Jesus Leveled the Playing Field of Personality

Why is it that the quiet ones, the behind-the-scenes ones, the not-as-social ones, are somehow deemed aloof and prideful while those carrying the very opposite traits go about in their heads justified? 

Those with many friends, adults and children alike, are judged to be “well-adapted and adjusted,” while the thoughtful book readers, nature-explorers and non-“engagers” are somehow uncaring and not worthy of esteem.

But then a baby born in a manger or cave of some sort, who grew up in a lowly village, quietly learning and practicing a trade, arrives in our thoughts every year at Christmas. 

Small, vulnerable, meek and mild, the baby, as an adult, continued to not stand out, to the point that when stirrings began around him, people scratched their heads and asked, 

“Isn’t this the carpenter’s son?” 

Jesus went on to be a public speaker. 

He was surrounded by people. 

But he didn’t become their expectations. 

He remained the humble, thoughtful man that he had been all of his life. 

He surrounded himself with twelve close workers in the spreading of his Father’s message. He tapped into men of all stripes: loud, stubborn, energetic; but also quiet, unassuming, and serving so much in the background that people today struggle to remember some of their names. 

Jesus purposely and trustingly “sent” them all, though. He didn’t leave any of the twelve out. 

He used every quality they brought to the party, and never singled out one personality type as being worthier than others. 

Jesus deflected fame, fortune, and popularity and didn't succumb to peer pressure to do what others expected and to be how other people so wished he would be.

He remained true to who he was, in spite of mockery and judgement.

In thirty-three years, Jesus grew up into the very man God intended. And because of that, sin was overcome and a place for each and every person ever born was made, not just on earth, but in heaven too.

Copyright Barb Harwood

Midnight Clear

 

Many of us can sing the opening line, “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear,” to the hymn of the same name, only to have our voice trail off, or revert to humming the remainder of the song.

So I took some time this morning to read the lyrics in full, and was amazed at the portrait drawn there, one I had never visualized before:

Angels arriving through cloven skies, bending near the earth with wings unfurled—hovering—all the while singing and touching their harps of gold.

What a majestic, unobservable picture!

And while one could have a discourse long into the night regarding angels, one can, at minimum, metaphorically grasp the calm reassurance such an image holds for a “weary world.”

But perhaps one would have to actually become weary in order to appreciate the atmospheric possibility of rejoicing; to willingly forgo the modus operandi of being sick and tired. 

Perhaps one would have to first acknowledge that being disgruntled much of the time with things one can’t control is not a very productive way to live out one's precious days.

What if we could begin instead to “see” angelic grace and calm fortitude, to the point where fed-upness melts away? 

What if we let our guard down, not just with one heavenly guardian, but the whole lot of them; an innumerable choir, a multitude, an un-armed legion of them—they that come “swiftly on the wing” to sing over the earth’s “Babel” of “sounds!”

What if we allowed—invited—angels to sing over (drown out) our own babel, from our very own mouth?

Believe in them or not, can we believe in what they herald: relief, contentment, inner quietness, goodwill, unsentimental and non-politicized hope?

Can we imagine, angel or no, the symbolism of them breaking into our world for real?

We can close our eyes and bring these celestial beings to life, letting them alight on our souls so that our lips lay down their diatribes and our hearts surrender their haughty offense.

Maybe we can’t believe in actual divine spirits with feathered appendages.

But can we buy-into what they represent?

And if we do believe in angels, can we receive their ministrations and spread their message--one directly dispatched to us “from heaven’s all gracious King” Himself?

Tonight, envision the angels, with wings spread—over your worst enemy, all of your regrets and multiple worries. Be reminded also as they resound memories of joy. 

Feel their movement in the air, the strength and vitality in their presence, the glory of their song, and the midnight of their clarity into humanity’s attainable “glad and golden hours.”

Copyright Barb Harwood

Grace

The following is from the band U2’s website. It’s the back story to one of my favorite songs, followed by the lyrics (I especially like how, though it is Bono's generalized belief that "the universe operates by karma," grace personified in his song overcomes the tit-for-tat modus operandi of it).

From the website:

“Grace is a theme that Bono latched onto in his later years. Grace can have many meanings. The grace of god, someone's name and simply being in someone's 'good graces'.

