Gold, frankincense, and more



A friend brought me this carved wooden
box from Uzbekistan. Could a "wise man"
 have come from that part of central Asia?

 Have you ever thought about, “why” myrrh? Yes, at Jesus’ birth, wise men from the East brought him royal gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh (Matt. 2:11). No doubt Joseph later sold those gifts so he and Mary had something to live on when they fled to Egypt with the infant Jesus. Two millennia later, we hear sermons on the gifts’ symbolism: gold to befit a king, frankincense for a priest, and myrrh, for the One to die.

Hold those thoughts and consider this from Puritan preacher Thomas Watson (c. 1620-1686). In discussing Matt. 5:6 and one who hungers and thirsts after righteousness, Watson said, “He can feed upon the myrrh of the gospel as well as the honey.”

The “honey” part makes sense. Passages like Psalm 19:10 say God’s Word is sweeter than “honey from the comb.” Indeed, we all cherish scripture passages of comfort and hope, our “spiritual honey.”

But what’s the “myrrh of the gospel”?

First, myrrh was a pricey aromatic, extracted by scoring a small tree to tap its resin, similar to rubber. Its smell has been described as a warm, comforting resin, deeper in aroma than frankincense’s more pungent balsamic odor.

Most are familiar with how myrrh was used to mask the death odor as a body was prepared for burial. Nicodemus lugged 75 pounds of a myrrh-aloes mixture to a freshly-hewn cave tomb to help wrap up Jesus’ corpse (John 19:39).

But myrrh was also a perfume for the living. In a rather steamy portion of the Song of Solomon, myrrh graced a cleavage (1:13). Psalm 45:8, a king’s wedding song, extols the royal’s garb as fragrant with myrrh, aloes and cassia. No doubt that’s what Henry Barraclough had in mind in 1915 as he penned the lyrics to “Ivory Palaces.” That old hymn speaks of Christ in garments scented with myrrh and other fragrances welcoming the believer to Heaven.

In Bible times, mixed into wine, myrrh was used to dull the senses. The soldiers crucifying Jesus offered Him the concoction before they nailed Him on the cross, but He refused it (Mark 15:23). He experienced the full horror of the dying process.

So how can the gospel be “myrrh”? Perhaps these point to the answer:

*The gospel is Christ coming to earth, but more than sweet babies in fresh hay cooing, angels singing, shepherds awing, and foreigners of high birth gifting.

*The gospel is the gift of eternal life through God’s Son, refusing a primitive sedative, groaning on a splintered cross groaning, beseeching, dying, buried with spices to cover the stench.

*The gospel is also that provocative little verse in Song of Solomon 1:13, Christ as the myrrh over one’s heart spreading its precious perfume obtained through a pierced tree.

Charles Spurgeon (1834-1892) said of this: “Myrrh may well be chosen as the type of Jesus on account of his preciousness, its perfume, its pleasantness, its healing, preserving, disinfecting qualities, and its connection with sacrifice.”

And what of those whom Watson said would seek the myrrh of the gospel? Bible teacher William MacDonald (1917-2007), in his commentary on the Beatitudes of Matthew 5, said such people have a passion for personal righteousness that seeks honesty, integrity, and justice in society and practical holiness in the church.

Thus, the “myrrh” of the gospel is dying to self so that the lovely righteousness of Christ—our King, Priest and Redeemer—spreads through us to a world suffocating in sin’s death stench.

Yes: gold, frankincense, and more--lots more.

A layer at a time

When I was a youngster, my mother was still carrying on a Depression-era habit of making her own soap. For months she’d save grease from cooking until she had enough to mix with lye according to her family’s passed-on recipe. I remember little of the process except it was hard work and dangerous. After cooking in a huge enamel pan on the stove, the concoction was poured into newspaper-lined boxes in the garage to cure. Later, she’d shred it into the washing machine.
I was so glad when she gave it up and just bought detergent! I also remember the worries about kids being around lye, which had a distinct skull-and-crossbones sign on it for “poison.”

I was reminded of its power as I recently re-read a classic missionary biography by Isobel Kuhn titled Green Leaf in Drought. The book recounted the suffering experienced by the last China Inland Missionaries trapped deep inside China in 1951, when all others were evacuated due to political turmoil. Despite severe hardship under ruthless local rulers, who brought them to the edge of starvation, Wilda and Arthur Mathews trusted God for the impossible. It would be two years before they were able to leave, first Wilda and their small daughter, and a few months later, Arthur.

