Rob Morgan: God's Bulletin Board

God's Bulletin Board A Pocket Paper
from
The Donelson Fellowship
______________Robert J. Morgan
December 28, 1997 ----

I read an article in the paper this week that said new Christmas carols are being written every year, but they have a hard time making it into our song books or getting air time on the radio stations because, when it comes to Christmas, most people want to hear the old, traditional carols. And after all, it is perhaps the oldest of our Christmas traditions. It's older than Christmas trees, which were reportedly introduced by Martin Luther. It's older than nativilty scenes, which were an innovation of St. Francis of Assisi. The composition of songs celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ date all the way back to the Gospels. In his account of the nativity of Jesus Christ, Luke gives us four different Christmas songs, composed to celebrate the birth of a child. There is the Magnificat, the song of Mary, in Luke 1. At the end of the same chapter is a song composed by Zechariah. And in chapter 2, there is the Christmas carol sung by the angels, and, in the midde of chapter 2, the song of Simeon in the temple. Luke 1 and 2 offer us the first four Christmas carols in history, songs composed to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ as Savior of the world.

The oldest of the four (which makes it the oldest Christmas carol of them all) was written by the blessed virgin herself, and it has been the object of our pulpit studies this December, 1997. What kind of woman was Mary? In our opening sermons, we discovered five things about her: She had kept herself sexually pure; she thought of herself as the Lord's servant; she was a woman of faith who believed that what God has said to her would be accomplished; she was a woman of praise whose life and lips magnified the Lord; and she was well-versed in the Word of God. She knew the Scriptures and had evidently memorized many passages from the Old Testament.

She begins her song saying: My soul doth magnify the Lord. What does it mean to magnify the Lord? It is like looking at the moon through binoculars. We focus on it, making it large in our vision, drinking it its beauty, and becoming so overwhelmed with it that we want to grab someone else and show it to them as well. When we magnify the Lord we focus our hearts and minds on him, making him large in our lives, gazing upon him until his beauty and power overwhelm us and we just want to share his glory and his story with another.

My soul doth magnify the Lord, said Mary, and she went on to ascribe to her wonderful Lord four different names in the first stanzas of her song. Look at verses 46-49:

My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant. From now on all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me-holy is his name.

Mary's God is the Lord, God my savior, the Mighty One, and Holy. Then, in verse 50 she states her theme. This is the key verse of the Magnificat:

His mercy extends to those who fear him from generation to generation.

Now today we don't have time to study the last half of the Magnificat in detail, but I would like to read it for you and then briefly walk through its sentences:

He has performed mighty deeds with his arm; he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts. He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things, but has sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, remembering to be merciful to Abraham and his descendants forever, even as he said to our fathers.

The structure of these verses is very clear to see. Subject-verb. Subject-verb. Subject-verb. God does six things with his mighty arm, says Mary. First, he scatters those who are proud in their inmost thoughts. this is a very frightening verse to me, because I tend to be proud in my inmost thoughts. Sometimes I can appear to be humble and modest and gracious on the outside, while on the inside I'm scheming for position and prominence. I was thinking just the other day about how easy it is to be ego-driven in ministry. If, for example, I know that there is going to be a very special guest in our Sunday services, I find myself trying especially hard to have an impressive sermon. On that Sunday you may exit the door and say, "What a wonderful sermon." But I'm not so sure it was a wonderful sermon. God has not called me to preach impressive sermons to important people. He has called me to proclaim freedom to captives, healing to the sick, and repentance to those without Christ. He hasn't called me to impress anyone with great oratory. My motives are sometimes suspect, and so are yours. We all tend toward pride in our inmost thoughts.

And this kind of pride is the very essence of sin. In the case of all those who have received Jesus Christ as Savior, the Lord has forgiven us and is chipping away at our self-centeredness. He is molding us, transforming us, making us more and more focused on Christ and less and less concerned about our own status. But for those whose pride allows no room for Jesus Christ, they will be scattered.

Second, God brings down rulers from their thrones. I saw a special news report this week about Saddam Hussein. An new CIA profile of him has been released, and it says that he is suffering from megalomania almost to the point of insanity. He thinks of himself as a new, reincarnated version of Nebuchadnezzar, the ancient king of Babylon. And he has even built one of his infamous palaces on a hilltop overlooking the storied ruins of the city of Babylon. But Saddam Hussein has forgotten what happened to Nebuchadnezzar in Daniel 4. The great king was walking on the roof of his royal palace one day, looking over the rooftops of his expensive and expansive city, and he said to himself: "Is not this the great Babylon I have built by my mighty power and for the glory of my majesty?" But while those words were still on his lips, he was struck with insanity. He was driven away from his people and ate grass like cattle. His hair grew out like a dog's and his nails grew long like the claw of a bird. His body was drenched with the dew and he lived like a beast until he learned that the Most High God rules in the kingdoms of men.

