Joy & Light

   Is it the most wonderful time of the year? Is it, really? According to my personal research, nobody over the age of 13 seems to think so. It was an informal study, but still. Data is data.

   Christmas is an odd beast for several reasons, not the least of which being how many details of its modern form are relevant only to the very youngest among us. Santa Claus, for instance. How long is the average length of belief in this mythical character? The first five years of human life? Maybe six? By seven, surely, the kill-joy agents of growing up begin to circle and dubiously ask, “Aren’t you a little old to believe in Santa?”

   Yet, culturally speaking, Santa Claus is so central to the Christmas season that there are movies on movies on movies expanding on his narrative and the associated “magic of Christmas” which do not mention any religious context for the holiday, whatsoever.

   (I’ll go ahead and slow this roll a moment to assure you that, no, I am not teeing up for a Christ-in-Christmas rant. This essay is not against anything. I have no bone to pick with Santa Claus. Well I do, but that’s a whole other essay and it’s not what you think.)

   What I’m driving at is the stark schism between Christmas in childhood and Christmas in adulthood. You can see it so clearly in the eyes of parents as they watch their children tear into gifts with gleeful abandon. It’s a look that is both gratified and hungry; gratified that they have managed to stoke their young ones’ sense of wonder, and for the opportunity to borrow a piece of that wonder for themselves. Hungry, because they can’t get the fullness of that wonder back.

   We get older, and the holidays become complicated. The season no longer feels separate and special. The tensions we carry throughout the year, cultural, familial, and personal, still exist in December; and no amount of roasting chestnuts or jingle bells seems to make them disappear. If anything, we become even more aware of our sadness by its aching juxtaposition with a celebration defined by joy.  

So we retreat into our traditions.

   Cookies, trees, candlelight, and yes: Santa Claus. Anything and everything that reminds us of being too small to look around and realize that “hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth, good will to men.” We bury ourselves in Bing Crosby and stilted stop-motion reindeer. Our traditions become our constants, and we feel a little lost when an element of the ritual is lost. Somebody moves house, a decoration is thrown out, a loved one passes, and suddenly nothing feels right anymore. We lose another piece of Christmas, and we can’t get it back.

   This unstable quality of Christmas traditions has been a source of great frustration to me for many years. What shall we do, if even Bing Crosby cannot save us? Where can we turn? Is there any sure way of feeling that the world is right? That Christmastime is, in fact, here?

   I believe there is. This essay is on the liturgical season of Advent.

   Over the past year, especially the past six months, I have had an increasing interest in High Church practices. Much of this is driven by a wider interest in the full spectrum of scripture-based Christianity, given that I was raised in the narrowly southern evangelical Bible Belt and have little formal knowledge of other denominations’ styles and observances. But even more than that, there is an anciently poignant quality to liturgy that always stirs up in my soul something I can only describe as the kinship among the saints. The outpouring of the Holy Spirit has always been the same, and I can feel Him in the old writings and chants just the same as I do singing Hillsong on Sunday morning. I’m sure this is a very common experience for mature believers, but it’s new to me and my mind is still super blown.

   This is in no small part due to the tendency of mainstream American Christianity to fall back on our favorite lifestyle philosophy, Rugged Individualism™. Your faith is between you and God, and everybody else can knock right off. Furthermore, we seem to feel an almost entrepreneurial pressure to walk out this Personal Faith® with avant garde creativity, innovating constantly and imitating no one. It’s an odd thought to us, praying something somebody else has prayed before. Doesn’t that mean throwing out authenticity altogether? And what about all of the things that the Church has been wrong about? Didn’t you know that Jesus wasn’t even born on December 25th?

   Hooh, boy. If that isn’t the favorite. Yes, dear friends, Jesus was not born on December 25th. Judging from a few key details, particularly the fact that the infamous shepherds were out with their flocks, it was likely (say it with me!) mid-to-late September. Furthermore, much of what we consider Christmas decorations and traditions were originally associated with pagan winter solstice festivals and became integrated into the Christmas cliche as the religion spread. That’s right, your mistletoe is Celtic magic.

Merry Christmas, ya filthy heathens.