Throughout their years of unjust and unfair treatment, the couple sought solace and hope in prayer, scriptures and devotional books. One poignant quote, from English preacher Alexander MacLaren (1826-1910), was this: “The meaning of all that God does with us—joys and sorrows, light and darkness…is that our wills may be made plastic and flexible.”

Wilda would look back on this excruciating time as her spiritual “lye bath,” remembering her job in a fruit canning factory when she was a girl. Peaches were plunged into a lye bath, then rinsed, to hasten the skinning step, then sent on conveyor belts to workers to put into tins for caning. For months after that job, the damage lye caused to her hands resulted in successive layers of skin coming off. “And so with this crucible experience,” the author wrote. “The layer of looking at other causes had to come off; then the layer of quickness to anger in the heart; the layer of longing for pretty things; the layer of over-sensitiveness; the layer of impatience (can’t we go now?), the layer of mere submission, and so on” (p. 45, 1981 OMF reprint).

I photographed an onion with lights to show its layers as another symbol of this “peeling away” the Spirit does to bring us closer to the Father’s heart. Whenever I peel onions for chopping, they bring on copious tears. And whenever God is doing some serious work in peeling away my sins of “looking at other causes,” there are going to be tears.

The process isn’t fun. But the end result, of growth in spiritual steadfastness and trust, is worth it.

Making it straight

If you’ve listened to Handel’s The Messiah a few times, you can almost hear in your memory the tenor’s solo from Isaiah 40:3: “Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.” As the orchestra comes in, the tenor continues with verse 4: “Every valley shall be exalted and every mountain and hill shall be made low: the crooked straight, and rough places plain.”

I’ve long associated these words with the return of our Heavenly King, the Lord Jesus. To the Jewish exiles in Babylon, however, this prophecy stoked their fervent hope to return to Jerusalem, with God leading them back in victory.

But there’s more behind those words. In his Tyndale commentary on Isaiah, J. Alec Motyer pointed out that the exiles may have been aware of a pagan Babylonian hymn that said, “Make [Nabu’s] way good, renew his road. Make straight his path.” This referred to how special processional routes were created for carrying idols during festivals.

These had to be the very best and kept work crews busy for some time. “Exalting” the valleys and “making low” the hills and mountains probably meant a lot of earth moving long before big diesel machines. Straightening crooked places and smoothing rough places again were huge efforts done mostly by manpower.

I think about how much human sweat went into those ceremonial roads whenever we encounter road construction or even go by a train crossing. Especially in railroad construction, there’s little margin for error. The tracks need a strong gravel bed, evenly spaced tracks, gentle curves and easy grades. If something is off, a whole train will derail.

But the message here is more than road construction. It’s about anticipating the glory of the return of Jesus Christ. Again, words from scripture used in Handel’s work: “And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together; for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it” (v.5).

I hadn’t realized, until reading William Coleman’s Today’s Handbook of Bible Times and Customs, that one group’s interpretation of the Isaiah passage resulted in one of the most amazing discoveries of the 20th century: the Dead Sea Scrolls in a remote cave at Qumran where the Essenes had once lived. This group had decided to retreat to the desert to escape worldly contamination, and hoped to prepare a society ready to welcome the Messiah, in fulfillment of Isaiah 40:3-5. The community existed about 200 years, from 200 B.C. through the time of Christ. Their plan didn’t work out, but their library stash, preserved in the desert, was an incredible boon to Bible scholars.

So much for history! But what does that passage mean for us today?

William MacDonald, a Bible teacher whose commentary has a strong devotional slant, says the preparation for our Messiah is not topographical, but moral and spiritual. He said the mountains and hills represent proud, arrogant people. The valleys are people “of low degree” (those suffering hopelessness and self-pity). All uneven and rough character must be smoothed out in preparing for the Messiah’s coming. This was the message of John the Baptist, who was connected with Isaiah’s prophecy as he called people to repent because the kingdom of God was near (Matt. 3:3). Indeed it was. Jesus soon stepped into the river before his baptizing cousin.