With this song from All That You Can't Leave Behind, grace is possibly best described as a character that has an empirical quality about them, almost godlike.

Indeed, when Bono's lyric refers to Grace carrying a pearl Bono is referenceing the following passage from the Bible, Matthew 13:45–46:

'Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls, who, on finding one pearl of great value, went and sold all that he had and bought it'

Of the character in the song, Bono has actually said: 

‘"There are a couple of my favourite people rolled into that lyric but the most important thing is that they personify my favourite word in the lexicon of the English language. It's a word I'm depending on. The universe operates by Karma, we all know that. For every action there's an equal and opposite reaction. There is atonement built in: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Then enters Grace and turns that upside down. I love it.”'


Lyrics


Grace, she takes the blame

She covers the shame

Removes the stain

It could be her name

Grace, it's the name for a girl

It's also a thought that could change the world

And when she walks on the street

You can hear the strings

Grace finds goodness in everything



Grace, she's got the walk

Not on a ramp or on chalk

She's got the time to talk

She travels outside of karma, karma

She travels outside of karma

When she goes to work

You can hear the strings

Grace finds beauty in everything



Grace, she carries a world on her hips

No champagne flue for her lips

No twirls or skips between her fingertips

She carries a pearl in perfect condition

What once was hurt

What once was friction

What left a mark no longer stings

Because Grace makes beauty

Out of ugly things

Grace finds beauty in everything

Grace finds goodness in everything'

Silence

The gift of silence: the most wonderful present, and presence, we might possibly give this year, to ourselves and others. 

Doesn’t mean abstinence from speaking, necessarily, although it could. 

(an interesting note: dictionary.com defines abstinence as:

“forbearance from any indulgence of appetite; 

any self-restraint, self-denial, or forbearance; 

the state of being without a drug…on which one is dependent.

I think talking, at times, can definitely qualify as an indulgence of appetite and a drug upon which one is dependent!!)

Silence, then, can simply mean the cessation of speaking one way—one we’ve become accustomed to and have normalized— in favor of another, better, more gracious way. 

copyright Barb Harwood

Peace

 

Peace is not something to wish, or even to hope for. 

It is not a sentiment to wear on one’s sleeve or to stick in an envelope and mail as a Christmas card. 

It is not a virtue to be signaled. 

Peace is a decision. 

A solitary decision.

Others might favor dissension over a chosen peace.

So be it.

We choose peace anyway, and forgo the "useless wranglings" of people of "corrupt minds" who are "obsessed with disputes and arguments" and have an "unhealthy interest in controversies" (1 Timothy 6:3-5).

Talk such as this, "avoid" (2 Timothy 3:5b); "flee from these things" (1 Timothy 6:11a).

Choose peace; no one is stopping us.

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives." John 14:27a 

Copyright Barb Harwood

It Feels Good to Fully Accept Joy

Yesterday I had an authentically joyous day after experiencing a shift in a relationship—a shift that came unexpected and by surprise.

During a telephone conversation, as my initially tense anticipation of what was to transpire gave way to an open-minded realization that “this is going really well,” the exchange continued in a mood of markedly honest and warm camaraderie. I have not experienced this way of being with this person since I was a small child.

And I can only describe my take-away of what took place between us as joy, the kind God talks about steadily and often, and yet has eluded me for years when it came to this individual.

This joy, the sheer objective, non-forced or sentimentalized reality of it, was at first a bit strange to trust, especially when hopes had risen in the past in this relationship, only to expire time and time again.

But yesterday was different. It was the spark of something I once knew with this person, and now, for even just one day, knew again. 

And for it to have occurred at all is enough to keep me going in joy, though the walls may yet cave in once again with this person. I will bear the collapse with the joy of knowing that for one moment anyway, this person and I got to the place of joy once again. 

That is what I will live on and hold close going forward.

And it feels good to fully accept this joy and not push it away in cynicism about the past or doubt about the future. 

To simply accept joy where it is and when it happens, free of vulnerabilities that would limit or minimize. To give it freedom—permission really—to be the impartial and unbiased grounding going forward.

Copyright Barb Harwood