   So why are we still doing the whole December 25th thing? We all know it’s wrong, your smug cousin alone has shared enough memes to educate the whole of Western Christianity. Yet here we are again each year, merry and bright as ever. Why is that? This may come as a shock to Cousin Devon, but it turns out the celebration of Jesus’ nativity has absolutely nothing to do with throwing the Lord a dope birthday party. We symbolically celebrate Christ’s coming on the 25th of December because of the liturgical calendar. Advent begins at the start of December, Christmastide begins on the 24th, and Epiphany comes twelve days after. Later on is Lent, and then Easter. It’s an annual rhythm with beginnings in the apostolic age of the first century, and while it certainly has not been permanently fixed, you can hear the echoes of the early believers in every ritual and tradition.

   That’s why we do it. Tradition. It’s the way we’ve all been doing it for as long as any of us can remember, so we’re going to keep on doing it. And you know what? That doesn’t have to be a bad thing.    

   The Spirit of God is an amazing Being, always in a perpetual state of renewing and revealing. We see this phenomenon first and foremost applied to scripture, but it also comes into play with the writings, habits, and practices of the Church throughout the ages. Is the liturgical calendar as essential to Christian living as the Bible itself? We’re going to go with, “no.” However, there is a true sacredness to the observances of the saints that, when illuminated by the Spirit, can reach down into our souls and pull heaven that much closer to earth.

    For me, at least recently, one of the most powerful aspects of these traditions is the acute awareness that there was a time when they did not exist. We so take for granted being born into a world that has Christmas. The first chapters of Luke are concrete fixtures of our reality, remembered by our parents’ parents being sincerely lisped by Linus under a hand-painted spotlight. Yet they have not always been.

The season of Advent reminds us that there was a time before.

   There was a time when being in right relationship to God meant the constant, nationwide striving of a people to remain pure. Since the Fall, this standard was precarious at best; difficult to attain and always temporary. But the Lord saw the hopelessness of His people, and He promised to save them.

“I see Him, but not now;

   I behold Him, but not near.

A star will come out of Jacob;

   a scepter will rise out of Israel.”

   Numbers 24:17

“But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah,

   though you are small among the clans of Judah,

out of you will come for Me

   One who will be ruler over Israel,

Whose origins are from of old,

   from ancient times.”

   Micah 5:2

   “Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel.”

   Isaiah 7:14

   Immanuel meaning, of course, “God with us.” The Old Testament prophets foretold a king who would bring the presence of God to the world, permanently. The chasm between creation and Creator would finally be closed, and we would once again be whole. The weight of sin, “the yoke that burdens them, the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor,” would be shattered (Isa. 9:4).

   For thousands of years, the people waited for this Messiah. For around 450, the Intertestamental Period (“deuterocanonical” for our Catholic and Eastern Orthodox friends), they waited in silence. One can only imagine how disheartening it was, generation after generation, to long for the fulfillment of such a promise: That Emmanuel would come to ransom captive Israel.

   And then, all at once, the Son of God appeared.

   It began with the angel Gabriel’s visitation to Zechariah, Jesus’ relative, promising a son who would “go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the parents to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous—to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.” (Luke 1:17). Less than six months later, Mary received a message from Gabriel as well.

   “‘You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call Him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give Him the throne of His father David, and He will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; His kingdom will never end.’”

   Luke 1:31-33

   The first chapter of Luke is absolutely packed with rejoicing. When Mary goes to visit her cousin Elizabeth, who was well into her own pregnancy with Jesus’ cousin John, she immediately recognizes that Mary is carrying the Messiah and breaks into praise. Mary responds with a spontaneous song overflowing with delight and awe at God’s faithfulness, recalling the promises made to her ancestors that were now, of all things, being fulfilled through her. Zechariah also sings at the birth of his son John, prophesying over the near arrival of the Savior:

“‘Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel,

   because He has come to His people and redeemed them.

He has raised up a horn of salvation for us

   in the house of His servant David

(as He said through His holy prophets of long ago).’”

   Luke 1:68-70

   The time comes for Jesus to be born, and through a bit of bureaucratic inconvenience He is, indeed, born in Bethlehem. An angel appears to nearby shepherds (the ones with the flocks, remember?) and delivers one of the most famous speeches of all time:

“I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people.”

   “Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord.”

