An Unexpected Surprise

I’m writing this letter in October, the day before the mother of a hurricane, Milton, is supposed to hit.

And you’ll get it in December when I generally write about Christmas. That old saying—“When you’re up to your neck in alligators, it’s hard to remember that your initial objective was to drain the swamp”—seems more appropriate. It’s said that the gladiators raised their hands to the Roman Emperor before they went into battle in the Colosseum and shouted, Avē Imperātor, moritūrī tē salūtant (“Hail Emperor, those who are about to die salute you!”). (I had to look that up since I failed Latin in high school.) Now, that would be really appropriate.

But as we prepare for another hurricane, and I’m thinking about and praying for us in Florida and for so many friends who live in Western North Carolina and the Southeast, believe it or not, I’ve decided that Christmas is even more relevant now.

The late Paul Harvey once said, “This year, they are calling off Christmas because nothing could ever live up to its expectations.” I understood what he was saying, but he was wrong. For the believer, Christmas and hurricanes are far more than we ever expect, and, with Christmas, far more than we deserve.

Christmas is abounding in expectations. The Christmas tree, carols, parties with friends and family, memories, and presents all come with expectations. And then, as Christians, we add to that list Jesus, the stable, Mary and Joseph, and the wise men and shepherds. But Christmas is far more profound. Christmas is about what we didn’t expect, even in our wildest dreams.

While it’s not a traditional Christmas text, Hebrews 1:1-3 is profound: “Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed the heir of all things, through whom also he created the world. He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power. After making purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high.”

Christmas is about an unexpected love. Christina Rossetti’s poem, “Love Came Down at Christmas,” expresses a reality we didn’t expect. We would have understood God’s wrath. We know God’s wrath is deserved even if we don’t admit it. But “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son” (John 3:16) is a major surprise.

We once held a Key Life event in Portland, Oregon. One of the men there was scary. As he sat in the back of the auditorium, the man looked big, angry, and dressed like a Hell’s Angel. I watched as he listened to the music and my teaching, and I remember hoping that he didn’t have a gun. When we finished the last session, the man started walking in my direction with a scowl. Certain he would attack me, I prepared myself to suffer for Jesus. And when he reached out for me, I saw my life pass before my eyes.

Do you know what happened? He grabbed me, picked me up off the floor in a bear hug, and said in a deep voice, “Oh, Steve, I love you and your ministry!”

That’s sort of what God did at Christmas. If that doesn’t surprise you, you aren’t paying attention.

Forgiveness is like that, too. We are all for justice, even if different people see justice in different ways. That’s what a “cancel culture” is all about. Evil people should not have a platform or be allowed to spread disinformation. When the canceled person complains about losing their reputation or job, we think they got what they deserved. Never mind the fact that if we all got what we deserved, we would have been destroyed long before now. Paul expressed a scandalous thought when he wrote, “The saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.” Then he made it even more scandalous, “of whom I am the foremost” (1 Timothy 1:15).

This afternoon, we’re recording the talk show, Steve Brown Etc., and then we’ll lock up the Key Life building and head home to prepare for Hurricane Milton. We’re interviewing Matt Popovits about his book Junk Drawer Jesus: Discarding Your Spiritual Clutter and Rediscovering the Supremacy of Grace. I’ve spent a good deal of time reading that book, and it’s a powerful statement about how we clutter up the Christian faith with everything . . . but the main thing.

I’ve spent a significant portion of my life teaching seminary students. I suppose seminary is a good thing, but it takes the students three or four years at a considerable cost to learn all that they need to know to become a pastor. There’s so much, and it’s so complicated. I often thought of Karl Barth (probably the most significant theological mind in the last 100 years) and his reply when asked what he had learned after a lifetime of study and writing, “I have learned that Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” All the rest is clutter. When Aquinas (another great theologian) came to the end of a lifetime of significant theological study, he put it all aside, entered a monastery, and shortly thereafter died. It is said that, when Aquinas entered the monastery, referring to all he had written and thought, he said, “It’s all straw.” Translation: “It’s all clutter.”

Christmas strips away all the clutter with an unexpected surprise—a baby, and that baby is God. The surprising message of Christmas is simple: “I love you. You are forgiven and accepted. I will never leave you. You will live forever. It is going to be fine. Is that okay?”

Christmas is a surprise, too, in the light it shines. John put it this way, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. . . . For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ” (John 1:5, 17).

Yesterday was a kind of dark day for me. I was already worried about the hurricane. Then I talked to a woman whose son had just died of a drug overdose, to another whose daughter had tried to commit suicide, and to a pastor whose wife had just died after a long bout with cancer. On top of that were all the emails describing so much personal tragedy. I prayed for them but winced and felt really sad and down.

That’s when I thought of Christmas and the unexpected light that shines in the darkness. That doesn’t make the darkness go away (we really do live in a dark world), but that unexpected light is the hope God gives in the darkness. No matter what it feels like, the light has come, and the darkness hasn’t overcome it. History is “his story.” Everything is moving toward the light when every tear will be wiped away, all pain will be removed, and a thousand questions will be answered.

As you may know, with the Puritans, I’m not big on Christmas. Sometimes, I’m overwhelmed with all that needs to be done. Not only that, people with hard lives find Christmas even harder. As a pastor, I always struggled and tasted the salt of their tears.

But with that being said, my favorite church service is Christmas Eve. By then, everything is done, and it’s too late if it’s not done. On Christmas Eve, I can be still and place the people I love before the safe throne of God’s grace and mercy, all with the assurance that, ultimately, the light will destroy the darkness. In the silence of Christmas Eve, even if a hurricane took away all my stuff, I remember the unexpected and incredible light.

That’s what Christmas is all about. Like a hurricane, it’s unexpected. In a hurricane, you must “batten down the hatches” and sometimes live without electricity. The unexpected nature of Christmas is light. You don’t have to batten down anything. You can celebrate, laugh, and dance before the throne of the God who came.

He reminded me, and then he asked me to remind you.