You may be quite aware of the rocks and holes in your life’s road that need repair. Maybe there’s hidden sin, pride, addiction, hypocrisy, laziness or greed. Continuing along those “roads” only keeps you from being ready to welcome the Messiah. Don’t forget: He is coming again.

So this Christmas, with fresh bomb rubble in the Holy Land, don’t forget Isaiah’s refrain of hope: “The glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together!” As someone who grew up hearing and playing classical music, I never weary of hearing The Messiah—for its Biblical text shouts glory and hope, no matter what time of year it’s presented.

Castaways

We had chopped down a messy evergreen adjacent to the house that was a fire hazard because of dry needles trapped inside. Afterwards, it seemed we’d never quit filling garbage bags of the debris. On our trash pickup day, as I came out to help the truck driver cast the bags into his dump bin, I thought of several ways garbage bags can symbolize aspects of the spiritual life.

Salvation. Some people say they can’t come to God because they have too much “garbage” in their lives. They think they need to clean up their acts before they make the decision to be a Christian. Yet, as one person quipped, “You don’t clean up the house before the cleaning lady comes.” Jesus died for sinners, not perfect people: “While we were yet sinners [surrounded by sin-garbage], Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8, comment added).

John Bunyan’s classic allegory Pilgrim’s Progress pictured that as the main character, Christian, carries a heavy back pack representing the burden of the knowledge of his sin. He comes to a place with a cross and empty tomb. There, the straps that bound his burden to him are broken, and the burden rolls into the empty sepulcher. But Christian isn’t suddenly catapulted to the Celestial City upon being relieved of his sin burden. He’s free of its penalizing weight, but he has a long way to go before reaching his destination. All sorts of tests come his way as his character is prepared for the beauty and holiness of that city where God lives.

Spiritual growth. Years ago I wrote a children’s story titled, “The Great Garbage Bag Lesson.” The fiction concerned two grade-school kids, who knew only kid-gossip about the other, being assigned partners for a science project on recycling. They decided to give each classmate a bag to collect personal throwaway garbage for a week. In the process of learning about recyclable waste, the two learned how their misconceptions about the other person being “unfriendly” were all wrong. The story inferred how pride, fear, anxiety, and other relationship-killers are spiritual “garbage” that keep us from enjoying the full life that God has planned for us.

The apostle Peter put it this way: “Cast all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7). The word for “cast” in the original Greek is epirrhipto and it literally means “to hurl upon.” Its only other use in the New Testament is in Luke 19:35, in describing the disciples hurling garments on a donkey for Jesus to sit on as He entered Jerusalem. Peter’s saying we can hurl onto Jesus our black bags of fears and anxieties. He’s strong enough to take care of them.

Selfish refusal. In my town there’s now a homeless woman in a long black hooded coat, who keeps a handkerchief pressed to her nose. As she wanders from place to place, she carries four plastic grocery sacks stuffed with more sacks. One day, concerned about her, I approached her with a clear zipped bag of purchased, wrapped snack items. “I thought you might be hungry,” I said as I got within about ten feet. She glared and waved me away. “All these are packaged,” I added, hoping to allay her fears poison or germs. She kept shooing me, insisting she didn’t want them and claiming she was okay.

Obviously, she isn’t okay. I’m not going to get into a discussion of mental illness here. But other days, as I have watched her trudge down the street, I have thought about how God must feel when we refuse His help and clasp ever tighter to our bags of problems. How much more would He’d rather hear this, as Charles Wesley expressed it his hymn “And Can It Be?”: “My chains fell off”—and I’d paraphrase, I gave up my black bags—“my heart was free, I rose, went forth, and followed Thee!”

PRRRRRaise!



The full quote of sign on our porch:
"When I count my blessings, I count
 you twice." The cat's "blessing" was
probably a sunny spot to nap!

 The family cat was waiting when I slipped out of bed early for private time with God. As I headed to the kitchen for tea, he followed with a crescendoing purr. It had something to do with “plop of wet cat food in dish.” As he ate and purred, and I opened my Bible, I thought how that’s the attitude I want for God-time. Prrrrraise…anticipating, then savoring.

If our cat counted blessings for Thanksgiving, there would be just some broad categories: food, brushing, warm lap, private sleeping corner, the great outdoors in moderation.