Luke 2:10-11

   A little later the magi from the east come as well, having read the signs foretold by the prophets that the True King has arrived. Matthew 2:10 says that when they realized they had found Him, they were overjoyed.

   When Jesus is brought to be consecrated in the temple, He is met by two elderly prophets: Simeon and Anna. Both had been awaiting the coming of the Savior their entire lives, and both had the incomprehensible privilege of beholding Him with their own eyes and speaking the word of God over Him (Luke 2:22-38).

   When we sing about joy coming to the world, this is what we mean. A heart-bursting excitement, an uncontainable hum of delight that all of heaven and nature sings: That Christ had come to make His blessings known, to wipe out the curse of sin and death as far as it is found. These names and phrases can become so familiar to us that we forget that Jesus’ birth changed everything.    

   “Yet to all who did receive Him, to those who believed in His name, He gave the right to become children of God— children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.

   The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us. We have seen His glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.”

   John 1:12-14

   After years of silence and waiting on a word from God, the Word Himself came to us. After years of striving to reach God through the barrier of the Fall, He broke through the barrier to bring us back, and the first blow was struck in the Great Offensive against Death and Darkness. The age-old anxiety, “How shall we please God?” was answered in the form of a baby born to a no-name girl in a no-name town in a no-name nation, exactly as promised. And thus, the hopes and fears of all the years were indeed met that night, likely in mid-to-late September, in the little town of Bethlehem.

So we celebrate,

starting four Sundays out from the 25th of December.

   Already the sun is sliding out of sight closer to 5PM than any of us are comfortable with, and every year it seems so hard to believe that it’s happened the same way all the years before. My friends with seasonal depression tuck their heads down and try to ignore the gnawing sense of Not Enough Light. I, too, have found myself struggling through the shorter days. As I drive down the dark road, having only just finished work, the unease bubbles in the back of my throat. I obsessively cycle through everything not done yet, everything that could go wrong, and everything I wish I could get to but know I won’t because the daylight is being steadily stolen away from me. This is what December is like in adulthood: Not enough time, not enough energy, not enough you. The year begins to feel cramped, barren, faded, and used up.

   And then we drag into the mix one of the most significant holy days of the entire church year, which again has absolutely nothing to do with when Christ was actually born. It’s easy to become irritated with the current state of affairs. What is the purpose of a chronologically inaccurate celebration blended with pagan rituals and symbols? Does that alone ruin Christmas? Or should we also pile on the indignity of commercialism? The desecrating effects of cultural appropriation? Is there anything of true worthiness left here?

   Of course there is.

   God has not abandoned Christmas to its cultural assimilation to the American dream, nor has He abandoned it to the encroaching dusk. He is not dead, nor does He sleep. What could be a more fitting setting for us to remember the time before the Messiah’s birth and to look for His second coming than the winter solstice?

   “When the wind is coldest, and the sky darkest, we’re invited to experience anew the warmth and light that’s existed all along.”

    Amanda Bible Williams

   As I wrote in my last essay, Save the Cat!, it’s been my experience that God reveals Himself most perfectly through contrast. How better for us to comprehend the revolutionary moment of the Light entering darkness than to endure the long winter night? How better for us to truly grasp and rejoice over the truth that “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5)

   Has not, will not, cannot.

   There was a time when all of creation was cramped, barren, faded, and used up; and then, all at once, a thrill of hope. Glad tidings and great joy. Unto us, a Savior was born. And now, every December, we can all gather together around this Light of the World to celebrate His arrival and anticipate His return.

   And this is why I have come to dearly love the Advent season. It’s a time of hope and wonder, of leaning into the thin places where eternity draws close. It’s a vital exercise in gratefulness and awe. It’s a much-needed touchstone of familiarity, of comfort and joy. The beauty of Advent, and the liturgical calendar at large, is the gentle rhythm of remembrance and renewal. When seen in the right light, the True Light, traditions are our way home.

   As I drive through the deepening blue of winter twilight, I no longer see the dark. I see the lights shining through it, and I can feel it in my soul. A thrill of hope. A spark of joy. A jolt of anticipation.

   O come, o come Emmanuel.

   - Kyle

Your Hardest Hardest

    “I don’t like The Office.”

    “Really? Why?”

    “Well I started the first episode and I just couldn’t get through it. It’s just really terrible.”

