If you read my last post, this picks up where it ended. If you didn’t, click here to read it.
Back to the Beginning.
Admitting that I had failed Him in my participation in our group brought a sting. However once I began to move past that a level of excitement started building inside me. The cloud of confusion dissipated and a vision came into focus. If we were to go back to the beginning, I knew what needed to happen.
God has given me an ability to envision new things and then bring them into reality. Without effort, images of a new future emerge and I can see structure form around it. Actions to build those structures follow and names that meet the required skills burst into my mind at a rapid pace. Prioritizing the actions and seeing the first requisite steps immediately follows. My thoughts become obsessed with laying the initial groundwork and my hands busy themselves with the task.
My passions are ignited and I am able to accomplish a lot in a short time.
Kim has learned to recognize the signs that I am moving into this mental space and knows that I will be consumed while I bring the new future into the present. The world around me disappears and all I can think about is my new labor of love. I don’t care if I eat, my brain races during my waking hours as well as my dreams, and the people in my life accept that I have disappeared for a time.
It is a part of who I am.
So when I realized it was time to go Back to the Beginning, the whole process started automatically – what needed to happen, who was going to do what, and how I should lead.
I was ready to scorch the earth and begin rebuilding. Nothing was exempt as I prepared to clear the landscape.
That is when I could almost hear God chuckle as He said “Whoa there, Son of Thunder. My plans for you have not changed.”
This is a conversation we’ve had several times before. It is a reference to John, the brother of James and disciple of Jesus.
More importantly, it is how God sets my boundary lines when I race headlong into a new thing. This time, he clearly laid out what He is asking of me and where I am beyond my authority.
Here is the backstory to help understand His direction.
John had a fiery passion and impatience in bringing new things to life. He famously asked Jesus if He wanted him to destroy a village who did not embrace the Christ. John was ready to wipe out the old and begin building the new Kingdom on that spot. Right then. No waiting.
John didn’t see himself merely as an “idea guy”. He also requested that Jesus seat him at His right- or left-hand when he began His reign. He wasn’t seeking fame. He wanted the authority that came with the position. He was ready to make things happen.
Time and again Jesus described what was to come, and he had to contain John. Peter may have been the rock he would build his church on, and Paul may have articulated theology of the New Testament, but John was ready to begin the construction.
For reasons only He could know, Jesus had plans to transition John from a Son of Thunder into the Apostle of Love. It would be a difficult adjustment.
Throughout Jesus’ life on this earth, John was a firebrand. He is the only disciple who had the moxy to stand at Jesus’ feet while he was being crucified. He was the first to enter Jesus’ tomb while others hid in a locked room. These were acts of open defiance against the Jewish leaders and the entire Roman Empire, challenging them to take action. He was ready for a single word from Jesus to wipe everything away and he was first in line to help him rebuild.
Instead of unleashing the beast inside his disciple, Jesus used some of his final breaths to ask John to become a son to His mother, Mary, and to protect and care for her in his own home (John 19:24-27).
John must have known that he would spend decades on the sidelines, watching others establish the church and transform the world while he patiently cared for an aging lady.
Sometimes the boundaries that God sets for us are hard to accept.
For countless quiet evenings he sorted out his feelings while he sat at home with his surrogate mother, watching her knit for her grandchildren. He heard about other disciples traveling throughout the world spreading the Gospel while he patiently walked with her in the market, helping her to select the best figs because he knew her eyes were failing and her balance was unsteady.
During this long period of time, his heart was changing. The conversion was difficult and slow, but allowed him to emerge as the Apostle of Love.
He is called the Apostle of Love because he wrote more about love than any other New Testament author. The world learned how Jesus loved us from a fiery, defiant disciple who was taken off the field.
It was John who recorded Jesus as he said:
A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. (John 13:34)
It was John who preserved His next words:
By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another. (John 13:35)
And it was John who penned one of the most famous verses in the Bible.
For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. (John 3:16)
In His perfect wisdom, God used a man who was ready to tear down the world and rebuild it to teach us that we would reflect the Savior if we simply learned to love people like He does.
I can imagine more than most what John felt like when Jesus asked him to stand down and serve Mary.
I wanted to build a nationwide ministry, teaching a different way to share Jesus by meeting physical needs.
Instead He told me to Build Neighbors and let anyone follow if they chose.
