Note: Previously posted at the Rabbit Room.

As a reader of books who also writes, I often feel a distinct, conflicting emotion when I read great books written by great writers. There is the delight, of course. Here is a person made by God doing something beautiful.

Then there is the (often very slight) tinge of despair as I recognize I could never do this. This is less pointed when the genre and style are out of my own vein of writing (such as Patrick O’Brian’s books, which are, for me, an unmixed joy I hardly experience in any other fiction).

I have written before on, and firmly believe in, the well-worn wisdom that it’s no use in copying others, or feeling bad about how you compare. It’s best to find your own voice and write what only you can.

But still that feeling comes. “Am I kidding myself? I can’t write like this. This is art. This is compelling.”

I guess part of it is simple envy, ordinary coveting. This of course, like all sin, must be rejected.

I want, rather, to be the kind of man who says in his heart, like Robin Hood to Little John in the Errol Flynn film, “I love a man who can better me.”

This runs quite counter to the self-important manure which passes for a philosophy of life for many in our envy-based culture.

May it not be so in us.

I love Luke’s ”orderly account” of what has been accomplished by Yahweh in the first advent of Christ.

We remember the true tale of how the angel Gabriel came to two people (in Luke’s account), one was a priest and the other a virgin.

The priest’s wife, Elizabeth, and Mary both get a lot of time in the early part of Luke.

Both are women whose station in life is in relationship to their husbands (or, in Mary’s case, her betrothed). One woman’s husband has a “secular” career, the other a religious one.  Both have a humble calling, a vocation for the lowly of spirit.

Elizabeth might have had some status as the wife of a priest, but she describes herself as having a reproach upon her from her people (because she was barren).

Mary would have likely had almost no status at all on her own.

What is the value of such people in the world’s economy (especially today)? They are nobodies.

Both women are blessed by God in a miraculous way by miraculous pregnancies and births. Both women became catalysts for the greatest event in the history of mankind.

It was not to, or through, Herod the Great that such things were accomplished. It was in spite of him. He was a mighty, important, powerful man who ruled the land. He was a man of intelligence, strength, and creativity. He was, perhaps, a genius. Let’s contrast this great man of his time with two Jewish women.

Elizabeth and Mary were humble-hearted believers.

What does Elizabeth say of Mary in vs. 45? How does Mary respond to truth that is good beyond measure?

“Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.”

What profound humility. What submission. What simple, astonishing beauty.

Do not believe the horrendous, and popular, lie that “History Doesn’t Remember Obedient Women.”

“From now on all generations will call me blessed,” sings humble Mary (in a Gospel-drenched, deeply theological, and lovely song).

She believes.

Mary hears…and believes.

What is our calling? It is the same as Mary’s in that way. We must hear, and having heard: believe.

Hear and believe.

This requires a humble heart, because it is the abandonment of whatever status we have held on to as a coin to buy God’s favor.

It is a filing for bankruptcy.

It is a kneeling surrender of our sword and our rank.

It is, as a wise man said, a “glorious defeat.”

In Christ’s advent we celebrate the happy end of our pretended reign.

There is no room for Herod the Great -clinging to his murderous self-interest.

Let us look instead to believing Mary, and Elizabeth –two beautiful, humble children of God– and let us imitate their faith.

Hear –and believe.

In honor of the holy days ahead and seeing as no one in their right mind is reading blogs and such (even ones as brief as this one) I have decided to shut ‘er down for a week or so after tomorrow’s post.

My parting thoughts (except for tomorrow’s post) are thus.

Please don’t get too uptight about people saying “Happy Holidays,” instead of “Merry Christmas” –let’s just do our celebrating on purpose, with an awareness that this celebration centers on the most profound act of humility in history.

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.”

-from John 1

If you have reason to celebrate that goes beyond sentimentality then be glad. And be merciful.

“…And his mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts;
he has brought down the mighty from their thrones
and exalted those of humble estate…”

-from Luke 1 (from Mary’s Song)

Let’s keep the Gospel in Christmas.

May Yahweh be merciful to each of you. Have a happy Christmas.

