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.

       I recently saw a church marquee that read "Because the tomb is empty, the church should be full." At first glance I get it, and I appreciate the clever play on words. I also can sympathize with the Marquee Changers of the world who struggle to express coherent and quality thoughts in such limited space. (If you thought tweeting was hard, try that!) Although this quip earns points for catchiness, it's nonetheless false.
 
      As I've dug into the resurrection over the last several weeks preparing for my sermon series on this topic, I'm more than ever convinced that "the empty tomb" is not at the heart of our faith. On the one hand, I understand the sentiment being expressed here without being a jerk literalist. But on the other hand, I think that something crucial is missing from an empty tomb.
 
      A closer look at the Gospels reveals just how little the discovery of an empty tomb changes. At best (even with the messengers explaining that Jesus had risen!) the women and the disciples leave there with a little excitement and a lot of bewilderment concerning what these things meant; at worst, they leave in sadness and fear (Mark 16:8; John 20:11). The scenes following depict the disciples struggling to believe this news (Mark 16:14) and hiding behind locked doors (John 20:19). Little is changed.
 
      If the empty tomb changes nothing, then what does? The answer: meeting the resurrected Lord. It's only then in the Gospels that the disciples' lives are transformed. Doubt persists (Matt. 28:17), but without encountering the risen Christ there is no transformation. It makes me wonder: Perhaps the skeptics of the resurrection of the last few centuries are on to something when they mull over the empty tomb and are left with speculation and bewilderment. That just so happens to be what an empty tomb left the earliest disciples with, too.
 
      The issue today is not whether one knows the tomb is empty, but whether one has met the resurrected Lord. The resurrection is not solely about the absence of death found in the empty tomb, but the presence of life. The empty tomb simply leaves space for this living Lord. A similar critique might be leveled at Christians today: Christianity is not about a mere lack of death, but the presence of life to the full.
 
      In sum, then, it's fair to ask where one is most likely to meet this risen Jesus. Many answers might be given, but one will suffice. Paul tells us in 1 Corinthians 12 that Jesus has a body still present on the earth, and his body continues to live and serve today. That body is the church, and if one seeks an encounter with the living Lord, then being in community with his people is a good place to start.

"We, though many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another."
Romans 12:5
 
            God has designed us for community, and there is no community more essential to our lives than our Christian family, the church. God's design for Christians is that our lives would be intimately intertwined into one.
 
            A body needs all its members and all its members need the body. For a body to thrive to its potential, it needs its members. For the members to thrive to their potentials, they need the body. It's a two-way street. Most of us easily buy into how this plays out in one direction, namely, that for the body to be its best, all the members need to be doing their parts. The church can only be all we can be when everyone joins together and does his/her role.
 
            But this works in the other direction too. For the members to be the best they can be, they need the body. We can only be all we can be when we are serving in our rightful roles in the church. God has designed you for community, and therefore, in order for you to find your true identity and purpose in life, in order for you to realize your fullest potential, and in order for you to be the best you possible, you need to be intimately intertwined into a body of believers.
 
            So, what does "intimately intertwined into a body of believers" look like in real life? It looks like being here to hold the communion tray for the mother trying to wrangle kids in the pew with you. It looks like showing up on workdays to do the pedantic tasks of preparation and repair that our facilities need. It looks like giving a call or dropping a note to the elderly man who isn't in his usual spot this morning. It looks like showers, and Bible classes, small groups, and informal get-togethers. It looks like family, and we want you to be part of it.

"But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed."
Isaiah 53:5
 
            Bumps, bruises, and bangs, scratches, scrapes, and sprains—all our bodies have been battered to varying degrees. We stub our toes, nick our knuckles, bite our tongues, and throw our backs out of place. For all this, our bodies remain incredibly resilient to the damage done them. Our scars are proofs that we've recovered from many hurts along the way.
 
            My hurts are my hurts, and your hurts are yours. If you break an arm I can "feel your pain" in many metaphorical ways, but my arm will remain unbroken. In like manner, your ability to heal from that fracture will be your own. As healthy and unbroken as my arm is, I cannot transfer any of its wellbeing to you.
 
            As fixed of realities as these are, God chose to get around them one time—not in his favor, but in ours. God chose to reverse the pronouns, so that what was ours is his and what was his is ours. Jesus took upon himself the wounds that we deserve and gave to us the blessings he deserved. His scars are proofs of our healing, as the song says,
 
"Why should I gain from his reward? I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart his wounds have paid my ransom."