I made plans to market my books and blogs and teach countless people how they could improve their relationship with Him.
Instead He told me I could only write about my own experiences and what I learned.
Over the years our group has had several leaders step down, and I have wanted to jump at each new chance to nominate myself.
Instead he told me to print discussion guides for the one he chose to lead and to set the table for the group.
Now I stand ready to take charge at The New Beginning, to create a new group who raises Him high. I have a clear vision, strong passion, and high energy to take charge.
Instead He asked me to meet a friend for breakfast.
When I ask him to let me call down thunder, he tells me to stand down and love each one. When I have asked him to let me lead, he has asked me to serve.
Like He said, His plans for me have not changed and neither have my boundary lines.
What He has asked me to do seems impossible- meet with a group of guys who lost their focus on Jesus because they overvalued relationships and then show them how to focus on Jesus through brotherly love. It seems contradictory. May God grant me patience while I learn to do what He asks.
I have received my assignment and He reminded me of my boundaries. I was allowed to highlight our need to repent. I can walk with them and pick up any who fall down. I can be a full participant in the things that are to come, but I have not been granted authority to lead the change.
The old things have now passed away. We are ready to take our first steps into the New Beginning.
That leaves me with a lot of questions like these.
Who will take the first step?
Who will be called to lead our group?
What will our gatherings look like?
When should we start?
I don’t know any of these answers, but have faith that He will raise up someone for each of these.
If this post isn’t what you expected after the last one, then I can appreciate that. I had already completed my follow-up post laying out my vision, the timing and the responsibilities. It was difficult for me to delete it and accept His direction.
We are ready to enter something new. It is a time for change.
Please listen for His voice. Hear what He has planned for you to do in this season. Maybe He is asking you to step forward as the next leader. Maybe He is calling you to schedule our Beginning. Maybe He is giving you dreams of what we are to become.
He might be giving you a recurring task or maybe it is a one-time thing.
Possibly you haven’t heard anything from Him. You could schedule a prayer gathering to seek His direction.
Whatever the message is, and however large or small it may seem, you are part of His plan.
If He is calling you, it is possible that you are too busy right now. You may be afraid to lead into unknown territory. The timing might not work. You might not be ready. Maybe you just aren’t interested.
It is OK. The greatest beginnings seem to come from reluctant people.
I am part of a men’s group that is an extension of our church. We’ve been meeting since, wow I don’t even know, probably a decade now. But lately, something hasn’t been right.
This band of brothers has been a rock for me over the years. We have collectively been through a lot in our lives together. I am a stronger, better man than I used to be and believe each of them feels the same way.
We have navigated relationship challenges, unemployment, job stress, illnesses, deaths in the family, taking our next steps in faith, and much more. We have persevered through advsersity and grown in our faith in God.
But recently something has been undeniably “off”. I’ve been increasingly frustrated over the past months. My patience has been short. I’ve questioned the return on my investment in our time together. I’ve even questioned what value that I and others are taking away from our gatherings. That’s not normal. I’m pretty sure others have shared those questions.
With the passing of time, there are fewer and fewer people at the table each night. One at a time and for various reasons, people have drifted off to other pursuits. New people have come to “try things out” only to disappear afterward or politely explain later that they would be following a different direction.
The truth has been staring me in the face but I haven’t wanted to accept it.
Our group is dying.
A once thriving circle that filled a large room to overflowing has contracted and its existence is in jeopardy. A precious thing is about to vanish.
What went wrong?
These are all godly men who are leaning into their relationship with Jesus. We have all devoted ourselves to our time together. We prioritize being in attendance.
Sometimes we bring in food and eat together to put everyone at peace. We share our own circumstances and those of the communities and countries we live in. We talk about how the goings-on of our extended families are impacting us. We tell the stories of what Jesus has done in our lives. We laugh and enjoy each other.
But somehow, it seems slightly wrong. Not because something bad happens during our time together, but it is…incomplete. Something is missing. Why was I leaving our meetings with an itch that I couldn’t scratch?
I needed to take time away and figure things out, but doubts crept into my mind – “Will they abandon me altogether if I am not there?” and “What if God calls me to a different path? Would I be able to leave them?”
I was unsatisfied with my status but afraid of change so I remained silent and took no action.
