Here Comes Heaven

In this season we remember the arrival of Jesus into our world. In Jesus we have an enigma, a living paradox where divinity and humanity meet. There’s a song I love called Arrival, and its chorus calls Jesus “the infinite infant God”: the God of creation, royalty clothed in the flesh he made, the Maker making himself known.

God is a mystery we can’t fathom, and yet he demystified himself. He made himself known by taking on human flesh, moving into our neighbourhood and becoming one of us to show us who God is. As we reflect on the story of Jesus coming into our world, I want us to sit with the mystery of who he is.

My message today is called Here Comes Heaven. Thank you, Steve, for that prayer. Let me pray once more.

Father in heaven, thank you for Jesus, the amazing gift of God who became flesh and became one of us. We are forever grateful. You entered the womb you created and showed us who God is. Thank you that you are Immanuel, God with us. In this season, remind us that you’re a God who wants to be close to us. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Two views of the Alps

Earlier this year I finished my studies and was about to start professional ministry here. I decided to take one last trip as a student to celebrate being completely done. I flew to Europe to travel with a friend, and one thing I really wanted to do was visit Switzerland.

Switzerland is beautiful, but it’ll break the bank. I don’t think I ate much there. I went to the Lindt chocolate factory, and the free samples were my breakfast, lunch and dinner. Wouldn’t recommend it. I think I lost three kilos.

But I wanted to see the Alps, and I saw them in two different ways.

The first was with an Epic Pass, which lets you into various ski resorts. I’d injured my back by then and couldn’t snowboard, which was really sad. I didn’t want to waste the pass, so my mate Josh and I came up with a plan. I’d take the pass up the gondola, take photos and come down, then hand it to him so he could do the same. Then we’d move on to the next mountain.

The views were beautiful, but something about it wasn’t satisfying. I think it’s because there was no work involved. You stepped onto the gondola, it took you up, and you spent two minutes rushing photos so you didn’t miss the next one down. We didn’t really enjoy the views.

The second mountain was at Lauterbrunnen, a town known for its waterfalls and an amazing valley. I looked up hikes, and when we reached the start of one there was a sign that said Closed. I thought, “It’ll be all right. I’ve spent time in the mountains. I know what snow’s like.”

It started off pretty chill, but the photos don’t do it justice. It got very steep, so steep it became ice climbing. We dug finger holds into the ice and kicked footholds into the snow. Honestly, if you’d slipped, you’d probably have gone to your death. We got to a point where we thought we should turn back, but going down was more dangerous than going up. So the only choice was to keep climbing.

This was Josh’s second or third time in the snow, so he didn’t really know how to exist in it, and I knew I had to lead the way. He wasn’t happy. He was on his phone looking up helicopters. I said, “No! We’re not paying for a helicopter. God is with us, and we’ll make it to the top.” There was some rock climbing too, on loose rocks. One came off in my hand, and luckily it didn’t send me down with it.

Finally we reached the top, and this was the view. We sat there for a long time and soaked it in. We ate and simply took it all in, then caught the gondola back down.

Why did we savour that view and not the others? Because we had to work for it. There was waiting and anticipation, and real uncertainty about whether we’d make it. When there’s a journey and tension involved, you can truly behold the climax. When you’re waiting, in a place of mystery and the unknown, you can behold the view for what it really is.

A people who wait

The people of Israel had to wait. I love how Jo introduced this service by talking about the Israelites waiting. They held on to a promise:

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned… For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the greatness of his government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on David’s throne and over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever. The zeal of the Lord Almighty will accomplish this.

— Isaiah 9:2, 6–7

That promise of light kept hope alive when Israel’s circumstances were bleak. But as they waited, expectations formed. Maybe the Messiah would be a political, military figure who would overthrow the Romans.

Between Malachi and the New Testament there were roughly 400 years, the intertestamental period, when God seemed silent. No prophets, no word from God. Just waiting in silence and wondering where God was.

God’s people have always known waiting. Israel waited 400 years in Egypt before deliverance. Abraham waited until he was 100 for his son. David spent years in the wilderness as a shepherd before he became king. Waiting is part of following God, so as disciples we need to learn to wait well. It’s at the heart of discipleship.