    *pinches bridge of nose*

    Okay, look. I get it. I really do. The Office is a slow-burner in a lot of ways. The comedy is awkward and uncomfortable, the writing is a bizarre brand of understated hyperbole, and the characters take seasons to truly develop. Still, I adamantly believe all the way down to my toes that it is some of the best storytelling that we have managed to achieve as a species, and I furthermore believe that all of the aforementioned characteristics are among the reasons why.

    Once you’ve seen the show through to the end, you see how considered every moment is. You see all of the details coming together in the background. You begin to appreciate the patience and thought that went into every point, turn, and arc.

    The Office is a masterpiece.

    Fight me.

    That being said, there are plenty of technically brilliant narratives that haven’t had the same cultural success and longevity as The Office has. I could write an entire essay on why I believe that is, but several people have already done that. Feel free to read up, but I’ll go ahead and tell you that there aren’t any big surprises. Clearly, the primary reason people love the show is that it’s comforting. And it’s not just the nostalgia, either. The Office is comforting because it’s honest. It reflects everyday, ordinary life in a way that is still extremely recognizable and accessible. Even through the lens of entertainment, we are able to see ourselves. We see our own hope, joy, and growth. We also see our own disappointment, discouragement, and frustration. One of the most compelling storylines is when Jim and Pam’s marriage struggles in the last season. It happens because of small things like miscommunication, withdrawal, and lack of consideration: Real things. Things that, frankly, can be hard to recognize when it’s happening to us until it’s too late. And, really, that is the question being posed by the narrative. Is it too late?

    The answer is, of course, no. Jim and Pam work it out. It’s very evident that it is a difficult process, and that healing and reconciliation take work, but Jim and Pam are left with a happy ending. They have to be, because The Office is a kind-hearted, generous story. It reflects our fallenness, but it also hints at the glorified. Because, more so than anything else, The Office is a show about love.

    This essay is also about love.

    I want to talk about what I feel is a severely underrated moment in the show. The fact that I couldn’t find a single clip or GIF of it is a pretty solid indicator that I’m right. In the 8th season, the paper company Dunder Mifflin has been absorbed by a larger office supply company called Sabre, and Sabre has decided to explore selling their products out of storefronts. Dwight Schrute, a salesman,  has been selected to manage a team of employees of the Dunder Mifflin Scranton branch (including Jim Halpert, another salesman) who all travel to Sabre’s headquarters in Tallahassee to develop this storefront project.

    So if you haven’t seen the show, Dwight is in a constant state of striving for recognition and  promotion. It’s a bit of a running gag. As the co-developer of this project, he is positioned to be made head of the new branch. Dwight is very, very excited. Which brings us more or less up to speed.

    Episode 18, season 8. Dwight is preparing to pitch the project to the Sabre board, and he thinks his promotion is set in stone. Jim, however, is privately told by the CEO that Dwight will not only not receive the promotion, he will actually be fired. Jim and Dwight aren’t exactly friends, but Jim knows this isn’t fair and tries to tell Dwight, who is only interested in throwing his success in Jim’s face. So Jim, feeling he has already gone above and beyond by trying at all, decides to leave Dwight to his fate. You haven’t seen him, Jim tells Pam over the phone. I tried, he won’t listen. I hear you, says Pam.

    But did you actually try your hardest?

    Oof. What a question. What a sharp, convicting question. Because we have all been in Jim’s shoes, and we’ve all had to make that choice. Is it worth it? Are they worth it? Am I really responsible? Scripture says, yes.

    “Rescue those being led away to death;

   hold back those staggering toward slaughter.”

    Proverbs 24:11

    Jim knows he only tried his pretty hardest, so he goes back again. And he is dismissed and laughed at, again. And Dwight is literally just outside the door of a conference room filled with people planning to dispose of him, poised to step over the threshold of destruction, when Jim goes back one more time and cross-body tackles him out of the way.

    We, the Church, have got to do that. My God, we have got to do that. When we see people headed for disaster, we can’t just sit back and watch them walk off the cliff.  Love is hands on. Love holds back. Love is active, intentional, and entirely committed.  

    And there are no excuses.

    “If you say, ‘But we knew nothing about this,’

   does not He who weighs the heart perceive it?

   Does not He who guards your life know it?

   Will He not repay everyone according to what they have done?”