In our most recent gathering, things went along like they frequently did. We spent time talking about a particularly difficult time one of the guys was going through and another shared what was on his mind. For reasons I couldn’t understand, my stress level began to rise and my feelings eventually boiled to the surface.
Something was missing and I couldn’t avoid dealing with it any longer. Pretending it wasn’t happening made it worse. I sent a message notifying eveyone that I would be stepping back for an undefined time.
At first, I couldn’t gather my thoughts. Doubts swirled in my mind. Fear of an unknown future taunted me. Thoughts of blame and inadequacy arose inside me.
The first thing I had to do was sort out the complicated emotions that were dancing around in my mind. It is hard to silence a voice that tells you to protect yourself and shouts that others are creating the problem. Ignoring those spirits empowers them further and it became clear that no truth would reveal itself until there was silence.
My first prayer was for God to quieten the voices. The more I focused on unity with him, the quieter the voices became. Eventually they dissipated enough that I could hear His whisper. He said that I wasn’t the first person to struggle with this. To find an answer, he pointed me to 1st Corinthian, Chapter 11 (2nd half).
In Paul’s first letter to the young church at Corinth, he chastised its members for abusing the Lord’s Supper. In place of a reverent reminder of what Jesus did for us, they had created an event where people ate full meals and drank wine freely. A moment that had been holy had become something common. Their gatherings had devolved into some eating while others went hungry. Word spread of people becoming intoxicated.
Paul warned them that they were inviting God’s judgement.
This young, thriving church was seeing people leave, argue with each other, and their flame began to fade.
Unless something happened, it appeared that Jesus would blow out the candle he worked so hard to light.
My prayers shifted away from me and toward asking God how this dedicated, all-in church lost its way.
Here is what I believe happened.
The early church in Corinth was introduced to the Lord’s Supper by Paul. He led them through it, and they practiced the sacrament regularly. They could feel God’s presence move as they leaned into Him. As the number of times they completed it increased, they began to ask questions about the original Last Supper when Jesus spoke to His disciples. The young church studied His words, memorizing them and let their hearts be transformed.
It seemed a logical next step to grow their faith by examining the setting in detail – what foods were served, how people sat together, what they wore, etc. The more they learned, they chose to integrate pieces into this sacrament. It became more elaborate as it brought a story into life that they had only heard before.
People coordinated and carefully prepared each dish. They studied and brought the same type of wine that Jesus probably shared with his disciples and served food in the same sequence. They sat in groups of about a dozen each.
Gradually, they made plans with each other to share the meal with specific people they cared most about. As the church grew larger it became impossible to schedule everyone eating at the same time. The single unified voice of prayer was cascaded down into the different groups.
Eventually, a family ran late. By the time they arrived, everyone was already eating and there were no seats left. A mother told her hungry children they could eat when they got home. Another man worked hard all day with no time for breakfast or lunch. Already faint with hunger when he arrived, the first glass of wine went straight to his head.
By the time one of the elders arrived, the event had deteriorated so far it did not resemble the original. This elder reached out to Paul for advice.
Their “group” had lost its way.
In their pursuit of a perfect event, they lost sight of their singular purpose. With the best of intentions, Jesus had moved from the only focus to a shared focus, and a group of passionate believers stumbled down a bad path.
I closed my Bible and sat in silence. If a few of the words were changed, this was a stark description of my recent men’s gatherings.
We had also lost our way.
I prayed again, “God, what do we do? How do we get back on path?”
His response?
“Read it again.”
The second time through I studied Paul’s response. After he warned them of the dire consequences of the path they were on, he reminded them what was special about sharing in the Lord’s Supper. He repeated the same thing he had told them the first time they sat down to share it together.
He took them back to the beginning.
I closed my Bible again and asked God to forgive me for failing him.
Without intention, we had also taken Jesus off of center stage and invited him to take a seat at the table with us. Once he was seated there, the gradually increasing background noise made it difficult to hear him and we had begun to talk to the people closest to us. Eventually, we didn’t notice that he had fallen largely silent.
The absence (or infrequency) of His voice was obvious to “first-timers” who came once and moved on. For the faithful rest of us, it was so gradual we hadn’t perceived it happening.
We had taken something holy and allowed it to become common.
I like to think that I am a mature believer who has gained a share of wisdom over the years. I want to believe that my life shines as an example to others and demonstrates who Jesus is. I see my circle of friends as a pillar of support.
