And That's What Christmas Is All About: Seeing Calvary Through Smokey Mountain

Six months ago, I was halfway around the world, walking through the slums of Manila. I was walking on glass and human waste mixed with mud and mashed up food scraps and holding sticky hands in mine and feeling the sun beat down and bake all the garbage around me in an oven of heat and putrid filth. Even the air smelled polluted. And I was struggling in the midst of all this poverty to hold back tears and not stare too hard at what I was stepping on or what I was breathing in but to pray. To cry out to God above with my breaking heart and trust Him in the midst of such heartbreaking destitution. And I prayed. 

{excerpt from my journal on 6/28/2014}

These people have nothing and it breaks my heart. Really, nothing. Yet they're happy and glad to be alive. The Christians are so willing to serve and so joyful. I can't say I enjoyed it. Seeing all that poverty was heartbreaking. But it opened my eyes. I'll never forget the feeling of loving and reaching out to grimy kids with blackened bodies and sticky hands who have probably never bathed for months. Or seeing kids gnawing on bones atop a pile of trash or climbing Smokey Mountain with a grand view on top of a hill that almost looks natural, if not for the garbage and pieces of glass protruding from the dirt. It's. . .hard to find a word to describe the conditions there. It's very difficult to wrap my mind around it all without crying. Yet God is faithful.

I will always remember one little boy who stood naked from the waist down, blackened and grimy and tugging on my shirt, arms outstretched, begging to be held. A half-naked little boy. Dirty. Just wanting to be loved. And I tried to hide. I tried to say no. I tried to withdraw. His filth and nakedness repulsed me, and I wanted to shrink away and cry. Everything Western and sanitary screamed at me not to touch him.

But in that moment, I was reminded of Calvary's love. If Christ left all the glory in heaven above to live among the filth and waste of our sin, if He sacrificed everything He had for His glory and our salvation, if God Himself came to live and die among sinners in the slum of our hearts, in the depravity of our sin, how could I not love this child? How could I not give myself up and follow after the example of my Savior? If Christ died for me, how could I not love others? 

And in that moment, God taught me a precious lesson. 

Because now when I think about the incarnation of Christ and Christmas, of Christ coming down to earth and being made man, of Him leaving His heavenly throne and the riches of heaven for earth, of being born in the lowliest of places, of living among sinners who repelled Him with our wicked hearts in rebellion against Him, I think of the slums of Manila. I think of Christ, coming down to the filth of our sin and the garbage of our dark hearts, to work and live and love us. Our sin and our hearts were like garbage to Christ, like those sticky, blacked hands and that half-naked body and the human waste lying everywhere on the path. We were repulsive to Him with our thieving, lying, murderous, adulterous hearts. Yet Christ saw us in the spiritual slum of our depravity and He loved us. He loved us enough to come down and live among us, to die for our sins, that we might be freed from our bondage of sin and become adopted sons and daughters of the Most High.

And that's what Christmas is all about. How Christ came down to our level, to the spiritual equivalent of Smokey Mountain, to the filth of our hearts, for His glory and for our good. What an incredible God we have, a God so compassionate and loving and merciful, a God so patient with us in our sin and a God full of grace and blessings that we do not and cannot ever deserve. 

Lord, may we live life each day in light of all that You are and all that You've done.

God Only Refills an Empty Cup: Fighting a Battle Against Passivity and Injustice

“Is not this the fast that I choose:
    to loose the bonds of wickedness,
    to undo the straps of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
    and to break every yoke?
7 Is it not to share your bread with the hungry
    and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover him,
    and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?
8 Then shall your light break forth like the dawn,
    and your healing shall spring up speedily;
your righteousness shall go before you;
    the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.
9 Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;
    you shall cry, and he will say, ‘Here I am.’
If you take away the yoke from your midst,
    the pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness,
10 if you pour yourself out for the hungry
    and satisfy the desire of the afflicted,
then shall your light rise in the darkness
    and your gloom be as the noonday.
11 And the Lord will guide you continually
    and satisfy your desire in scorched places
    and make your bones strong;
and you shall be like a watered garden,
    like a spring of water,
    whose waters do not fail."

{Isaiah 58:6-11}

Passivity was never part of Christianity.

God never called us to be couch Christians, helping only when it's convenient, serving only when we feel like it, waiting for someone else to do the work. He never called us to be silent when we have a message to share, inactive when there is work to do, passionless, apathetic, luke-warm Laodiceans in a modern society.

There is so much poverty and injustice and pain in the world today. We look around and see those living in abject poverty and those who lost loved ones. People with broken hearts and scarred pasts. Street kids and victims of human trafficking and stressed moms and work-laden dads and despondent teens. In America. In third-world countries. In our world. How can we just stand by, waiting for someone else to do the job, when people around us are starving, homeless, lonely? How can we be so blinded to the needs around us and so focused on ourselves and our own desires?

Is this Christianity?

Christ lived a life full of selflessness. Humbling Himself to the point of death on a cross, He was beaten for our transgressions, mocked for our iniquities, killed for our sin that we might have life and have it to the fullest. He never lived for Himself or His own pleasure. He never remained silent when He could preach a message of repentance and forgiveness and of the incredible love of Christ. He never remained apathetically indifferent to the pain around Him, but He loved others and healed the sick and blind and lame. His work was of the Father, and He lived not for Himself, but for God. Christ's life was one huge sacrifice for others.

Isaiah also reminds us of the choice we have as believers in the passage above. We have a choice to fast, to take the burden upon us to care for the homeless, the weak, the poor. To defend justice.

To pour ourselves out.

Isaiah uses this phrase, and I am again reminded of sacrifice. Of pouring ourselves out without reserve again and again. Of surrendering our passions and desires and instead fulfilling the needs of others. Of emptying ourselves for those around us. Providing food to the hungry, water to the thirsty, friendship to the lonely, the hope of Christ to a world that so desperately needs Him.

Yet, we will never be completely empty.

For God promises that if we pour ourselves out for those who are afflicted, if we sacrifice all we have for those who are needy, if we give ourselves up that others might see the love we have through Christ, we will be transformed into a spring of water which never fails, refreshes others, and gives life to the weary. 

Only a cup that satisfies the thirst of others gets replenished.

Because when we pour ourselves out, God's grace will refill our cups.
When we give, God will supply our needs in Christ Jesus.
When we sacrifice, God will always be more than enough.

We will never be empty, but the grace of God will transform us into a continuous spring that never runs out of life-giving, life-changing water.

If we pour ourselves out.

I love this passage. It's my second favorite chapter in the Bible, next to John 14, simply because I want this to be me. This is my prayer. I don't want to be remembered because of my accomplishments or what I've done in this life, but I want to be remembered as someone who gave. Someone who fought against injustice. Someone who sacrificed herself out of love for her God, so others could find the true Life through hers.