Graven Images

Epiphany 2007

January 9, 2007
I’m still holding out. My antiqued nativity figures still light up the end of my driveway. I didn’t actually finish making them and setting them out until the week of Christmas, so I hate to take them down right away.

Last year my sister mentioned buying a plastic yard nativity and antiquing it. That sounded like a good idea, so I (and my sister-in-law) collected Mary, Joseph, the baby Jesus, the Wise Men, a camel, a sheep, a donkey and a cow.

In early December, I unpacked my nativity and began painting. The process included applying a primer coat of paint, then applying a copper coat and finally adding a dark antique stain that I would rub off with paper towels. This project gave me opportunity to do something with my hands instead of sitting at a keyboard or reading a book.

As I painted, I reflected on the stories and waited for inspiration. I’ve heard monks often pray and meditate while kneading bread, and this seemed like a perfect exercise for reflection while I worked.

But nothing came to me.

I painted, I stained, and I photographed my progress, but somehow the deep insights seemed hidden away. The only thing that came to mind was how the cow reminded me of the golden calf in Exodus. Surely, there must be some other great insight I could gain from this effort. A graven image on display for Christmas doesn’t seem inspirational.

Night after night, I reflected and the graven image idea returned again and again.

Gradually I began to consider what is a graven image? What is an idol? It is a form, a representation and image of the real, but it lacks one vital thing: breath, pneuma, spirit. It’s void of life.

God forbid the ancient Hebrews from creating graven images, and Jeremiah warns that “every man is brutish in his knowledge: every founder is confounded by the graven image: for his molten image is falsehood, and there is no breath in them” (Jeremiah 10:14). Without breath, without spirit, these images are simply forms—not persons.

God is person, and a person cannot be contained in a spiritless image. So when God chose to create an image of Himself, he breathed into it. Created in the image and likeness of God, humans are persons—not graven images. We are vital, living, changing and reproducing beings. When Adam gives birth to Seth the scriptures say, “he fathered a son in his own likeness, after his image.”

Just as God creates humans in His own image and likeness, humans create other humans in their image and likeness. A graven image cannot reproduce. It has no vital life. It has no animating spirit. It is frozen in time.

Each year we revisit the stories of Mary and Joseph through plays, nativities, and Scripture readings. Each year we join them in the journey to Bethlehem. Over time, it may be easy to forget that these were real people with real challenges. They may have lived in a different time and different culture, but they still faced the basic struggles of being human. In other words, they weren’t so very different from us.

And yet, they were caught up into a grand drama that occupies our imagination year after year after year. Our nativities can serve as reminders, signposts or snapshots of a moment in time. But Joseph, Mary and Jesus are not suspended in that moment. They lived, and as they lived they faced all the struggles of living in spite of the miraculous tale.

We face the danger of reducing the Biblical characters to graven images, to mere representations, to 2 dimensional figures in a morality play trying to teach us a lesson. We face the danger of forgetting these are stories about real people. When we do so, they seem to tower above us as some mythical cast of characters who lived divinely inspired lives in spite of their faults.

Yet, in reality, they were humans: real people with real struggles unaware of being caught up in the divine drama. And I suspect, most of us, most of the time live our lives unaware that we are caught up in a divine drama.

Just as God breathed into Adam, he breathed into us. That breath, that pneuma, that animating spirit is a vital, reproducing life bestowed on us by God. We are real persons created in the image and likeness of God. We are not graven images.

Jesus came as the perfect, complete image bearer. Jesus came to restore the image of God in us corrupted by sin. Jesus breathes upon His disciples and tells them, “Receive the Spirit.” He restores the vital, animating life of God within His people.

I fear sometimes that we may not always treat one another as real, vital persons created in the image and likeness of God. Instead, we might at times reduce one another to graven images, to mere representations. So we get angry when someone doesn’t act the way we expect, the way our “image of them” suggests they should act.

We may expect them to perform just as the image in our mind suggests they should perform, but they are not that image. They are real people—separate from us with a unique mind and body and spirit. And it is possible, and in fact probable that they will not always see the world as we do. Just as Paul and Barnabas did not always see eye to eye—neither will we.

As we learn to appreciate the people in our lives, we must give them grace to be the people God created them to be. We must trust that the same Spirit that rose Jesus from the dead, the same Spirit who groans and works within us, is working in them. They are not created in our image but in the image of God.

As we enter the season of Epiphany, we celebrate the revealing of God to the world in the person of Jesus. I would hope we might also celebrate the image of God in the people of God around us. I would hope that we might remember that each of us have been created in the image and likeness of God.

We are not graven images. We are corrupted images. The nativity tells the story of Jesus coming as the perfect image. The cross tells the story of Jesus restoring and redeeming our corrupted images. The resurrection tells the story of Jesus breathing into His images His animating Spirit.

My nativity sits on the hill as a reminder of the difference between graven images and images of God. I am reminded afresh to acknowledge the persons in my life: my family, my friends, the clerk at the store, the officer giving me a speeding ticket, the waitress forgetting to refill my drink. These are not graven images, they are vital, glorious, wondrous images of God—some living in the reality of that redeeming love and others waiting to be embraced and told of that redeeming love.