    Proverbs 24:12

    Here’s the thing. You know, deep down, if you’ve given your very best effort. I know I do. And, more importantly, God knows. The Message translation says that He is “not impressed with weak excuses.” So while it is not your responsibility to save everyone, or even anyone, it is your responsibility to fight for them. And if you know in your heart that they are lost, and you do nothing, that’s on you. We know what’s waiting for lost people. We know the futility of life without Christ. We know the consequence of entering eternity without Him, and yet we consider it more worth our time to criticize, legislate, and isolate than to reach out and pull them to safety.

    How dare we.

    This self-centered apathy is heartbreaking enough when directed outwards, but it’s just as if not more tragic when aimed inwards. What could possibly be more crushing than being let down by the Body of Christ? And yet we see it every day. The phrase “church-hurt” rolls off our tongues with stinging familiarity as we recount tale after tale of the thoughtless, selfish, and even cruel treatment we and others have experienced at the hands of confessing Christians. This is so deeply wrong.

    “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

    John 13:34-35

    When Jesus said this to the twelve, (well, eleven; Judas had gone), it was just after washing their feet and just before going to the cross. Two distinct, profound illustrations of the Lord’s perfect love for His people. And while He did not say those words to Judas, given that Judas had already left to betray Him, He did wash his feet. Jesus knew that evil had settled into Judas’ heart, but He served him anyways. He loved him anyways. And that is how we have been commanded to love each other.

    This is not an easy thing. Post-Salvation does not mean perfect. To live in community is to live the reality of others’ failings and brokenness constantly scraping against our own. It’s hard. It hurts. But it’s right. The only way we can learn to truly love the lost is if we learn to love our brothers and sisters first, whether they want us to or not. Because that is how we have been loved.

    “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

    Romans 5:8

    Let’s go back to The Office for a second. Dwight did not want to be saved, nor did he truly deserve to be saved. He not only had no interest in listening to Jim’s attempts to warn him, he didn’t even want to accept what he thought was victory gracefully. Because, to Dwight, this was his long-awaited triumph over his enemy. At long last he had beaten Jim, and he was delighting in every single moment of it. He deeply and truly relished Jim’s defeat right up until the instant he managed to get through the door and witness another employee being thrown under the bus in his place. But despite knowing that Dwight didn’t deserve to be helped, and despite not even liking the guy, Jim fought to hold him back.

    While we were still calling God our enemy.

    While we were still cursing His name. While we were still spitting in His face. While we were still in an all-out sprint on the path to destruction, Jesus went to the cross and tackled us out of the way. God, caring more about our good than we ever could, made the loving choice to save us. God, knowing that we could not change our own way, chose instead to wrestle us to the ground so that we would not be destroyed. And unlike Jim, God’s intervention in our destruction is always a wholehearted endeavor.

    This is love.

    It is uncomfortable, inconvenient, deeply sacrificial, and often thankless. It means seeking each other’s good before our own. It means saying “No” to dysfunction and unhealthy dependency. It means saying “Yes” to ugly burdens and paralyzing need. It means reaching out instead of pushing back. It means holding up instead of tearing down. It means giving out of our poverty. It means forgiving seventy multiplied by seven times over. It means continually choosing grace. It means the daily laying down of our lives. This is not just a trite wedding sermon, this is a battle cry. Love is hard. And we are called to love hard.

    The Office has staying power because that hard love, that real love, resonates with our souls. We know we need it. We desperately want to give it. It truly is the best thing we have, and some might say the only thing. We know from 1 Corinthians 13 that love is the only thing that will last in its full integrity when this world dissolves like snow and the unseen hope comes shining through the fog. And thus, we have this ultimate and final question waiting for us at the end.

    At the end of the day.

    At the end of your life.

    At the end of it all.

    Did you love your hardest hardest?

    -- Kyle

Atta Boy

   I’m twenty-two, single, childless, and not currently intending to have children. You’ll therefore be pleased to know that I’d like to take this opportunity to talk about the finer points of parenting. Which, frankly, takes a bit of courage for me because I hate expressing opinions on things I have no personal experience with. It’s a bit like jumping up and down on a well-aged rope bridge to prove it’s secure; risky, to say the least. Yet here we are, all the same. Me with my opinions, you girding up to read them. So please, know that I’m uncomfortable, and read on with the understanding that I am aware of my experiential ignorance.