We have so much more to inspire our thanks. Although its message has been blurred by the traditions of turkey and football, Thanksgiving is still about giving thanks. Or, as ancient Asaph of the temple music department put it, “Sacrifice thank offerings to God, fulfill your vows to the Most High” (Psalm 50:14).

I’ve been spending more time in psalms lately, and want to suggest some praise psalms for your reading list as Thanksgiving approaches. Here are seven, one for each day until Nov. 22.

Psalm 30, David’s composition for the dedication of the temple. I like how it contrasts life’s dark times with its hope. My favorite verse: “For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime; weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning” (30:5). Thank God for bringing you through a dark time in your life.

Psalm 34, by David, when he pretended to be insane for his safety (1 Samuel 21). After getting out of that too-close-for-comfort danger, he sang out huge stanzas of praise. My favorite verses: “Glorify the Lord with me; let us exalt his name together” (34:3, also our wedding verse). “Those who look to him are radiant” (v. 3). “Taste and see that the Lord is good” (v. 8). “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (v. 18). Praise God for His protection.

Psalm 40, by David, another hymn about protection. Most memorable image: “He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand” (v. 2). For a real-life example of this many years later, go to Jeremiah 38 and read of the prophet’s sinking punishment. Another: “I do not conceal your love and your truth from the great assembly” (v. 10b). Share with someone or a group about a time when God helped you.

Psalm 65, by David, packed full of praises for God’s work among people and in nature. Favorite verse: “You crown the year with bounty” (v. 11). Thank God for His benevolent care through food and shelter.

Psalm 103, another by David. It lists blessing after blessing. One precious to many is forgiveness: “As far as the east is from the west, so far as he removed our transgressions from us” (v. 2). Pick one blessing from the psalm’s list to praise God.

Psalm 107, no author listed, recounting God’s powerful plan seen in history. Key verse: “Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for men” (v. 8). With today’s perspective on yesterday’s problems or challenges, thank God for His superior plan.

Psalm 116, no author listed, praise for God’s sustaining power in difficulties. Memorable verse: “How can I repay the Lord for all his goodness to me? I will lift up the cup of salvation and call on the name of the Lord. I will fulfill my vows to the Lord in the presence of all his people” (vv. 12-14). Verse 15 touches the event most have a hard time linking to praise: “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.” In my mother’s last hours before her death of cancer, my father read this psalm to her. As he came to that verse, I knew she would soon be one of those “precious ones.” I also affirmed that death, though a painful parting on this side, transitions to something wonderful for those who are Christians. If you have loved ones who aren’t yet Christians, pray for their salvation.

Extra credit! Psalm 145 (also by David) is an ABC praise poem (except using the Hebrew alphabet, from aleph to taw). Make an alphabetical list of your own thanksgivings to God.

Driver's-license living

There must be an unwritten rule at the Department of Licensing that all photos taken for driver’s licenses be as ugly as possible. My current license photo looks like a desperate woman who is either a mother of teething triplets or who just learned her credit card was hacked and thousands in charges made in some Caribbean Island.

            I really tried to have a smiling visage for it. As I stepped to the line for photos, I put on my most pleasant face, with a smile that was neither too phony nor too hesitant. When the clerk said “okay” and I heard a click, I thought he meant he’d taken it, and I relaxed. Then the lights popped, capturing the prize droopy-faced mug shot of the day.

            Whenever I have to show my I.D., I say, “That’s really me. You know the DOL.”  Most nod agreement.

            For all the jokes about driver’s licenses, I came upon a simple but profound use of them in describing the spiritual life. I recently read Scot McKnight’s The Jesus Creed: Loving God, Loving Others (Paraclete Press). He covers a lot of territory about what it means to be a Christian, building off how Christ transformed the Old Testament rule of life known as the shema from Deut. 6:4-5 about loving God with one’s heart, soul, mind and strength. Christ amended it to include loving one’s neighbor as oneself (Lev. 19:18). He calls this new spiritual mindset “the Jesus Creed.”

            McKnight uses analogies from ordinary life, and in chapter 10, when he traces the life of Peter, he talks about different views of conversion. “The Jesus Creed,” he writes, “is more like a driver’s license than a birth certificate.”  The birth certificate proves we were born at a certain time and location, but the driver’s license gives us permission to operate a vehicle. He likens “birth certificate-only” Christians to babies who need to be pushed around in strollers. But the “driver’s license” view produces adults who can operate on life’s roads.

