instrument of incarnation

During this season of Advent, I have had a heightened sense of anticipation about the arrival of the newborn King. As I have had the privilege of being involved in worship planning for our Advent services at Immanuel, as I have listened intently to my pastor's thought-provoking sermons, as I have read Scripture aloud in worship, as I have listened to choirs sing, as I have sat quietly alone in a beautifully decorated sanctuary during my morning devotions, the story of Christ's birth has fallen freshly upon my ears. With childlike wonder I have been struck by the vibrancy of the story. As Mary contemplated all the events surrounding the birth of her precious son, Luke tells us that she "treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart" (Luke 2:19). Like Mary, I have been doing a lot of pondering these days.

One morning this week I came across these words in Calvin Miller's The Christ of Christmas: Readings for Advent: "How much convincing does it really take to share with someone the blessings of Christmas? The world rarely responds to our profound arguments. It is rarely moved by our wise perspectives, even when we present them well. It is more often won by our thoughtfulness than our theology. It is more often drawn to God by His presence in our lives than by our persuasion. It is our Christ, not our creed, which captures people's hearts." In his concluding prayer, Miller wrote: "Lord, make me an instrument of your incarnation. Live in me until my life is so submerged in Yours that I am invisible. Wherever I go, whatever I do, may I hear those around me breathe the word Immanuel, suggesting that I am nothing and You are everything."

What does it look like to be an instrument of incarnation? That's what I'm pondering today.

career choices

This evening when I was on a quest to find a particular memento in my childhood scrapbook, I discovered the "Career Planning Report" I received in the ninth grade after taking a differential aptitude test. According to this informative report, my first choice of career goals was in the "Literary and Legal" group. "The occupational group which you name fits well with the school subjects and activities that you like," the report stated. "It also matches your educational plans and your tested aptitudes. On the basis of these facts, it looks like an occupational field which is a good match for your abilities and interests."

With great interest, I flipped the report over to learn which careers fell within the "Literary and Legal" group. Five choices were offered: book critic, librarian, editor, lawyer, and reporter. While I did aspire to be a reporter for a stretch during my childhood - when I was in the sixth grade I briefly published a newspaper that featured my own reporting on major league baseball games, with a strong emphasis on the Cincinnati Reds - I never considered any of the other four options.

Curious, I began to read through the groups of jobs and occupations listed on the back of the report to see which category "pastor" fell into, and I was surprised to discover that no ministerial career options were included at all. The closest thing I could find was the "Education and Human Welfare" category, which included: school teacher, college professor, guidance counselor, social worker, and clinical psychologist. I never considered any of those options either, despite the influence of my mother (school teacher) and my father (college professor).

I found the following instructive words in the report's fine print: "Remember that this report tells you how things look at the present time, and that your interests and goals may change." Indeed. I imagine that the percentage of high school freshmen who accurately predict their career path is fairly low. Not only may their interests and goals change over time, but they may discover career options that have never been on their radar screens - or their career planning reports. Thanks be to God, who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us (Eph. 3:20).

The Christ of Christmas

In my devotions during Advent, I am using The Christ of Christmas: Readings for Advent by Dr. Calvin Miller. I had Dr. Miller for five classes at Beeson Divinity School - three preaching classes, one on church leadership, and a memorable course called "The Writing Minister." At the beginning of today's devotion on Luke 1:28-30, Dr. Miller writes: "A God big enough to make you afraid is powerful enough to accomplish all He is about to ask of you."

Do not be afraid, the Lord insists. That's easier said than done, I respond. The prayer that accompanies today's devotion speaks to anyone who has wrestled with feelings of inadequacy in the wake of God's call: "Lord, may I quit trying to figure out the mathematics of grace. You have chosen me because it is Your nature to use the bewildered. And that is enough for me. What would you have me to do?"

The Griever's Holiday Bill of Rights

Tonight I attended a very helpful and meaningful program at Alive Hospice about "Grief and the Holidays." During the program, grief counselor John Baker shared "The Griever's Holiday Bill of Rights":

1. You have the right to say "TIME OUT!" any time you need to.

2. You have a right to TELL IT LIKE IT IS.

3. You have a right to SOME "BAH HUMBUG" DAYS.

4. You have a right to DO THINGS DIFFERENTLY.

5. You have a right to BE WHERE YOU WANT TO BE.

6. You have a right to SOME FUN!

7. You have a right to CHANGE DIRECTION IN MID-STREAM.

8. You have a right to DO THINGS AT DIFFERENT TIMES.

9. You have a right to REST, PEACE, and SOLITUDE.

10. You have the right to DO IT ALL DIFFERENTLY AGAIN NEXT YEAR.

Boulevard Bolt

Last week I had my first experience with the Boulevard Bolt. This Nashville Thanksgiving Day tradition got its start in 1994, when a core group of folks from Immanuel Baptist Church, St. George's Episcopal Church, and The Temple Congregation Ohabai Sholom decided to collaborate to sponsor a race to raise money for Nashville's homeless community. This 5-mile race initially attracted 2,500 participants; this year 8,025 men, women, and children registered for the race - the largest number in the event's history. Through the years the Boulevard Bolt has donated over $1.2 million in grants to community agencies that assist the homeless, including Safe Haven Family Shelter, an organization my family has supported for many years.