   Here we go.

   I think all people go through three basic phases regarding how they relate to their parents. The first is that they perceive Mom and Dad as infallible, all-knowing deities. This generally lasts in some form until adolescence, when self-knowledge really kicks in and perspectives begin to widen. There comes a suspicion that not only are your parents sometimes wrong, but maybe often wrong. Maybe your parents aren’t really that much more sure than you are about what to do or think or be. Maybe they aren’t fixtures of reality. Maybe they’re just real. Maybe they’re vulnerable. That, I believe, is where much of adolescent anger comes from. You get to the threshold of adulthood and realize that it’s a scam, and your parents are the ones who sold it to you (or so you believe.) There’s a lot of fighting, miscommunication, and blame in this stage. Nobody likes it very much.

   The third stage is empathy. You get into adulthood, look around, and realize that it’s hard. You start to imagine yourself in your parents’ place, and you realize how easy it is to make mistakes. You understand, and hopefully you start to forgive.

   That’s the conversation I generally have with my peers.

   “I know my parents did this, or said that, or continue to treat me this way but…”

   There’s understanding, forgiveness, and humility. But, frankly, there’s also accommodation. And, frankly, there’s a point where accommodation becomes enabling. It’s rolling over in the face of sin  instead of rebuking, which is not Christlike or loving at all. And it’s running rampant in the Church.

   Why?

    Well the simple, observable fact of the matter is that the Church is full of bad parenting. Shocking, right? Christians are bad at stuff! Oh no! What a crushing realization. But just because it's inevitable doesn't mean that we shouldn't acknowledge our shortcomings and work towards improvement. The Church is full of bad parenting, and we need to talk about it.  

    So let's talk. When I say "bad parenting", I don’t mean in terms of where you do or don’t let your kids go, or whom you do or don’t let your kids spend time with, or what you do or don’t let your kids watch/read/listen to. Those are details, and in my opinion as a person who was parented and who knows many people who were also parented, those things aren’t really that serious. It all washes out in the end, if you get the important stuff right.

   But people aren’t getting it right. And I see the scars of that everywhere I look. So many of my friends share with me that they left the church and are no longer open to Christianity because of their experience with Christ-claiming parents, and it absolutely breaks my heart. So many eternal souls with their backs turned to salvation, and for what? Why is this happening?

   I think it stems from a broken, yet widely held, perspective of what parenting is. So where does that come from? Let’s look at what scripture says:

   “Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. ‘Honor your father and mother’—which is the first commandment with a promise—  ‘so that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy long life on the earth.’”

   Ephesians 6:1-3

   I’m willing to bet that most of you reading, especially if you grew up in the evangelical Christian subculture, could recite those verses in your sleep. Many of you could probably sing it to some child-friendly tune or other. I know I can. This bit of scripture is massively popular with young parents trying to “train up” (read: wrangle) their children, and it’s easy to see why. It’s a conversation ender. Sort of a cosmic Because-I-Said-So. And, personally, I think that perspective is vastly missing out on the point of the passage as a whole. You see, there’s a second half to this thought. Paul also has something to say about the other side of the equation.

   “Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.”

   Ephesians 6:4

   Okay, now we’re really starting to get somewhere. Children, obey your parents. Parents, show grace with your children. The Message translation puts it as not “coming down hard,” while the King James says not to “provoke [them] to wrath.” No matter how you look at it, the meaning is clear. Paul is saying that it's the parents’ responsibility to be mindful of how they treat their kids. He’s reminding adults of what we so easily forget; kids are just kids. Yes, they need to be trained and instructed, but they also need to be treated with generosity and patience. If you leave the grace out, you end up with a frustrated, exasperated generation.

   And the Church has deeply exasperated its children. It’s not just in the interpersonal familial and generational conflicts, although to be sure those do plenty of damage. It’s in the wide statements, the generational blame and disparagement. Truly, take a moment. Think about the way you generally speak about your children’s generation. Is it encouraging? Is it hopeful? Does it exhort, or does it dismiss? Trust me, your kids are internalizing the way you perceive their peers.

   And that’s what brings us to what I really want to talk about with you.