In the waiting, we need to recalibrate our expectations of God and the world, because what we do with our expectations determines how we receive the promise. If we want to behold God’s beauty, we have to handle our expectations well. When Jesus arrived after those 400 years, some received him and beheld his beauty, and others rejected him.

Herod and the throne

After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him.”

When King Herod heard this he was disturbed, and all Jerusalem with him. When he had called together all the people’s chief priests and teachers of the law, he asked them where the Messiah was to be born. “In Bethlehem in Judea,” they replied, “for this is what the prophet has written: ‘But you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for out of you will come a ruler who will shepherd my people Israel.’”

Then Herod called the Magi secretly and found out from them the exact time the star had appeared. He sent them to Bethlehem and said, “Go and search carefully for the child. As soon as you find him, report to me, so that I too may go and worship him.”

After they had heard the king, they went on their way, and the star they had seen when it rose went ahead of them until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw the star, they were overjoyed. On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshipped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to go back to Herod, they returned to their country by another route.

— Matthew 2:1–12

(If you’ve been to Road to Bethlehem, you’ll know they act out that “so that I too may go and worship him” line!)

Herod presented himself as a practising Jew and won favour by helping rebuild the temple. But many Jews distrusted him because of his close ties to Rome. He straddled both worlds and was seen as a ruler serving his own interests.

Whatever the Jews thought, Herod saw himself as king of the Jews. So when the Magi ask, “Where is the one born king of the Jews?” he gets defensive. It’s a threat to his kingship. Instead of waiting to see what this new king is about, he takes matters into his own hands and tries to manipulate circumstances so the child will be destroyed. When the Magi don’t return, he orders the massacre of innocent babies, all to protect his throne.

I think Herod is a picture of all of us. We like being king of our own hearts. When someone comes and says, “I want to be king of your heart,” we naturally get defensive. If someone else claims to be king, one of you has to give way. Only one person can sit on the throne. At the core of every human heart is an impulse that says, “No one tells me what to do.”

So my question is: is that how you see Jesus? Jesus wants to be king of your heart and show you that life is better when he is. But we cling to our own ways because we think they’re better than God’s. When Jesus arrives, only one of you can be king. Will you give way, or hold on to the throne yourself?

An offensive gift

The gift of Jesus is different from most gifts. It’s unexpected, and it’s a bit offensive, because it requires you to give up your pride and embrace humility.

It’s like getting a dieting book for Christmas. What’s that implying? Or a dating book. A cousin of mine, single at the time, got a book called Boy Meets Girl. The message was clear: “Maybe this will help.”

The gift of Jesus is a bit like that. You have to cough up your pride, because only one person sits on the throne. But Jesus is the answer to all your desires, the fulfilment of everything you’ve been waiting for. So will you hold on like Herod, or let the King of the universe in? If you humble yourself, you can truly behold his beauty. Jesus has moved into your neighbourhood, but if you keep holding on, you won’t experience everything he is, just like Herod.

The Magi and the mystery

Herod reacted impulsively. The Magi searched with curiosity and patience. They stepped into a journey of discovery. God had revealed himself to them through their own culture.

I want to be clear: God is bigger than culture. He’s bigger than your tradition and bigger than your religion. The Jews thought God was only for them, but he was at work in other cultures too, and the Magi responded. They didn’t have to. He wasn’t even their ethnic king. They could have said, “That’s a Jewish king. Not my concern.” But they were curious and open to stepping into the mystery of who God is.

Are you open to that? Or are you holding on to the expectations you’ve placed on God? Do you have a box and say, “God, you can only fit in here”? When you step into the unknown, your expectations of God get recalibrated.

That happened to the Magi. They came and found a humble baby king, not someone glamorous by the world’s standards. Yet Scripture says they worshipped him. It wasn’t what they expected, but they let God be bigger than their expectations. Our expectations can stop us experiencing everything God is.