Unexpected Grace

My neighbors packed up their yard filled with Santas and snowmen. The shopping pages now blast New Year’s Day sales. The world has moved on from its brief fling with Christmas. Yet, those who celebrate the feast continue to roar in the echoing refrain of Glory to God in the highest.

Today is the fifth day of twelve-day feast, rejoicing in the miracle of the Incarnation of our Lord. And then comes Epiphany, an extended season for contemplating and celebrating the manifestation of the Son to the world. For many people in days gone by, Christmas carols would continue throughout Epiphany until February 2nd when the church celebrated the presentation of the Lord in the temple.

This year, my mind returns again and again the God’s coming in a way the no one could have anticipated and in a way that stirs the soul to awe. Here are a few thoughts that attempt to capture one theme that has been heavy in my heart:

The grace of God appears like an unexpected star on an uneventful night. Suddenly, light streams shower from a dark sky, and you step forward into the dawn of a coming Day.

The story of the nativity is the story of nighttime surprises. Gabriel greets an unexpecting Mary with the Word that brings new birth. Joseph’s dream awakens him to father the son of his Father above. The lonely shepherds behold a company of angels inviting them to come and see the Glory of God bursting out of heavens and into the earth. The heavenly drama beckons a few stargazers to leave behind an ancient world and behold the future made present.

While there are lessons to be learned from each story, these stories penetrate deeper than the moral truth of any Aesop’s fable. They illumine the ground upon which we tread. Each year we revisit Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds, and the Wise Men, and one day we might just realize we’re in the middle of the same story.

Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds and the Wise Men are not waiting for an invitation to Bethlehem. They do not anticipate God’s Word of favor to call them forth. Each of them are simply living their lives in the midst of countless other lives and countless other stories. They are not engaged in some heroic work; they are not calling down fire from heaven; they have no particular traits that will cause them to rise above the tapestry of history. Like their mothers and fathers before them, they were born, would live and eventually die with no particular lasting glory.

Suddenly, their common life is interrupted with a glory that exceeds the grasp of earthly minds. Suddenly God’s Word appears like favor, like new birth, like a sword of love that pierces the heart. Suddenly the light of morning grace awakens them, calls them to Bethlehem, and invites them to behold a new Day.

O come let us adore Him.

His glorious Word that sustains every living thing sounds in the cry of that baby in the manger. Halted in their journeys by this tiny vision of divine glory, the travelers can do nothing but worship. No words, no actions, no human ingenuity can add to the moment.

O come let us adore Him. Adore Him.

Jesus comes to dwell among us. Jesus comes to reveal the Father. Jesus comes to save His people from their sins. He enters history at a particular point in time through the womb of Mary. Yet, by His Spirit, He remains in history and continues to bring the Word of life to each of us.

The wondrous invitation to Bethlehem comes without warning and without expectation. In the middle of my dark night, His love surprised me like a sunrise casting its gentle glow over the surface of a black lake. In just a moment, the dark rippling water glowed with yellows and oranges and reds and blues and greens. The dawn overtook the night, and I stepped into the first light of a new Day.

And all I can do is worship.

O come let us adore Him. Adore Him. Adore Him.

I have more essays and reflections that I may or may not write this season. There is much to say and much to do. But at some point, when I pause and consider the splendor of that “wonderful, wonderful Day,” I am speechless. I am overwhelmed. I am falling before Him with a gratefulness that can never match His matchless grace.

O come let us adore Him. Adore Him. Adore Him. O Come let us adore Him.

Joseph's Surprise

Here's another attempt to retell one of the nativity stories. In this short sketch, I was trying to thinking about questions the bible doesn't address like how did Joseph find out about Mary's pregnancy and what happened to the customs of the day? While this is beyond the text, it helped me to see Joseph a real person and not a two-dimensional character.

Surprised by Love

The town gathered in anticipation, excitement: could he be the one? Every birth in the tarnished house of David brought expectation that maybe just maybe the ancient prophecies would come true, and Jesse’s root would bloom once again. Then the royal house of David would once more rule the land, and the darkness of Rome and of Herod’s wicked rule would finally come to an end.

The family waited anxiously for news of the coming baby. Could he be the true Son of David that restores our fallen house? Could he really be the one?

He was not the one.

His father named him Joseph. And he grew in his father’s footsteps, a simple man bearing the quiet dignity of a royal family that had long since lost its status. They were simple people, simple carpenters. And they were faithful. Their lives revolved around God’s precious gift to the His people: the Torah.

Joseph, like his father and like his father’s father, observed Torah. He worshipped the Holy One of Israel. He expressed his devotion through obedience. A man of few words, Joseph’s actions defined his faith. He remained faithful to the ways of the fathers.

In the fullness of time, he looked for a righteous wife from a righteous people. The family must observe Torah. The family must walk in the ways of the Lord. The family must be a trustworthy, holy people. Joseph found such a family. And within that family, he found Mary.