It is embarassing to admit that I allowed this to happen in a gathering I value, while meeting in my home, and in a setting where I can influence the outcome.
The harsh reality is that I am a weak person. I show strength by sharing with others what He first shared with me. I seem wise when I repeat what He says. Unless Jesus has my full attention, I will always feel like something is missing.
It may be painful to admit but I surrendered something sacred to become ordinary. I took my eyes off the Creator and turned them toward something else. I allowed noise to drown out the sound of his voice.
What comes next?
There are still important questions that need answers. There is more humility that I must gain.
I need to seek him out, sit at His feet, and listen to what He has to say. He will lead us back onto the path without judgement or shame.
He is the author of life and He wants our group to be full of that life. He can heal something that is dying and resurrect something that is dead.
I’ll pause for a moment while you say “Hi, Jimmy.”
A neophobe is someone who is afraid of anything new. I have a mild form of this disorder, where I avoid trying new things or breaking from routine.
My life is full of examples. One of them is hummus. You know, the pasty foodstuff. I don’t like hummus. It is weird and looks funny. I’ve never really eaten it, but I’m pretty sure I don’t like it and I will take great efforts to make sure it never sits on our dinner table. That’s neophobia.
I like Colgate, the old kind with the white goo that comes in a red tube and has a harsh taste. I don’t like the colored toothpastes even if they taste better. I have asked Kim to scour the city looking for the mid-size tubes of Colgate that I can carry through airport security because I also don’t like those tiny travel tubes. It is very soothing to get my kind of toothpaste in the perfect tube so I fuss when anything else shows up in the cup on our bathroom counter. Classic neophobia.
Sometimes the examples aren’t as harmless. Whenever Kim asks if she can invite new people for dinner, I always say “no.” She inevitably ignores me and moves forward anyway and I have a good time. Just the idea makes me squirm though and I probably miss out on some great people. That’s the price of neophobia.
My son, James, insisted we play pickleball on Sunday. I am also not excited about that. You know why? Neophobia.
I have lived with neophobia for so long and it is such an ingrained part of my life that it’s almost like a separate personality. I think I’ll call it Neo.
Despite Neo’s protests, this weekend I am going to use Crest toothpaste, probably connect with somebody Kim coordinates, and get super sweaty playing pickleball even though I resist each of those things. Neo will be on center stage.
Three years ago, I had a face-off with my old nemesis, Neo. I made a decision to sell a certain amount of money worth of woodworking projects. The idea of selling makes me so uncomfortable that I want to hide in the closet.
I have avoided Sales all of my life starting with mandatory Little League fundraisers and extending through kids’ track. I do not ask people for money. Neo screamed and shouted about how I should avoid these nasty situations.
You may wonder why I chose to spend three years selling my own woodwork if it was going to cause me so much stress.
The idea was to become more empathetic towards my children as they navigate careers, relationships, and adulthood for the first time. The only way for me to truly understand what they are going through was to do something I don’t know anything about and risk total failure. I chose Sales.
The idea has worked. Instead of lecturing them on what I think they should do, I am walking alongside them while we figure out how to succeed. They probably have no idea how uncomfortable it has made me, but that’s OK. At some level, we are sharing the same insecurities.
After three years, I have finally achieved my milestone and am collecting the last few dollars to hit my original goal. That phase of my life is coming to a close. Sales is no longer part of my neophobia, it’s just something I don’t like to do.
As a side note, I don’t plan to abandon woodworking. However, I am free to settle back into my previous poor business practices and enjoy it as a hobby.
Now I am faced with another crossroads in life. A world of new opportunities lie in front of me. I can reimagine myself or stick with the status quo.
I’ve encountered several of those decision points these past few years – after becoming an empty nester, turning over a ministry, publishing a book, and now abandoning a business pursuit.
It may seem weird to you that I self-identify as a neophobe. After all, I seem to try new things all the time. You may see my actions, but if you haven’t felt my discomfort then you don’t know the real me yet.
I was scared to move the kids out and close a chapter in my life. I was anxious about leading the First Fruits team and then reluctant to release it when the time came. Writing a book carried more stress than I want to talk about. Every time someone asked the cost of a Shalom sign, I stared at my feet and mumbled.
Whatever awaits me in the next chapter of life will probably frighten me more than any of these previous things did. But despite Neo’s inevitable protests, I plan to embrace this next chapter anyway.