Mary said that God scatters those who are proud in their inmost thoughts and brings down rulers from their thrones. But, third he lifts up the humble; and, fourth, he fills the hungry with good things. He lifts up and he fills the humble and the hungry. When our Lord was on the earth, he was not very impressed with the rich and mighty. He was drawn to children and outcasts and lepers and sin-tossed souls. He loves people like you and me.

Fifth, Mary said that God sends the rich away empty. But what does he do for Israel? What does he do for his people? He helps us. Verse 54: He has helped his servant Israel, remembering to be merciful to Abraham and to his descendants forever, even as he said to our fathers. Is there any area of your life, right now, in which you need the Lord's help?

I read recently of one woman who badly needed the touch of God on her life. Her story was told by Max Lucado, and her name was Maria. Somewhere in brazil, in a poor neighborhood, in a tiny, red-tiled house, Maria lived with her daughter, Christina. On the gray, faded walls were a few tokens of their lives: an old calendar, a faded photograph of a relative, a wooden crucifix. They had little furniture. Small cots, a washbasin, a wood-burning stove.

Maria was raising her daughter alone because her husband had died. She had worked hard to provide a living, and she had done her best to raise her daughter.

Now Christina was sixteen years old, and very beautiful Her black hair and black eyes and olive skin turned the heads of many young men, and her outgoing personality drew them to her. She had a way of throwing back her head and laughing that filled the room with her personality. And she also had that rare ability of making every man feel like a king just be being near them.

Christina often spoke of leaving their village and going to the city, and every time the subject came up Maria's heart tensed with fear. She reminded Christina of the harshness of city life, the dangers on the streets, the temptations and poverty and unemployment. "People don't know you there," Maria had said. "Jobs are scarce and life is cruel. And besides, if you went there, what would you do for a living?"

Maria asked the question knowing in her heart what Christina would probably end up doing if she moved to a large Brazilian city. And that's why her heart broke one morning when she awakened to find her daughter's bed empty. Christina was gone. She had left without even saying "Goodbye." She had slipped away like a prodigal. And Maria, who knew the ways of the world, knew what Christina would find on the streets of Rio de Janeiro.

The mother, trembling with fear, quickly threw some clothes into a bag, gathered up her money, and ran from the house. On the way to the bus stop she entered a drugstore to get one last thing. Pictures. She sat in the photograph booth, closed the curtain, and spent al she could on pictures. Then she crammed her purse full of the small black and white photos and boarded the next bus to Rio de Janeiro. As the bus rolled down the roads, Maria thought of the situation into which Christina was putting herself. She knew that her daughter had no way of earning money. She also knew that Christina was too stubborn to give up, and that when pride meets hunger, a human will do many things that were previously unthinkable.

Knowing this, Maria began to search. She threaded in and out of nightclubs, bars, hotels, any place with the reputation for street walkers or prostitutes. She went to them all, and in every place she left her picture. She taped pictures of herself to bathroom mirrors, to hotel bulletin boards, to corner phone booths. And on the back of each photo she wrote a note.

Soon Maria's money and her pictures ran out. Though she still had no idea where her daughter was, she could no longer stay in Rio. She wept and boarded the bus for home.

Several weeks passed. One day, in a seedy hotel in Rio de Janeiro, Christina descended the steps into the filthy lobby. Her face was tired, her brown eyes no longer danced, and her laughter was broken. Her dream had become a nightmare, and she longed to exchange her countless beds for that little pallet in her old home. But now, she thought, it cannot be. My little village is, in so many ways, too far away, too far gone.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, her eyes noticed a familiar face. She looked again, and there on the lobby mirror was a small picture of her mother. What was it doing there? What could it mean? She hurried over to the mirror and removed the small photo. Written on the back were these words: "Whatever you have done, whatever you have become, it doesn't matter. Please come home."

And Christina did.

In a dirty old cattle stall in the back streets of Bethlehem, God posted his picture on the bulletin board of history. He was searching for you and for me. And he says, "Whatever you have done, whatever you have become, it doesn't matter. It can be forgiven. It can be pardoned by my blood, shed on Calvary. You have a new start, and you can have eternal life. Come home. Come home. Ye who are weary come home. Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling. Calling, O sinner, come home."