The restaurant

Let me tell you about expectations. For my birthday lunch this year, Mum said I could pick anywhere nice. I’m vegetarian, so I went on HappyCow, a vegetarian app, and found a place in Hawthorn called Pure Vegetarian Jamal’s. (I won’t attempt the rest of the name.) 4.9 stars on Google from 412 reviews. That’s unreal. It can’t go wrong.

We took my grandma too, which meant lifting her wheelchair up the step because there was no ramp. It’s safe to say it wasn’t what everyone was expecting.

My mum takes a lot of photos: every combination of people at the table, before the food, after the food, outside the restaurant. Last night I asked her if she had any pictures from Jamal’s. She said, “No, it was so bad.” The only photo she has is of us sitting there, with no food in it, because she didn’t think the food was worth photographing.

But I kind of liked it. I remember that birthday lunch more than any other because it was an enigma. There was an immigration office attached to the restaurant. You’d go upstairs to the toilet and there was an office where you could do your immigration paperwork. And there was this high-pitched music playing the whole time. It was so memorable that I actually enjoyed it.

When you lay down your expectations and step into the mystery, you can enjoy something for what it is. The food might not have been great, but it was a positive experience. Those who came with fixed ideas of what a birthday lunch should be were badly disappointed. (Shout-out to Jamal’s. Still 4.9 stars. Go if you like!)

So do you put God in a box of your expectations? Do you expect him to meet your needs in a particular way, on your timeline, looking like the image you’ve built of him? With God it’s better to lean into the mystery. You won’t know everything about him or exactly how he’ll act. The Magi stepped into that mystery, and because they did, they beheld the face of the infinite God who had become an infant.

We like to think God is about whatever we’re about, that he can only work through our ways, our traditions, our religious camp. But he’s far better and far different. Stop confining God to the images and idols you’ve built. That’s why God condemns idols: you can’t box him into an image. He’s transcendent and bigger than any idol. Will you lay down your idols of who you thought he was and behold him as he is?

Jesus is for you

Jesus is for all people, whoever you are and wherever you’ve come from. No one thought he’d be for the Magi, Gentiles with nothing to do with the Jewish faith, but God revealed himself to them.

Matthew introduces this idea early because he’ll close his Gospel with it: “Go and make disciples of all nations, baptising them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 28:19). The Magi at the start and the Great Commission at the end are the bookends. His kingship isn’t limited to Jewish people, or to a few who seem to have it all together.

Jesus is for you this season, no matter what you’ve done or how far from him you feel. He loves you so much that he moved into our neighbourhood and stepped into a journey. He could have saved us in a second. Instead God sent a child, to give us a glimpse of what humanity could be.

Born to die

Jesus was also born to die. The Magi bring three gifts. Gold is a gift for royalty, for kings. (Road to Bethlehem fans know the classic line about the gold.) Frankincense is burned and offered to God. Myrrh was used at burial. From the start, Jesus’ life was one in which he was born to die.

At the start of his life a bright star shines in the sky. At the end there’s an unearthly darkness. Both show the glory of Jesus and his radical humility. In the manger and on the cross we see God closing the gap between heaven and humanity by stepping into our neighbourhood and becoming one of us to save us.

When God showed up this time, it wasn’t like the Old Testament, in fire, whirlwind, wind or earthquake. He came as a baby. Why? Because this time he didn’t come to bring judgement but to bear it. He came to pay the penalty for our sins and remove the barrier between us and God so we could be together.

As you wait this season, maybe going through something where you’re not sure where God is or struggling to understand him, know that it’s often in the journey that God reveals himself. It’s in the waiting that he recalibrates your expectations and shows you who he really is. Salvation wasn’t only the moment on the cross. It was a journey in which God revealed himself through Jesus’ whole life.

This is the story we find ourselves in, from the manger to the cross. Jesus has offered his life to us. He has become Immanuel, God with us. He has moved into our neighbourhood and shown us a light in the darkness better than anything we could imagine.

So are you willing to receive the light of Jesus? Will you let him be king of your heart, better than anything you could ask or imagine? Will you behold the beauty of who God is?

If you want to behold Jesus this season, I invite you to stand as we sing our last song, King of Kings.