Why would anyone do something that makes them feel uncomfortable over and over again?
My answer – I am pursuing something that is bigger than my discomfort.
God has big plans for my life. He has big plans for yours too. The downside is that getting closer to him always requires being uncomfortable – taking a bigger risk. No risk? Then get cozy where you are but know that your kingdom will begin shrinking.
Not sure if you believe me? Then how about these examples?
in Mark 10, Jesus offered a rich young rules a chance to walk with him as a disciple. Neo dissuaded him from change. He missed his chance. Do you imagine his lifestyle ever seemed as sweet afterwards?
In the book of Acts, King Agrippa told Paul, “Almost you persuade me to be a Christian.” He also listened to Neo’s counsel. Wouldn’t his throneroom have become a lonely place afterwards?
King Saul quit waiting on Samuel because Neo told him he would lose the war. He eventually lost his kingdom.
It is ironic that each of these people chose to prize the things that God gave them more than they treasured the One who made the gift. Without him, the good life would quickly lose its alure.
On the other hand, God asked Noah to spend years building a boat. He asked Abraham to leave his family and native country to pursue him. God asked a tongue-tied Moses to become the greatest prophet in the Old Testament. He asked Gideon to lead 300 men against more than a hundred thousand. He asked David to face a giant. He asked Esther, Daniel, and three friends to challenge their kings.
All of them ignored their inner Neo and chose God. Great things followed. God asks us to risk what he has given us for something better with him.
If these guys had declined God’s offer, then he would not have abandoned them. He can’t. He promised that he will never leave us or forsake us. No matter what we do, he will always be there for us. Neo doesn’t have the power to take that away.
But when we choose our comfort over pursuing him, we lose an opportunity for a greater intimacy with him.
Do you want to get closer to God? What are you willing to risk? Get ready, because he will ask. You can’t have something better and still have the same thing as before.
So here I stand at my crossroads. My last chapter has closed. The next chapter is a blank page. What will I choose to fill it with?
One thing is certain. God will offer me something I don’t want to do. Something that makes me scared. He will ask me to sacrifice something that I’m afraid to lose. When He holds out his hand and invites me to hold it, I will have to choose to set aside my neophobia. To choose him over everything that I have.
It is ironic that I struggle to let go of trivial, temporary things when opportunities for eternal greatness present themselves. That is the constant struggle between our spirit and our flesh. It won’t go away this side of Heaven.
While I wait for God’s next offer, I’ll keep trying different things just to see which ones make me nervous. I want to force Neo into action. As I familiarize myself with him, then I will recognize my fear and see it coming from a long way off. I want to know his face, voice, smell, and to recognize his touch. I want to know my fear as well as I know myself because it is the enemy that holds me back.
When God asks me to follow him, Neo will whisper in my ear. He will tell me that I am happy and remind me of everything that I could lose.
But by then hopefully I will recognize both the voices of my tempter and my Shepherd. I will tell Neo that he is right, that I might lose everything. But I will gain the only thing that matters, the only thing that will last forever, the only thing that will bring my heart peace and salvation for my soul.
I will grasp God’s hand and continue my journey with him.
Neo is welcome to come along, he’s just not calling the shots any more.
Christmas is just around the corner, and Santa is everywhere – television, store-front ads, tree ornaments, and even ugly sweaters. The only place you can generally expect NOT to hear him HO-HO-HO-ing is at church.
So who is this character really, and where did he come from?
Santa Claus became popularized in North America in the 1800s. Although references to him became fairly common in the first part of that century, his legend wasn’t fully entrenched until Clement Clark Moore penned “A Visit from St Nicholas”. Everyone can faithfully recite part if not all of his famous poem that begins “‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all thro’ the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”
Of course, it was modified over time so the version I grew up with had a slightly different “feel”.
Images of St. Nick abounded, but there was no official “look”. Sometimes he was thin, sometimes he was heavy and his clothing changed. Although images began to target a jolly, portly fellow with a heavy beard, it wasn’t until Coca-Cola launched an advertising campaign in the 1930s that Santa’s appearance standardized. Of course, they drew him with the same red and white colors that graced their soda bottles.
Then in the 1970s, “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” aired in the famous stop-motion style of that era. Fred Astaire narrated the story and Mickey Rooney voiced Kris Kringle. All of the background details were eternally rooted in our culture and Santa remains generally unchanged from that time.