Joseph’s family and Mary’s family entered into covenant. They celebrated the betrothal between Joseph and Mary. As the time of feasting came to a close, Joseph took Mary by the hands, looked her in the eyes and proclaimed, “I am going now to prepare a place for you, but I will come again and take you into my house.”

As Joseph and his family traveled home, an excitement danced in the air. He began to dream. Soon his life would be transformed: his house would be a place joy overflowing with children. This poor man would treat Mary as a princess. The royal blood of the House of David would still shine in their simple life and their simple home.

Months passed and one night Mary’s brother suddenly appeared at Joseph’s home. Marked with the anguished look of a man bearing news that split through his heart, he tried to speak. Joseph assumed the worst: “Is Mary dead?”

“No. She’s with child.” Falling to his knees, her brother began weeping and begging for mercy upon her and the family.

Stunned, Joseph stumbled to the floor.

Soon he began weeping as though Mary really has died. God’s surprise appearance in Joseph’s life was unexpected and unwelcome.

He grieved for the betrayal. He grieved for the dreams now dead He grieved for her family who could not escape her shame He even grieved for her.

He wanted to spare them, yet the Torah constrained Joseph to act in certain ways. How could he act faithfully and yet with mercy toward her family? The dismissal would be a quiet affair. No trial. No public shame.

A weak and weary man lay to sleep that night with a heart torn between betrayal and compassion. His sleep offered no respite. Suddenly his room lit up like the Eastern sky at sunrise and an angel of the Lord appeared in his dream, “Son of David!”

These three words resounded deep within his soul, deep within his blood, deep within his family, and Joseph woke up for the first time in his life.

His family bore the shame of a fallen house. “Son of David” echoed through his soul. It came as a blessing, a song of deliverance. It came as a surprise of love. In these words of life, God’s “hesed,” his lovingkindess, his unrestrained mercy, his unfathomable love brought life to Joseph.

“Do not be afraid to take to you Mary your wife, for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit. And she will bring forth a Son, and you shall call His name Jesus, for he will save His people from their sins.”

Joseph arose.

The once dead root, now stirred. God called Joseph forth, and he obeyed. His heart burned from the visitation, from the word of God. And now his mind now raced with a flood of dreams, memories and new responsiblities.

For some reason an old legend about Moses’ father captured his imagination. A similar dream, a similar visitation, a similar command, “For he will save the Hebrews from their bondage in Egypt.” Moses’ father faithfully and quietly obeyed. He received no earthly glory and simply faded into the shadows, and yet his faithfulness made a way for the redemption of God’s people.

Now Joseph has been offered a similar commission.

A loved burned in his heart for Mary and for the baby within her womb. He would lay down his life for them. From now on, his life would be in service of their life. He would name the child “Jesus.” And by naming him, he would legally claim Jesus as his own child.

As the Son of David, Joseph would obey the commission of God and make way for the long awaited, true Son of David to come forth, restoring David’s fallen house and restoring God’s people.

The time, the time, the time. He must hurry.

In a moment, he’s running. Running to his parents’ house, alerting them that there’s going to be a wedding. While he makes no mention of the baby, he explains the Lord told him the wedding must happen right away. Soon the whole town is percolating with energy as everyone joins in the preparation.

Then a few nights later, Joseph dresses in the full regalia of the bridegroom. Flowers and robe flowed around him. The Son of David goes to claim his bride.

The wedding party slips away in the middle of the night with torches, music, dancing and celebration.

He appears at Mary’s family’s house like a thief in the night.

Mary’s grieving family had awaited his appearing for days with terror. They feared the trial, the public shame, the end of their family name. Their feared the curse over their poor, foolish daughter.

But Joseph doesn’t show up as the judge. He comes as the bridegroom to claim his bride.

[springlist] God' little move

O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.

When the hopes and fears of all the years finally does show up, he shows up in the little town of Bethlehem. He arrives at the most inopportune time. Joseph and Mary are in the middle of a traveling—not too fun for Mary. The innkeepers have no idea he’s coming, so they’re no prepared.

His parents find refuge in an animal stable that was most likely underground in some cave. The stench probably revolted a pregnant mother and simply added to her miserable condition.

There are no grand parades. No key to the city. No international commission. God sends a sky full of angels to alert a few shepherds keeping watch. Then he sends a sign to some pagan stargazers that a king has been born. Everyone else misses the big announcement.

God makes the most dramatic intervention into human affairs in the history of the world, and He does so in a small, almost unnoticeable way. The Savior appears. He reveals himself in little and lowly places. He comes unexpectedly to unexpected people, and he fulfills expectations of all the ages.

And yet, we continue to expect God to show up in the big, the dramatic, and the exciting. We expect God’s action in our life to be larger than life. It isn’t.

A silent, shuddering voice stirs us, awakens us and in the midst of our problems, our frustrations, our longing for change, we cry out for God to come—not realizing it is His nudge that caused us to cry out in the first place.

The God who loves to surprise the world with little graces is coming to your heart. He is coming to transform you and transform the world. Instead of demanding He perform His life-changing work in a bold, dramatic and even entertaining way, why not bow and simply pray gently, “Let it be unto me O Lord, according to your word.”

Who knows what the Sovereign of Surprise might birth in you?