Tomorrow’s post will have to do it for a “thought for Christmas” from me this year. Peace to you.

And speaking of humility, here’s a picture of me in the snow. Yippee. Fun times with the little ones.

Well, it didn’t take long for my post yesterday to “Tread” on toes.

My main object wasn’t merely to single out modern, so-called “progressives” for particular scorn. It was to make a point about the idea of progress and how it’s a morally ambiguous term. But I will say that there are evils worse than the slavery Lewis depicts in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and aggressive promotion of one such evil is a core, modern “progressive” concern. I think that illustrates the point, but maybe I shouldn’t have used “scare quotes.” Boo.

But lest we leave off offending everyone, I offer a good quotation from Lewis to address an idolatry typical of “conservatives.” But it goes for all of us.

“He who surrenders himself without reservation to the temporal claims of a nation, or a party, or a class is rendering to Caesar that which, of all things, most emphatically belongs to God: himself.”

C.S. Lewis

This beautiful little gem helps me remember whose team I’m on, and who I belong to –deeply flawed though I am. While we must, in every age, be concerned with, and work to end, the great moral ills of our times, we must not pretend that Moralism is the answer for mankind.

Moralism, of the “family-values” variety, or the “progress and equality” kind, cannot get us anywhere with God.

What we all need is Good News –the actual Gospel. We need to hear and believe that Jesus is interested in rescuing really bad people (even people with “backward,” or “fringe” beliefs) from their guilt and gladless selfishness in sin. And that we can’t do enough good to make it all right. We all need mercy, and we can get it from God, who is not stingy with the stuff.

After we are received by him on Jesus’ merit, he sets to work righting the ship (sanctification), and I guess we’ll keep fighting about what that must look like. But for my money liberal-progressives and conservatives both have areas where, if we cling to these ideologies as if they are core principles, we will miss a lot and lead others to do the same.

I’m know I have been guilty of blundering through on instinct while carrying too much water for these temporal causes and I am always trying to find the right balance on that front. Forgive me where I am wrong on that score, I beg. And keep pointing me back to Jesus, and his happy kingdom where no one votes.

We’re listening to this fine book and this fine series once again right now (first time for my kids), and I’m struck again at how Lewis views so-called “progress.” Delightful. This notion is throughout the book, and the series, and indeed in much of Lewis. But here is one exchange that demonstrates it quite nicely. Isn’t it alarming what deeply evil things are often veiled in a black fog of “progress?”

“Tender as my years may be,” said Caspian, “I believe I understand the slave trade from within quite as well as your Sufficiency. And I do not see that it brings into the islands meat or bread or beer or wine or timber or cabbages or books or instruments of music or horses or armour or anything else worth having. But whether it does or not, it must be stopped.”

“But that would be putting the clock back,” gasped the Governor. “Have you no idea of progress, of development?”

“I have seen them both in an egg,” said Caspian. “We call it Going bad in Narnia. This trade must stop.”

C.S. Lewis, from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

(By the way, Caspian X = King Caspian the 10th.)

Sometimes, when I do some mundane task around the house, I’m tempted to think, “Am I the only one who knows how to do this?”

Then I consider my wife, Gina.

It’s then I realize I could never win a “Am I the only one who knows how to do this?” pity-party contest.

Gina = God’s Mercy.

How many other areas in life am I selfishly ignorant of God’s mercy?

In no particular order…

1. To be tickled a little, but not to where it’s not fun anymore.
2. To really be talked to, not become the confusing butt of a joke for all the adults standing around.
3. To be seen and heard, not always dismissed.
4. To be identified by uplifting, affirming praise before others. “Hey Uncle John, let me tell you about this boy. This boy loves to serve others.”
5. To be given very clear boundaries.
6. Adults who enter into their imaginary realms.
7. Candy.

This is one of those scribbles that starts off in the toilet then proceeds into heaven. “I hope,” he says, scratching his beard.

There is a bathroom a certain man frequents. When this man first enters the dark and private chamber the lights do hesitate, and then do come on–even while the baffled first-timer gropes along the wall for the usual trigger. Having found none, he thinks to himself, “Ah, automatic lights. What would Jules Verne think?” And he proceeds to enjoy the meaning of lighted, lavatorial convenience.