But do you know the original story of jolly old St. Nick?
Nicholas was born around 280 A.D. in what is modern-day Turkey. He was the only child of a wealthy couple and grew up in a life of privilege. He attended church regularly and from all records had a normal childhood until tragedy struck. Both of his parents died, whether from a plague or an accident, leaving him without family and only a fortune to keep him company.
As he emerged from mourning, he commited to use what God had given to him to make a difference in his city. He watched people and thought about how he could have an impact.
He spotted a father with three daughters who had lost his job and his savings soon followed. As severe poverty and hunger began to set in, he begrudgingly allowed them to be used as prostitutes in an effort to survive. While this gave them food to eat, it left a large hole in their hearts and created a life they did not know how to escape.
The poor father could not raise a dowry to attract worthy suitors, and began to lose hope that their futures would hold anything but sadness.
The young adult Nicholas, however had other plans. He gathered enough gold coins to represent a proper dowry and under cloak of darkness snuck up to the poor family’s window and threw the bag of coins inside. He retreated quickly before anyone could see him, leaving a gracious father and one sister with hope of something better.
One night at a time, he repeated his action. On the third and final night the father waited up to discover the secretive, benevolent person. When the bag of coins hit the floor, he bounded out the front door and chased poor Nicholas down the street, eventually catching him.
Nicholas swore the man to secrecy (which obviously did not work). He wanted favor from God, not recognition from the people of the city. In this way, he began his path into the clergy and became a priest.
His reputation for generosity and concern for others preceded him, and people in need approached him when they had nowhere else to turn. They knew they could count on the new Bishop Nicholas to represent them, even if helping them meant placing himself in danger.
Nicholas is said to have approached the Emperor Constantine at least two times – once in a dream, and once in person. In these cases he advocated for wrongfully imprisoned people and to lower taxes. He relied on God to protect him in the presence of powerful men, and his fame spread.
When Christians were persecuted, Nicholas was imprisoned. He was told he would be released if he renounced his faith. Unable to abandon the God that had remained with him, he stayed in prison for five long years.
Ultimately released from his chains, his passion for Jesus was stronger than ever. He attended the Council of Nicea and helped to author the Nicene Creed that states Jesus’ place as part of The Trinity and his relationship to the Church. The Creed is still recited in churches today (click here to read the full statement of faith).
In that Council, he forcefully challenged Bishop Arian’s heretical teaching that Jesus was not part of the Trinity (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit). Fueled by anger that someone within the church would seek to reduce the authority of his Savior, Nicholas stepped forward and slapped BIshop Arian, infuriating Emperor Constantine, who revoked Nicholas’ title as Bishop.
Nicholas’ unflinching resolve and commitment to Christ only endeared him further to the people of the church. Legends of miracles worked at his hand spread throughout the region and people in need sought out this dedicated priest who had the favor of God on his side.
In recognition of his faith, suffering, and miracles the Catholic Church canonized Nicholas in 1446 and the priest became known as Saint Nicholas. With this recognition, his name spread across the Christian world.
Each country modified his name to suit their dialect, and the name Saint Nicholas took on many forms. In the Germanic tongue, Saint was spoken as “Santa”and Claus was their derivation of Nicholas. Santa Claus was born.
The world embraces the jolly soul with cherry cheeks and places him at the North Pole with a team of reindeer and elves. That is OK. I think Nicholas would be humbled that his name is known as a herald of the newborn King.
Nicholas lived a life devoted to sharing, faithful devotion to God, and fearless defense of people in need. God smiled on him and performed mighty works through him. Although born into wealth, he regarded it as nothing in pursuit of something greater.
The world needs Santa Claus. He is a hero of our faith whose story deserves to be told. Believing in him awakens a feeling that we can have the same impact that he did. Jesus loved him and so do I.
That is the real story of Santa Claus. Now you can share his story too.
As the end of October approaches, I’ve heard a variety of opinions on Halloween. They vary from excitement about upcoming parties to dire warnings of demonic possession. Is one right? Is the other wrong? Could both possibly be correct?
Maybe history can shed light on the subject.
It is widely held that the origins of Halloween grew out of the Celtic festival Samhain, which was held on November 1st (I know, everything is Celtic in my stories). This day not only marked the end of harvest, the close of summer, and the beginning of winter, but it also held Druidic importance.
