If you have been following along these past few days, you will know that interspersed with some prayerful reflection on the tragedy of the south Asia tsunami, I have been encouraging a lingering Christmas. During this twelve day Christmas season (between Christmas day and epiphany) I am offering some thoughts (and sharing some thoughts of friends) on the significance of Christmas. Today, a most unexpected Christmas Command.
In all of the Christmas narratives, there is an exhortation that we don't expect. We hear the proclamation that the Messiah is born and we are not told to reconcile with family or bless our enemies or give to the poor (though those are all very good things). We are instead, exhorted to worship. To seek out the Child-King, to pay him homage, and to honor him like the Magi. To glorify and praise God like the Shepherds. Christmas is a call to worship. But, unlike most calls to worship that come to us as a flat command, Christmas instead comes to us as a command and invitation, a gift that inspires our response of adoration.
Or does it? Today I want us to consider: What is it that inspires us to give ourselves to God in praise and adoration? And why it is sometimes so difficult? So let me begin by asking you a soul-searching question: Why do you worship?
In one sense that is an easy question. Again, because we are commanded to do so. And frankly, for most of us that is enough to get us to get out of bed, clear our throats and offer up the doxology at least once a month or so.
But is that enough? In the Christmas carols, we sing, “Come let us adore him, Christ the Lord!” But do we? Not just a perfunctory performance, but genuine heartfelt expression of love, devotion and commitment. If you think about it, what inspires adoration?
I know I am capable of adoration. I adore my children. I sneak into their rooms when they are sleeping, just to look at their faces as they dream. My heart so filled with love for those little boogers that I pray for them so that I won’t wake them. Something within me cries out to praise them, to cherish them, to express my love for them. It is easy to adore them.
I also genuinely adore my wife. Her very presence in the room still makes my throat go dry and my heart skip a beat almost twenty years since I first met her. Poor girl. Humble and a bit introverted, she married an Italian who keeps telling her that all he wants is to ravish her with love and affection. On top of that she knows me with all my flaws, she likes me. She understands me. She even laughs at my jokes. It’s easy to adore her.
What becomes apparent is that adoration is something that is inspired by the one adored. There is something in who they are or what they have done that triggers our adoring response. Like the way we feel about the rescue workers who plunged into the World Trade Center after 9/11 or the relief workers who have given up their holiday plans to bring food and medicine to south Asia. When someone does something heroic, we cheer. Something admirable, we praise. Something generous, our eyes fill with tears. When the sheer goodness of a person is before us, we stand silent in appreciation. When their beauty is in front of us, we feel awe.
So, what about God? Do I adore him? The answer for me is a firm, clear: Sometimes.
You see, sometimes I genuinely adore God. But sometimes I don’t. And it’s not because God isn’t worthy of my adoration. It’s a problem with me. The truth be told sometimes as easy as much as they inspire it from me, sometimes I don’t adore my wife and kids either. When I am too caught up in the details of the world or too centered on myself, I turn on the TV instead of gazing into their adorable faces.
I can let the circumstances of daily life, disappointments, and hurts create a distance between us and then I don’t adore them. And the same thing happens with me and God. Everyday life, even the good parts of life, keeps me from seeking his face, seeing his goodness, marveling at his greatness. Disappointments and pain can cause me to retreat into the dull haze of depression or the mental static of anxiousness and fear.
And usually what I need from my family is for one of them to interrupt my self-absorbed and chaotic fog, come close to me, touch my face and draw my attention to them. When that happens everything comes back into focus and I see them again, I adore them again, my heart is centered again.
And this is why I need Christmas. Christmas reminds me to adore God. Because of Christmas, we know we have a God who comes to us, touches our faces and draws our attention to him. Christmas reminds us that worship of the true and living God is always “a close encounter”. And in the final analysis, this is why I worship and adore Christ. I worship him because he comes to me where I am and gives me what I need. I worship him because He saves me and he saves me himself.
In Mt 1:21, we read that Joseph is told that Mary “will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”
Ultimately that is what I most need. I am sinner, plain and simple. Through dullness, insensitivity, or just stubbornness, my life is marred and marked by the pain of sin. Without his grace and mercy forgiving me from my sins or blessing me in spite of my sins, I would have nothing in my life of joy or peace.
I worship God because while I was still a sinner, Romans 5:8 tells me, God came in Jesus Christ to save me. In fact the actual words are “God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.”
He didn’t wait for us to get tidied up, to get it all right, to deserve it. He came because we needed it. He saved us because he loves us.
But you know what is even more amazing to me. Not only did God save us. But he saved us himself. He didn’t delegate it out to an angel. He didn’t ask some super human, he didn’t anoint some holy warrior. He didn’t just send fire bolts from heaven or a book from the sky. He came to save us himself. And that inspires my worship.
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