Later this same man is fooled only a few more times in the ritual, and he no longer gropes along the wall for the on-switch–-there is no such switch, only a sensor–and he relieves his mind of that duty and skips this formerly ingrained step.

Later still he anticipates with confidence what will occur moments after he enters the darkness and, in jubilation, he snaps his fingers in concert with the burst of light. He feels a little bit like God.

That man is me.

I remembered, of course, that I wasn’t God. It actually served as a little goad to good-thinking. God, like the tale spinner he is, speaks and the world he imagines breathes, blinks, and gets flat tires. He is all-powerful and his words are alive. “Light,” he says and there it is.

My pretended pretense does, however, make me think of all the genuine pretense I engage in. How I pretend sovereignty in many rather insane ways. For instance, I grumble about my health. I react with disgust when my selfishness is rebuffed. I complain when modern conveniences are a little bit slower than they should have been. I believe insane political ramblings about what I’m entitled to. I sit in a culture rich beyond the imagination of almost every person who has ever lived (and is living) and I complain about circumstances, the “economy,” and my rights.

When I am like this I am a humanist.

That is, I see man as the center of the universe and, if he is included, God is included in the same way he is a popular name to drop at the end of the imbecilic, political speech. Here is a familiar, non-threatening, accommodating grandpa whom no one takes seriously anymore.

But I don’t think that’s true, so why do I act like it’s true? We can wrap up a product of the restroom in a gold-plated treasure-chest but it doesn’t do much to change the product in question. It is what it is.

Belief is more than intellectual consent.

If I believe the Gospel (which is a particular batch of good news), I do not just affirm it in my mind. Enemies can do that. Believers believe with more. We live by faith.

Abraham took Hagar. We all stumble in many ways.

I am thankful that God lovingly reveals the idols we often unwittingly allow to dominate our hearts while he is wrecking everything to love us. So die, damned humanism of my heart.

What does faith in Yahweh look like?

I believe that faith in Yahweh is full of thankfulness, and not jealous of claimed “rights.”

I believe that faith in Yahweh is astonished at mercy, not eager for personal justice.

I believe that faith in Yahweh is abounding in grace, not miserly and hoarding.

I believe that faith in Yahweh is patient in affliction, not outraged at the loss of what was a gift to begin with (like health, wealth, position).

I believe that faith in Yahweh is humble, not preoccupied with status.

I believe that faith in Yahweh sees suffering and does not cry out to God “This is unfair,” but instead cries out, “Oh God, you have been merciful to me, can I be merciful here?”

I believe that faith in Yahweh is astonished that anyone receives mercy, increasingly so as the reality of our offense becomes clearer as we grow closer to Jesus.

I believe faith in Yahweh issues in love (in that order), not that somehow “loving everybody” gets you standing with Yahweh.

This is something very simple we pray in our home because we need a lot of mercy, want to be thankful people, and we want grace real bad. And we want to look to Christ, and have life.

“Oh God of Abraham, please give us humble hearts.
Oh God of Isaac, please give us thankful hearts.
Oh God of Jacob, please give us faith. Let us see Jesus.”

Understanding that these are gifts, and not entitlements, ought to go a long way in answering the prayer for humility.

It really can be inspiring to consider the simple truth that here we are, alive.

We are not a cosmic accident. What we do matters. We have choices.

The bored neutrality of cynics is not a life worthy of many good parts of the story. At least not for the cynic.

What kind of character in this story are you?

To say that stories don’t matter is a kind of intellectual insanity. To say that our own individual stories (and our interpretation of them) take precedence over objective reality and revealed truth is a deplorable, post-modern, bear trap of arrogant rebellion.

Stories matter for many reasons, not least of which is that the story of Jesus is news we must believe and embrace to have eternal life, forgiveness of sin and guilt.

But embracing our own story and our own version of events is also one of the most dangerous things possible. For by embracing our own way we naturally say “no,” even “Hell no,” to God.

This is a bad plan, and a bad way to live out the story of your life. Don’t be that character.