  “Fathers, do not embitter your children, or they will become discouraged.”

   Colossians 3:21

   Very nearly the exact same language as the letter to the Ephesians, but I think this phrasing strikes a little closer to the heart of the matter. The Church is discouraging its children. I cannot even begin to recount how many conversations I’ve had with brokenhearted friends who just did not know how to please their Believing parents. I certainly cannot recount how many people I am acquainted with who are, at their core, defined by striving against the certainty that they are a disappointment.

   Again, please take a moment. Have courage, and be as honest as you can.

   Do your children feel that they have your approval?

   There are so many gifts that you can give your kids: a good education, time management skills, artistic and/or athletic training, knowledge of scripture, a Christ-centered community, the list goes on more or less forever. But I truly believe that there is nothing more vital that you can give your child than the certainty that you approve of them. It’s the one thing they can’t do without, that doesn’t wash out in the end with their personal choices and tendencies.

    This is not to say that you should not hold your children to a standard. Hebrews 12 makes it perfectly clear that discipline is a good and loving thing. God “disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness.” (v. 10) You should absolutely want your child’s good more than you want them to feel good. You should absolutely tell them when they are outside of the instruction of the Lord. You should absolutely raise your children to respect and honor you as their spiritual authority. We are not talking about “soft” parenting here.

   What we are talking about is a posturing of the heart. Giving your child your approval pretty much always means laying some idols down: Pride, control, your own rightness, and, let’s be very, very honest, power. Whether it's the school they should have gone to, the tattoo they shouldn't have gotten, the job they should have had, the politician they shouldn't support, the person they shouldn't have married, or simply the preferred way they should express love and respect for you. Whatever it is that’s catching in your chest as you think about unconditionally approving of your child, and doing so in such a way that they are entirely secure in it, is the thing you need to let go of.

   Giving your child your approval means being gentle when you rebuke. It means being intentional about communicating that they are loved, accepted, and wanted. It means always, always, always rooting yourself in humility. It might very well mean an apology. More than anything, it means demonstrating the character of Christ.

   “Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God.”

   Romans 15:7

   When Paul talks in Ephesians 6 about “the training and instruction of the Lord,” he’s not just referring to religious principles and behavioral standards. He’s talking about raising your child in such a way that they understand who God is and how He relates to them. You need to give your children your approval because it is the very best way for them to grasp that, under the New Covenant, they have God’s approval. You need to pursue your children's hearts with the kind of deliberation and self-sacrifice that God has promised to them. You, tall Christian, were made to help your entrusted little Christians reach the higher shelves of faith. Dads especially, you have a sacred duty to your child. God is referred to as “Father” over 200 times in the Bible. For better or for worse, your son or daughter is looking to you to demonstrate what that means. 

   Let’s take a step back for a moment. I recognize that this discussion is based on multiple assumptions, as I am speaking to a very specific audience. There’s one caveat in particular that I want to briefly acknowledge: In order to be able to do any of this effectively, you have to be firmly secure in your own identity in Christ. Gentleness, love, humility, and acceptance all must come out of the overflow of what you have received from the Lord. So, again. Take a moment, and have courage.

   Do you know that you are loved and approved of?

   If not, this essay is still for you. The greatest gift you could give your child is also the greatest gift that you can accept, yourself. As a believer in Jesus, you are absolutely, positively, 100% approved of by God. It doesn’t matter who you have damaged or disappointed. It doesn’t matter what you could have done better. Jesus’ righteousness has been counted to you, and that’s the end of it.

   Regardless of where you are in your walk with Christ and your family, I want to challenge you. Just a few small challenges, and then I’ll finally hop off of this high horse and be on my way:

1. Take the time this week to tell your children that they are loved and accepted, even if you think they know it.
2. Be brave, and ask if there are any ways you can increase their confidence in that fact.
3. Ask the Lord to deepen your understanding of His love and approval of you, even if you think you’ve got a good handle on it. There is always more.

   Thank you for your time, I sincerely hope that this has been encouraging. 

   “May the Lord make your love increase and overflow for each other and for everyone else, just as ours does for you. May he strengthen your hearts so that you will be blameless and holy in the presence of our God and Father when our Lord Jesus comes with all his holy ones.”

    1 Thessalonians 3:12-13

     Best,

    - Kyle