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Time is priceless, so this morning, with an extra forty five minutes, I looked to the devotional section of my shelf and prayed, “Lord, please direct me to something from this cloud of witness before me.” I then grabbed Eternal Echoes: Celtic Reflections on Our Yearning to Belong. The author, John O’Donohue, is an Irish poet and Catholic scholar. Having previously read a few of his works, I find he draws more from Irish folk tradition and Hegelian philosophy than anything that might be called biblical Christianity. Nevertheless, O’Donohue is among the most descriptive writers I know, and when read thoughtfully his work elucidates Scripture in some wonderfully fresh ways.

In one of his sections on the topic of “human longing,” he reflects on a problem that many of us encounter on New Year’s Day when we set our resolutions. In O’Donohue’s words:

“Many of the really powerful forces in contemporary culture work to seduce human longing along the pathways of false satisfaction. When our longing becomes numbed, our sense of belonging becomes empty and cold; this intensifies the sense of isolation and distance that so many people now feel. Consumerism is the worship of the god of quantity; advertising is its liturgy. Advertising is schooling in false longing. More and more the world of image claims our longing. Image is mere surface veneer. It is no wonder that there is such a crisis of belonging now since there is no homeland in this external world of image and product. It is a famine field of the Spirit.”1

This statement got me thinking: How many of my personal resolutions meaningfully relate to the invisible world of God, his kingdom, and my will’s submission to it? In other words, am I as concerned for the development of my spiritual longing, for that of my family, and of our church, as I am concerned with the outward symbols of worldly accomplishment? Am I overly defined by the culture’s images, to the extent that I live in spiritual isolation? I like the way my old pastor friend Dori Little described the dilemma when he said that, “[all too often we pursue] the cancerous sham of our culture’s illusory hopes and pathetically feeble promises, which leave us empty.” God save us from such pursuits, even this New Year. Instead, may we resolve to concentrate on the legitimate longing of our hearts: to be more like our Savior.

As a practical suggestion for getting started, you might put into your favorite search engine, “The Resolutions of Jonathan Edwards.” Edwards’ list was on my night stand throughout seminary and provided a wellspring of inspiration. Happy New Year!

Footnotes

1. John O’Donohue. Eternal Echoes: Celtic Reflections on Our Yearning to Belong. (Perennial: New York, 1999), xxvii.

How does Christmas contribute to peace? The Church univocally confesses that it comes through the babe in the manger whom we call Lord. This is the bedrock on which true peace is established. But in what way is Christian peace ‘spread to all the earth abroad’ on this Sunday before Christmas? Before reflecting on the question, let’s consider one example from history.

Friar Antonio de Montesinos was a member of the Dominican order and served on the island of Hispaniola, which the Spanish had claimed as their first colony in the Americas in 1493. Montesinos was appalled by the colonists’ enslavement of the local natives, a practice he considered abhorrent to Scripture. On the Sunday before Christmas in 1511, he preached a sermon to his flock on the text “I am a voice crying in the wilderness.” Montesinos could not foresee it, but the anger that was sparked by his brave words would lead to a chain of events culminating in a formal debate before the king of Spain over proper treatment of the native population. “This first cry on behalf of human liberty in the New World was a turning point in the history of America . . .”.1

“In order to make your sins against the Indians known to you I have come up on this pulpit, I who am a voice of Christ crying in the wilderness of this island, and therefore it behooves you to listen, not with careless attention, but with all your heart and senses, so that you may hear it; for this is going to be the strangest voice that ever you heard, the harshest and hardest and most awful and most dangerous that ever you expected to hear . . . . This voice says that you are in mortal sin, that you live and die in it, for the cruelty and tyranny you use in dealing with these innocent people. Tell me, by what right or justice do you keep these Indians in such a cruel and horrible servitude? On what authority have you waged a detestable war against these people, who dwelt quietly and peacefully on their own land? . . . Why do you keep them so oppressed and weary, not giving them enough to eat nor taking care of them in their illness? For with the excessive work you demand of them they fall ill and die, or rather you kill them with your desire to extract and acquire gold every day. And what care do you take that they should be instructed in religion? . . . Are these not men? Have they not rational souls? Are you not bound to love them as you love yourselves? . . . Be certain that, in such a state of this, you can no more be saved than the Moors or Turks.”2

Few of us have opportunity to preach as Montesinos, but nevertheless we can still actively spread peace. During seasonal celebrations in which we consume massive amounts of eggnog and sugar cookies at breakneck speed, we can carve out time to worship God and thus allow the peace of Christ to rule in our hearts. Such devotion is at least part of what it means to live in and for the Prince of Peace. Merry Christmas!

Footnotes:

1 Lewis Hanke, The Spanish Struggle for Justice in the Conquest of America (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1949), 17.

2 Ibid., 17.

This evening I spoke to our interns about leadership in the church. In the course of conversation, I made a statement that afterwards got my own wheels turning. The idea that I expressed is the popular adage, “Faithful leadership is defined by what we do when no one is watching.” Among many biblical texts, 2 Chronicles 7:14 helpfully elucidates this truth. The verse reads as follows:

If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land. 2 Chronicles 7:14 (ESV)

You see, clever politics will not secure a nation, for unseen sin can cripple it. Unless wickedness is exposed and shunned, calamity is near. However grand the founding documents, formidable the military, or skillful the statesmen, there is no substitute for needful repentance. When it occurs at the prompting of repentant leaders, wonderful things can befall a people.

When God spoke these words to Solomon, the king was off to a good start. He had asked God for wisdom instead of wealth, honor, vengeance, or longevity (1:11). With God’s blessing, he had built and dedicated the temple (2:1 – 7:11). Now the Lord appeared to Solomon in a vision and gave the condition for continued and increasing favor (v. 14).

He affirmed what the king understood: blessing from God came from covenant faithfulness. Divine benevolence depended upon humility and repentance before a Sovereign God. Yahweh’s forgiveness did not begin and end with individuals alone; He also forgives families, congregations, and nations when they collectively repent.

The role of the leader was unmistakable. God gave these words to Solomon, and not just to a randomly chosen shepherd or homemaker, as precious as they were in God’s sight. David’s throne and the welfare of Israel hung in the balance (v. 19), and community blessing or reprimand pivoted upon the fulcrum of the heart of the king.

Moses had prescribed the principles governing future kings in Deuteronomy 17:14-20. Three imperatives emerged: (1) the king was not to gain too much wealth or power, (2) he should not intermarry with pagan foreign wives, (3) he must master the Word of God and lead the people to obey it through covenant renewal. With respect to these standards, for a moment in time, Solomon showed the promise of his father David.

Despite the good start detailed in 2 Chronicles 7, Solomon in time shockingly violated all three of the directives just cited, and the nation followed his lead. With his passing, the kingdom divided and began the long march toward judgment, exile, and near oblivion. God had given His prescription for national health, but it was ignored, tragically.

Blessed is the country whose leaders set the example of humility before God, but the Church must not wait upon them. Judgment begins with the house of God, where Christians are called first to repent and turn from their own sins in the context of national evil. (Nehemiah’s prayer in the first chapter of Nehemiah is a compelling example.) And though few are national leaders, pastors are leaders in their own right, and the mantle of spiritual example falls just as surely upon them as it did upon Solomon.

Many pastors begin well, keenly attentive to the obligations of their high calling. Some, with Solomon, do not end so well. They too lose sight of their standing duty to live conspicuously in joyful brokenness before a Holy God. But those who maintain this godly vision are agents of life, of the best God has for his people.