            Learning to drive a car isn’t easy! It’s especially challenging for adolescents, whose brains aren’t mature enough for all the decision-making involved in traffic situations. Yet that’s when many seek licenses as some sort of rite of passage in our culture. I was a late-to-learn driver, back when driver’s education wasn’t pushed in the schools. By then in college, I’d gotten a summer job that required driving. Dad coached me on the basics, and when I barely missed a fire hydrant a block from home, he turned my training over to my mother. I probably aged her early.

            After your license gives you official permission to be on the road, you continue to acquire driving skills. Similarly, conversion is a progression of spiritual understanding. McKnight calls it “a lifelong series of gentle (or noisy) nods of the soul” (p. 96). We don’t know it all upon asking Christ into our lives. Learning to live as He did takes all our lives.

            In driving, unfortunately for many, that first accident or near-miss is part of the learning process of sharing the road. In the spiritual realm, life-learning is often connected to some sort of affliction. Robert Murray McCheyne, the Scottish preacher mentioned in last week’s blog, made this wise observation: “Affliction brings out graces that cannot be seen in a time of health. It is the treading of the grapes that brings out the sweet juices of the vine; so it is affliction that draws forth submission, weanedness from the world, and complete rest in God.”

            By the way, that lousy photo I.D. from the Department of Licensing doesn’t come under the umbrella of “life afflictions.” Amusements, maybe…

Got dust?

Whenever I harness all my courage for beyond-the-usual house-cleaning, a whole nation of dust bunnies rises up, chanting, “Be sure your sin will find you out” (thank you, Numbers 32:23).

            It happened for me recently when the smoke from massive forest fires finally crawled out of our valley and I retired the breathing mask I’d had to use even to go to the mail box. Feeling energized and virtuous, I asked my husband to help me pull the mattress off the bed and the bedside stands away from the wall. Just as I predicted, I got a “Why? Nobody looks there!” response until he saw that, indeed, silent invaders were lounging in all their gray glory. As an asthmatic, I want those sniff-and-wheeze triggers gone.  Armed with the vacuum cleaner hose, I got down on my knees to suck up the worst of them.

            I’m not one of those perfectionist housekeepers who weekly dusts the top of the refrigerator. That’s when I would say, “Why? Nobody looks there.” Okay, every few months I remove the coupon basket, the extra potholders, and the cat treats to give it a swipe.

            I thought about dust recently when I came across a scribbled note that I just couldn’t toss.  Dr. Hubert Harriman, of World Gospel Mission, spoke at my church in February 2004 with an appeal to personal holiness.  I jotted this quote from him: “The problem in our churches, he said, is that we just want to be dusted, not cleansed of sin.” In other words, we don’t want God moving around the furniture and showing us the neglected or dusty parts of our spiritual walks. We’d rather avoid the blazing, exposing light of His holiness.

            Yet spiritual deep-cleaning is exactly how God grows us in spirit and in service.

            One of those who knew and practiced that was a Scottish preacher named Robert Murray McCheyne (1813-1843). Like David Brainerd (last week’s blog) he died young, only 30, of typhus. But what a life. He taught himself the Greek alphabet at age four. At 23 he became pastor of St. Peter’s Church of Dundee, Scotland. At 24 he went to Palestine to research how to best evangelize the Jews. In his late twenties, a revival that began in his church spread through Scotland.

            It was later said of him, “It is not how long you live, but how you live that counts.”

            The renowned English preacher Charles Spurgeon, in Lectures to My Students (Zondervan, 1962, 7-8), included this powerful quote from McCheyne: “Remember, you are God’s sword, His instrument—I trust a chosen vessel unto Him to bear His name.  In great measure, according to the purity and perfection of the instrument, will be the success.  It is not great talent God blesses so much as the likeness to Christ.  A holy minister is an awful weapon in the hand of God.”           

            When God wants to use us in His kingdom, His standards are high. You don’t get away with “Why? Nobody looks there.” God sees it all: the slimy secret sins, grubby grudges, icky-apathy, and crud-crusted cravings.

            Ready to deep-clean, spiritually? The best position is on your knees. It was for McCheyne, for whom the prayer closet was a refuge of fellowship, holiness, and intercession. The hidden life prepared him for his brief yet dynamic public life of serving God.