As I worked at the registration table in Immanuel's Fellowship Hall four days last week, I had the opportunity to interact with an extraordinary assembly of volunteers from these three Belle Meade congregations. As I gave participants their race numbers, I learned that the Bolt has become a tradition for many families - an event they look forward to throughout the year. I registered several extended families, including one with 15 members. The "I came the longest distance to run" award goes to a young woman named Rachel, a Nashville native who now serves as a missionary in Guatemala.

On Thanksgiving morning, Paul, Chaney, and I reported for duty at the chip distribution tent at 5:30 a.m. As we pulled away from Belle Meade Boulevard several hours later, I marveled at the army of volunteers who had given of their time sacrificially to make this event possible. Without a doubt, the Bolt was the best part of my Thanksgiving weekend.

I confess that now I'm hooked. What an extraordinary event! I am grateful to the individuals from Immanuel, St. George's, and The Temple who took the initiative and chose to work together years ago to establish a race to help the homeless. Next year I look forward to volunteering to work the Boulevard Bolt once again - and this time I plan on walking it, too.

the Tambi heritage tour

Last Thursday afternoon I headed west - not very far though, just a two-hour drive to my birthplace: Jackson, Tennessee. My ultimate destination on Friday morning was Memphis, where I had arranged to spend some time gleaning wisdom from my friend Carol, who has been serving as the associate pastor of First Baptist Memphis for nine years. I planned to stay overnight in Jackson, so that I could visit with my son's lovely girlfriend at Union University and spend time with relatives who still call Jackson home.

While in Jackson, I embarked upon a brief, memory-laden tour of the city of my birth. I drove past our former homes on Grandview, Highland, and Hollywood. I cruised by the three elementary schools I attended: Andrew Jackson, Highland Park, Alexander. (Why I attended three schools in five years is another story.) I sought out the site of my birth, Jackson-Madison County General Hospital, as well as the old campus of Union University, where I spent the first months of my infancy living in Ellis Hall, the men's dorm where Mom and Dad served as dorm parents. I passed by my maternal grandparents' home on Skyline Drive, where for one stretch of time in the late 60s my family of five - with #6 on the way - lived in obviously cramped quarters with my grandparents and uncle. I returned to the former downtown location of First Baptist Church: the site of my parents' wedding, the church I attended for the first eleven years of my life; the place where I made a public confession of my faith in Jesus Christ and was baptized in the winter of 1974.

I was struck by the odd collection of memories that came flooding back during my far-too-brief heritage tour: hanging upside down from the branch of a dogwood tree in my grandparents' front yard; my New Year's Day stroll to a market with my best friend Jean to spend the silver dollar my great-grandmother gave me for Christmas on a "book" of Lifesavers; the soft bonnet hair dryer I was using as a kindergartner on the day when the earthquake shook my bedroom; my sister's ballerina necklace that I hurled onto a window ledge; the grilled cheese sandwiches my mother used to buy me on our post-kindergarten lunch dates at Woolworth's; the pleasurable walks with my Dad from his office on Union's campus to the public library.

Soren Kierkegaard observed, "Life must be lived forward, but can only be understood backwards." I have been doing a lot of looking backwards in the past few months, and the understanding I have gleaned propels me forward. I am grateful to God for my past and eagerly anticipating the future.

delicious autumn

A few days before my mother died, while I was seeking to pass the time while waiting and watching at my parents' house, I grew antsy. I felt the need to do something, to accomplish a task, even if it was insignificant. And so I began to sort through a wooden filing box that my mother kept in the kitchen near the phone. In this box I found a variety of items - an assortment of photos of her grandchildren, expired coupons, take out menus, recipes, my son's 7th grade awards day program, and a card from the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library & Museum.

The thing that caught my eye as I sorted through this random collection, though, was a page that my Mom had ripped from a magazine. The page featured the words of novelist George Eliot superimposed over a spectacular fall photo: "Delicious autumn. My very soul is wedded to it. And if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns." I immediately stopped my sorting and emailed this memorable quotation to my son, who - like his mother - prefers autumn over any other season.

Yesterday Chaney posted his newest creative project on his website - a short video that features an array of photographs that he had taken over the past few weeks in East Tennessee in an attempt to capture God's autumnal artistry. When I watched it, I smiled as George Eliot's words appeared on my MacBook, superimposed over my son's photographs of fall foliage. Delicious autumn, indeed.