“A church that does not provoke any crisis, preach a gospel that does not unsettle, proclaim a word of God that does not get under anyone's skin or a word of God that does not touch the real sin of the society in which it is being proclaimed: what kind of gospel is that?”
-Oscar Romero
 
            When was the last time you felt unsettled by God or the gospel you believe?  As I think about how I, personally, would answer that question, I find myself unsettled but by something else.  I find myself unsettled by how seldom my God and my faith unsettle me. 
 
            When I open the Word, I find story after story of a God and a message from God that unsettle.  The old couple Abram and Sarai are told they were going to have a baby, and then, some years later, Abraham is called to kill this baby.  God shows up to Moses in a burning bush that doesn’t burn up, and then calls him to do the impossible in Egypt.  Ezekiel was called to preach to dried out bones, Hosea to marry a whore.  Then, the Son of God comes, and over and over and over again, he unsettles. 
           
            But, here am I: all so often very settled.  And that unsettles me.  My assumption is something like that God’s unsettling happened “back then,” about 2000 years ago, and that those waves have settled by now.  We, the 21st century American church, have things figured out so much so that our God and our gospel hardly need to unsettle anymore.  
 
            But, is it really the case that the Lord of all the universe is no bull in the china shop of my life?  Is it really the case that the eternal Word of God enters my heart just to sit down quietly, have tea, and read a book, but not to turn over any tables?  Is it really true that there really isn’t all that much in me that needs unsettled, challenged, and transformed?
 
            Maybe the problem is that I am not really listening.  Maybe I am not in the word enough, and not enough in the word in the right way.  Maybe I am not really listening to my neighbors, or listening to the teachings of Christ deeply enough, when he calls me to forgive everyone I know 490 times, turn the other cheek, give the shirt off my back, show hospitality to strangers, feed the hungry, wash others’ feet, preach to outcasts, and take up my cross.  Maybe the same unsettling God and gospel of the Bible are at hand in my world too, if I only sit still long enough to listen.

            A new year and a new decade arrive on our doorsteps Wednesday.  Can you believe it’s going to be 2020?  Most of the questions we get asked this time of the year have to do with our hopes and our plans: What are your goals? and What are you looking forward to?  But I’d like to offer a different question: What are your fears going into this new year?  
 
            There are plenty of things to fear on the threshold of a new year.  We have fears about a child now a teenager, an old health problem flaring up, a savings account dwindling, or a marriage that is on the rocks.  A new year reminds some of us of our mortality, that there are more new years and new decades behind us than in front of us.  Still others of us recall loved ones whose hands we won’t be holding this New Year’s Eve.  Far from being a time of excitement and hope, a new year may be a terrible reminder of everything that has or might go wrong.  Does the gospel have a word to offer us who are confronted now by so many fears? 
 
            When God raised Jesus from the dead he opened up a new and good future to us.  In the resurrection we have proof that God is still at work in the world and that he will see all things through to his desired end for them.  This means a few things.  One, it means that the hardships of this life and the things we fear will not have the last word in our lives or in our world—God will.  And it also means that God is still at work in the world now, opening up new and good endings for all his creatures, including each of us.
 
            To be sure, there are no guarantees that hardships or even death won’t meet us in the year to come.  The resurrection does not promise us that life will be a bed of roses.  Instead, the gospel proclaims to us that whatever difficult or truly terrible thing might come our way, it will not be the final word for us.  In the end, God will win, and he will see to it that his purposes come to pass.  The gospel also means that in a new year we can expect the unexpected, that is, that we can learn not to count God out of our stories, but to anticipate that he will show up and work in them even if we do not know exactly how. 
 
            In a few days we will step into a new year together, and, if we’re honest with ourselves, we bring with us many old fears.  At a time like this, the gospel reminds us that although the future is unknown, it is not uncertain.  God has guaranteed how the story will end, and in the meantime he promises to be with us in our stories.  If all of this is so, then a new year does not have to be defined by fear, worry, and doubt.  Rather, a new year can be defined by hope as we have confidence that God is sovereign over all things and that he will show up in our lives in new and good ways in the year to come.

    A few weeks ago my family and I stayed overnight with some friends out of town.  As soon as we had gone into their home and set our bags down, our hostess brought out some gifts she had gotten for our daughter: a coloring book, some markers, and a stuffed animal.  There was no occasion for these gifts; it was not our daughter’s birthday or another holiday.  Our hostess had gotten these gifts for our daughter simply because she wanted to.  Watching these gifts be given by our hostess and received by our daughter at the very beginning of our visit made a big impression on me, and set the tone for the time we would spend with them.​

    Many people suppose that when God meets us his first word to us must be something like “Stop it!” or “Do better!”  We imagine that God has had it up to here with our messes, and that if we are to stay in his home, if he is to do anything for us, then we must agree and adapt to his terms and conditions.  First, we suppose, we must earn God’s favor by our obedience.

    But this is not the God I read about in the Bible.  In the Bible, I read of a God who creates a good world and gives our lives to us in that world as a gift.  I read of a God who rescues a helpless people out of slavery and gives them a place to call home as a gift.  I read of a God who shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners he sent his Son to die for us as a gift (Rom. 5:8).  God has instructions and commands, he wants to make us holy as he is holy, but first—and always first—he gives us a gift. 

    The gift of gifts that God gives is himself: his Son “who, though he was in the form of God . . . emptied himself . . . taking the form of a servant, [and] being born in the likeness of men . . . humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death” (Phil. 2:6-8), and his Holy Spirit, the Helper, by whom God makes his home in us (John 14:15-24).  Yes, we must eventually learn to give ourselves back to God and to give ourselves to others, but our giving will be impossible unless we first receive what God has given.

    This week, as we reflect on the birth of Christ, our first duty as believers is to receive the gift of God.  That means that before we do and give and serve and act for God and for others we must receive God from God.  Until we do this (and learn to do this over and over again) we are doomed to frustration, burnout, and competition in our attempts to obey.  We must remember that God’s first word to us was not a commandment or an ultimatum, but was his Word that became flesh, dwelt among us, and died for us (John 1:1-5, 14).  Thank God that first, before he had given us his commandments and before we had become holy as he is holy, God gave us the gift of himself.  May that gift make a deep and lasting impression on us, and may it set the tone for all that follows in our lives.

    December is the month of gift-giving. Many of us will wear ourselves out trying to think of perfect gifts for friends and family. Some of us will nearly empty our checking accounts in order to purchase things for others. A few of us may even strike out with some of the things we give that we thought were good ideas only to realize too late they were not. ​

    1 Corinthians 13 is the Bible’s great chapter on love, and the first three verses of that chapter always knock the wind out of me. The claims in these verses are some of the boldest in all of scripture. There, Paul writes, “If I give away all I have . . . but have not love, I gain nothing.” 

    I do not think that Paul had the month of December in mind when he wrote these words, but I do find this verse to be appropriate reading for this time of the year—a time of year when we give a lot of things. Perhaps, as we begin this month of gift-giving, this verse merits our reflection.

    The perfect, most expensive, or ingenious gifts you give to others this season won’t mean much without love. We know this, I know, but it is worth remembering. Please don’t take this bulletin article as warrant to skip the gifts this year (I’ll have all the kids in the church mad at me if you do), but we must remember that our children, our spouses, our friends, and our families do not need more stuff: they need love. They need our attention, our energy, our smile, our time, and our words. 

    I hope you are able to give gifts this season and to know the joy of giving a good gift. I hope your gifts are thoughtful and meaningful and meet the needs of the ones to whom you give, and that you don’t strike out. But more than all this, I hope that whatever you give, you give love.