Advent Reflection

Christmas has always been a time of reflection for me. I haven’t always been good about writing my thoughts down, however. This year I suddenly have the time. It’s interesting how the years move so quickly when we are busy punching the clock, and filling our evenings with family, Church, social functions, and (sometimes) more work. There is little time to sit quietly and think. With little time to quiet ourselves, we spend our energies on the expedient things and kick the less urgent things down the road. 

Urgent and important are not synonymous, however, and some valuable things get overlooked. At least they do with me.

This year I’ve been thinking about my older brother, Steve, quite a bit. I suppose in my busy-ness (before) I didn’t take the time to work through all the thoughts and emotions that accompanied his death. He gave me a lot of gifts over the years that I truly needed—mostly gifts of encouragement, wisdom, and the occasional kick in the pants. 

It’s been a couple of years since Steve passed away; but some of those gifts, phrases and images are coming back around. One of my favorite pictures hanging in my office displays my son, Hudson, in the foreground celebrating his first birthday at La Jolla Beach. In the background Steve is gazing at the ocean. That image seems prophetic, for it captures Steve’s thinking and outlook toward the end—that there was something just over the horizon that he was looking forward to or waiting for. It was more than the “undiscovered country” that Shakespeare’s Hamlet alluded to; Steve was truly looking to a kingdom yet to come.

During most of our phone conversations for the last couple of decades Steve shared a lot of wisdom. It was pretty useful big-brotherly stuff (when I bothered to listen). But, the last few years before his death, I was listening better, and ironically, his words became more sermon-like. In his last few months, when the tumors affected his word choice and sentence structure in normal conversation, the “sermons” were still clear, timely, and impassioned. The phrase that he burned into my brain during his last year was

God knows who you are; and where you are; and He has a plan for you.

I needed to hear that then and still do. Now the phrase is creeping into my vocabulary with increasing frequency: I’m saying it to other people. Steve was referencing the “lost” times of life when things are not going according one’s schedule or design. He was describing the dark times, the difficult and uncomfortable times, the anxious or fearful times; and the times when we ask the big questions and/or simply sit in despair. He was describing the times when our self-sufficiency is not sufficient. Of course, the maxim holds true in good times, too, but that’s not when we do our best listening.

As Steve patiently explained it, God’s knowledge of us is pretty complete (that “omniscience” thing seems to cover it). So, He knows our strengths, our weaknesses, achievements and mistakes, the bad attitudes covered by our smiles, and the stuff we hope no one ever learns about us. God knows our potential-- even if we have never come close to using it. So when we look in the mirror, and are brave enough to see everything about ourselves—He knows! And, according to Romans 5:8 He loves us anyway.

God also knows where we are. That includes geography, but also spiritual geography, emotional geography, and socio-economic status. However we might describe “where we are” God already knows. Our address doesn’t surprise Him. Our poverty doesn’t worry Him, nor might our wealth. Neither our social standing, or health, or lack thereof is a problem for Him. He knows whether we run the jail or are an inmate. God knows if we are following a higher calling or struggling with a load of bad decisions (or both). He knows and loves us anyway.

The prophet Jeremiah reminds us in 29:11 that God has a plan for everyone. Here is the conundrum: When we are on top of the world, we don’t want God’s plan (or think we need it). But, when we are nearer to the bottom (in one way or another), we don’t feel we deserve God’s plan. There were people who felt like that in Christ's day, too.

In the eyes of his contemporaries, Zaccheus was a short, traitorous, despicable tax collector. His vocation brought him material gain, but no friends, and certainly no admiration. Jesus picked him out of a crowd and went home to dinner with him. The disciples were likewise unremarkable—from all worldly measures. Jesus knew all about them—and picked them anyway!

So, the Good News of Christmas is truly Good News! Jesus left heaven to redeem people like them and like us—perhaps (especially) people just like us--where we are right now.

It’s tough to reduce a life to a Christmas card or even Christmas reflection. But, Steve’s life and death are instructive: his vision was improved by cancer. He saw what was truly important through the lens of his illness. As a pastor and chaplain, I have spent a lot of time with dying people.  Most have amazing clarity about what matters (or doesn’t), and Steve had that and more. He was by all accounts an imperfect person, with imperfect faith and knowledge; but He accepted Christ’s invitation to a perfect Kingdom and by faith confidently looked forward to it.

Shortly before he died, Steve told me, “I understand what Paul was talking about when He said, ‘for me to live is Christ, and to die is gain (Philippians 1:21).’ I’m not afraid of what happens next. Whatever God decides will be great. He will take care of me and my family.” I understand this verse intellectually and theologically; my brother understood it experientially, and confidently.

Difficult times come to all of us. Steve reminded me, that there is someone above and beyond my difficulty to whom I can turn. This Advent, it is my sincere prayer that you will discover the peace Steve described. It begins in the person of Jesus and extends to His kingdom—just over the horizon.

God’s Blessings to you this Christmas.

In loving memory of my big brother, Stephen Lee Bekkedahl (1948-2009).