Samhain was believed to have marked a special time when the veil between the physical world and the supernatural realm became very thin. Spirits, both good and bad, were able to cross over for a day. The good spirits were typically relatives or other loved ones who had died, and the bad spirits were all sorts of fairies, angry souls, and other mystical creatures who generally tormented people.
To defend themselves from attack by these dark forces, the Celts attempted to confuse the spirits by masking their appearance. They wore animal skins and skulls or they painted their faces with ash. A day later the veil would be restored, the spirits returned, and they would be safe again.
Because it occurred during the fall festival, it was a great celebration and was widely recognized throughout what is now the United Kingdom.
The large festivals allowed the Catholic Church a tremendous opportunity to share their faith with large groups of people and expand the Kingdom of God. However, the church never aligned with the theology of the Druids. So they constructed a plan to throw even bigger parties, draw in more people, and shift the focus to Christ.
The church had built a calendar of holy days that we now call holidays. They placed them throughout the year as modern-day marker stones to remind us of our faith. In the 8th century, Pope Gregory III declared November 1st to be All Hallowed Day (note that hallowed means holy as in “Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name”). Previously, this had been a lesser holiday recognized earlier in the year.
On this day, holy men and women of faith were celebrated for submitting their lives to God and people prayed to hasten the day when all the world would recognize Christ as king.
The church encouraged large parties. Guests wore the bright costumes of angels and demons as they acted out battles between good and evil. Children were invited to visit their neighbors and request treats such as Soul Cakes (small cakes filled with raisins and marked with a cross burned onto the top).
Beginning to sound familiar?
Over time, festivities generally shifted from November 1st to the night before, and All Hallowed Day was popularly replaced by All Hallowed Eve, or Halloween (-een was an abbreviation for evening).
Halloween was born.
Each year, prayers continued to be offered that praised all the saints and celebrations were thrown by believers whose hearts were full of a joy that could not be contained. They came together with their neighbors to feast, sing, and dance. They invited everyone, hoping to share the source of their overflowing joy.
To the disappointment of the church, Samhain never completely disappeared, and in the popular culture Halloween took on elements of both festivals – celebration of the harvest, prayers, costumes, protection from dark forces, and sugary treats.
Fast forwarding to the present day this is where we still are. Unfortunately, many believers don’t know the history of their church and have lost sight of the Saints as Dark Fairies clouded their eyes.
It is a sad circumstance but not limited to Halloween. As I have detailed in other blogs, many believers have forgotten the cherished roots of other holy-days and conceded them to the non-believing world.
St Patrick is seldom recalled as an inspiration who risked everything for his God then brought a nation to Christ. The holy-day bearing his name has been surrendered to green beer and leprechauns. (Click here for that story).
St Valentine was similarly commemorated as a man who selflessly devoted himself to defending young people in love and led them into marriage even though it cost him his life. Likewise, his holy day has been generally conceded to a cheapened version of true romance – comprised of boxes of chocolate, flowers, and drugstore cards.
It is sad to see Christendom abandon the holy days they established and once held dear. We have failed to teach our children about our predecessors who offered their fleeting lives willingly in exchange for an eternal reward. In the process, we surrendered our celebrations to people who lack our beliefs.
Unless we change course, it is likely that we will one day abandon Christmas in the same way. We have already allowed St Nicholas to be demoted from a generous priest to a toy-making elf. How much longer until we become disappointed with enough secular rituals on this day that we mourn the darkness it brings.
Easter itself would then fall. A resurrected Jesus completely supplanted by a bunny with chocolate eggs.
None of this needs to happen, but it relies on us to change the trajectory.
We need to stop recoiling in horror at the evils that roam the earth, shrinking away to avoid confrontation with the forces of darkness. Instead, we should reflect a Savior that cast out demons and allowed lepers to touch him. He established a new covenant, where something unclean touches something clean, and both become white as snow.
We need to celebrate. Not with boring little parties, but with extravagant events that mirror the generous heart of our Lord. Abandon the puritanic dour faces that judge others harshly and embrace a Jesus who allowed wine to flow freely at a wedding so that the dancing and celebration could continue.
