Renovation

O break, O break, hard heart of mine!
Thy weak self-love and guilty pride
His Pilate and His Judas were:
Jesus, our Lord, is crucified.

-Hymn, O Come and Mourn with Me a While

I believe, help my unbelief!
-Father of a sick child Jesus healed, Mark 9:24


I don’t pick up the Bible as often as I’d like.

Before you roll your eyes at me and suggest that I just calm down about having a spiritual high horse, or say the Bible is hard to understand anyway and is full of contradictions and confusion and controversy, or tell me to get on the quiet time band wagon, let me say that I know all of that. Believe me. I grew up in church, surrounded by activities like Sunday school and Awana and Bible quizzing, attending and serving at apologetics camp. I’ve memorized a lot of Scripture over the years, most of which now I couldn’t repeat word for word now, but its truth remains in my head and heart. I’ve messed up a lot in my life, in relationships and life choices, and just in the daily grind of deciding how to live my little life. I’m usually in some stage of doubting faith, usually about my own ability to practice Christianity, because I typically forget that life in Christ is grace-ridden. But my raggedy faith is my own, won through dark nights of the soul, and I believe in the life, death, resurrection, and message of Jesus wholeheartedly. I have a deep, deep love of Scripture. I don’t think I’ve read it all the way through yet, and there’s lots from the Old Testament that I don’t understand. But love of the Word is foundational to my life and my thinking.

So…why don’t I read it more often now?

A simple question that I’ve shied away from. I think I tell myself that I’m too tired in the morning, and I’ll read it before bed. But if my eyes aren’t drooping too much when I crawl in bed, I tend to reach for the murder mystery on top of my Bible instead. You know. I’ve been practicing this technique of “I’ll read it later” for so long it’s a strong habit to break. And this is something I know is life-giving, a fresh wind in my soul, helps me breathe better, and inspires my creativity and introvert self.

I think the real reason is that life-giving things also tend to be hard things. Things that we can break ourselves on. I know from experience that my walls of pride, independence, anger, and malice will be assailed with the good and hard things of God when I read the Bible. I am afraid my little walls and fortresses and towers will be completely breached. God calls me to put to death the things that are not of Him-the ways of anger and gossip and hatred and storing up bitterness. He calls me to put on the ways of love and forgiveness and compassion for everyone, to forgive as He has forgiven me. Such a beautiful and holy way to live, but so challenging. Life apart from Christ beckons me to an existence of mediocre rules and regulations, of the easy life of selfishness. My heart gets hard so quickly-it freezes tight and squeezes shut. Scripture is my exfoliate, my rock tumbler, my pumice stone, the tide that washes all my stones smooth.

I want to read the Bible more…not because I have to, but because I get to. Because it washes my dusty being, because it restores me, because my hard heart must break wide open for His transformation to begin. I long for soul-deep renovation, and it is to be found in the living words of Scripture, in addition to prayer, to solitude, to community, to service, to practicing belief, to being in nature. Knowing Scripture widens my heart and graces me with compassion for others and fills me with the knowledge of His love.

Aftermath

And the angels filled the sky
All of heaven wondered why
Why their King would choose to be
Be a baby born to die
-Bebo Norman, Born to Die

And she gave birth to her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.
Luke 2:7


This morning I find myself alone for the first time in a long time. It’s weird. Like all Decembers for everyone, there’s been something nearly every day. Sometimes December feels like a giant to-do list: shop here, order this, make this,  pick up the thing, drive here, do this. Don’t get me wrong; I freaking love a good to-do list. So you’d think a month of to-do’s would be delightful! The thing is, I always set myself up for failure, because I want to do all the things that everyone else is doing, too. I wanted to do Advent things, bake old and new Christmas treats, decorate the house within an inch of sanity, stare at the Christmas tree, throw a few Christmas parties, go to a few Christmas parties, write a brilliantly funny Christmas letter, make all the things on my Christmas Pinterest board. Duh. So when I find myself at the end of December taking stock of the month and realize that my Christmasy crafty-ness consisted of sticking little sparkly bows on Trader Joe’s chocolate bars, well, it’s a bit of a let-down. I didn’t really think about the birth of Jesus at all. I didn’t watch one Christmas movie. I didn’t bake one damn Christmas cookie. I didn’t make gingerbread houses with my nieces. I spent my time tracking my Amazon orders that I ordered a bit late (whatever), and running to the store at the last minute. My contribution to the family Christmas breakfast was store-bought cinnamon rolls, complete with icing in a package. For a woman of Norwegian descent, you can imagine the horror I tried to ignore-not homemade?? Not packed with loving amounts of real butter?

Well, so much for all I did and didn’t do. I found myself instead blessed with the loving attentions and loving grace of my family and friends. This was the month to give myself a break and accept the goodness of others. With health issues abounding still and exhaustion reigning, I relaxed at my parent’s home and at the home of my in-laws, both of whom explode with hospitality and generosity. My dad read the Christmas story aloud before presents, and I remembered through this tradition the reason for why we gather, why we give presents, why we make food and spend time together, why we make time in an already crazy season. God came to us in the craziness of real time, of real life, in a birth of dubious background, in a time of great cultural stress and upheaval. God made Himself a gift to us, in a way that makes us scratch our heads and wonder at the Christmas story anew. How can it become old hat, become merely something on a to-do list? Thankfully, God waits for us patiently and graciously-He understands how hard it is to be human, especially in December.