

i hang my head and pull off...still steaming a bit...but also in shame.

what a monumental task we have as parents.  the fact that these two are watching my every move is a bit scary.  what'd Uncle Ben say to Spiderman, 'With great power comes great responsibility'. yeah, not one of my finer moments as a dad.

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celebrate while you wait

we put the Christmas tree up.  A full week ago.  The turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes had barely had time to settle and we headed to the tree farm.  yeah, i cut down my own tree, now that we're in Oregon, i keep being told to not have a real tree would be un-oregonian of me, hmm...

last night we finished putting the lights on the outside of the house, in honesty, i hadn't taken half of them down from last Christmas, ok, from two Christmases ago.  we were outside at the end of the night, did my best Clark Griswold, plugged 'em in and Dom went running around, its Christmas, its Christmas, DAD!  Jesus is coming!  Even this morning, he reminded me many times, Dad, Jesus is coming.  He's coming. (nodding emphatically).  Ah, Advent.  The season we remember the coming of the Messiah, and we practice the hope of the resurrection.

I remember the first time my Dad shared one of his frustrations with expressions of Christianity; 'bumper sticker verses'.  Ya know, when a verse gets yanked out of context, we put it on a bumper sticker and call it all good.  Jeremiah 29.11.  You probably know it without the link.  Read the context my Dad would say, yeah, God has plans for us, and they start with us getting used to where we are, and living well there.

Israel is in exile, false prophets say, this won't be long, Jeremiah says, 'Actually, its going to be a while.'  70 years.  70 years they have to wait for their promised redemption.  That's going to take a little while.  So, what does God say to do, 'Build houses, plant gardens, get married, have kids, have your kids get married.'  Ya know, get on with life.  But if we look at those things they aren't just 'get on with life things'; they are celebration worthy things.    The actions they were called to, were actions that would be seen as surprising to their captors.  You are prisoners here, and yet you celebrate, you do things that are causes for hope, causes for joy.

We are waiting, we are anticipating.  How do we wait?  Do we circle a date on the calendar and then bear it until then?  Or do we celebrate the promises we've been given?  How I hope and pray that as we celebrate Advent, we celebrate with great joy, great hope!

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