God has sought us out and lavished love on us. We should do the same for the broken people in our community, without regard for the frightening actions that erupt from traumatized hearts. The apostle Paul allowed for early Christians to eat food that had been sacrificed to idols. He wasn’t encouraging them to shop at the markdown counter; he was asking them to break bread with “sinners”.
Maybe the ancient ones were right, and Samhain is a time that darkness is unleashed to roam the earth. Perhaps demons do seek to devour unsuspecting souls.
If that is true, champions are needed. Men and women equipped with the armor of the Almighty God must rise up to drive these devils back behind the veil from which they emerged.
If we are to protect people, we need to be where they are.
Surround yourself with your neighbors. Drag the streets and invite everyone to a decorated home full of music and joy. Make your houses inviting with plates that don’t become empty and cups that never run dry. Shower the children at your door with those great big candy bars that nobody gives away.
Pour blessings over the earth in proportion to what your good Father has shown you. Draw people in, then love and protect them. They need you.
There will be a time to turn off your porch light and hope to be left alone. Now is not that time.
Let them see the nature of God and watch the demons flee. Redeem All Hallowed Eve.
Reclaim your Halloween. It never belonged to them anyway.
My customers are complaining about their woodworking orders. It’s not the usual stuff about quality, prices, or delivery. Ironically, the complaint comes from people I know well. Usually they come from my closest friends and family.
My niece challenged me about the underside of a floor-level shelf on her end table. A friend disagreed with the back of a Shalom sign he ordered- the part that faces the wall. I take pride in these protests have no intention of changing. If they want to work with me, they will have to learn to accept these things as they are.
My trademark feature is at the heart of their complaint. It is applied after the work is complete and is my favorite part of woodworking. I don’t mean the clearly engraved “Mc” logo. My trademarks are harder to find because I hide them.
My niece discovered an Irish blessing when she removed her shelf and flipped it over. Etched in a Celtic font were the words:
May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face; the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.
I copied it from a needlepoint that my Mom kept in the hallway of our home. She has departed, but the family still cherishes her memory. After much deliberation I chose those words especially for my niece. They are proudly featured on the bottom of a shelf no one can see.
She believed the blessing deserved a more prominent display.
I disagreed.
If you turn over one of my Shalom signs then you find a blessing offered by the apostle Jude in an open letter sent to Christ-followers.
May mercy, shalom, and love be multiplied to you.
Kim and I went back and forth for an entire evening trying to pick the precise sentiment. It is my spoken prayer as I let my peace rest on every home that hangs it above their doorpost.
My friend thought it should be a highlighted part of the sign.
I disagreed.
There are other examples. Many of my pieces hide a message from the world but intend it for the recipient. I choose the words after careful deliberation. They may be a scripture, familiar verse, or just something I wrote. Each is my prayer for that specific person.
I call them the Hidden Things.
The Hidden Things don’t belong to the world. I share them with God and a particular person or family. They are the treasure of my work – my private hopes. They aren’t clever or funny, rather my simple petition to a Father who adores us. I hide them to emphasize that the sentiment is real.
The bottom of Kim’s coffee table
Some things are special because they are secret. These aren’t fortune cookies that you can buy a bag at a time. After much deliberation, I select them and present them to God on your behalf. I believe that He honors these requests by reading them aloud and speaking them into reality.
God does the same thing with us. He speaks in soft voices that we have to lean in to hear. He hides truths inside parables for us to discover. He visits us in dreams. The thrill of uncovering a Hidden Thing is to learn the very heart of God.
Exposing myself to criticism about my abilities as a woodworking craftsman is difficult. However, that is easy compared to letting down my guard with a message that arose from my soul. When the reward for my efforts is an eye roll, mockery, or being ignored – it is painful. If they don’t care, then I feel small. But when it sparks a deeper connection, every risk is worthwhile.
One day, someone will unwrap a piece that I have spent weeks building and without paying attention to what it is, will immediately ask for help flipping it over to search for the Hidden Thing.
On that day, I will know that I’ve shared my heart.
Making Waves is my commitment to take big risks, to be vulnerable, and to contemplate new ways to love God and my neighbor. The Hidden Things are like a post written for only one person.
I invite you to share Hidden Things, whether they are carved into furniture, tucked into a lunchbag, or scribbled on a postcard. The authenticity of the emotion behind the gesture is all that matters.
Perhaps we can find each other and a connection to God in our search for Hidden Things.
