Advent: The God Who Was . . .

During the church’s season of Advent we look at two things: Christ’s first and His second coming. We look back at His incarnation—when He was born a small, helpless baby born in a stable—and we look forward to that Day when He will return in power and majesty. Now, what the end will look like we aren’t exactly sure. Yes, we’ve got some good prophecies in the Scriptures to guide us, to give us the signs to look for . . . but as for real, concrete specifics . . . well, let’s just say that we’re not quite sure. I think that’s one of the reasons the Left Behind novels sold so well . . . there is just a hunger to have the details . . . but we just don’t really know, do we?
The ancient Israelites, in the centuries before Jesus was born, had a similar problem. They had the desire to know when the Messiah would come, to know what He would do, to know what it would all look like. But history would seem to tell us that they wound up looking for the wrong thing, doesn’t it?
It seems as though there were three types of ways of looking to the Messiah: Looking up, Looking down, and Looking within. None of them produced the right picture of the Messiah that was to come.
The first, looking up, is probably the one that most of you have heard of—it’s kind of the popular view. From Old Testament passages like 2 Samuel 7:16, where God promised King David, “Your house and your kingdom will endure forever before me; your throne will be established forever” and Jeremiah 23:5-6, which say, “The days are coming," declares the LORD, "when I will raise up to David a righteous Branch, a King who will reign wisely and do what is just and right in the land. 6 In his days Judah will be saved and Israel will live in safety. This is the name by which he will be called: The LORD Our Righteousness” some people in Jesus’ day had developed a mental picture of a great and glorious Messiah, a Messiah who would rally the people, who would lead them in victory against the Romans, demolishing all of Israel’s enemies, and he would set up a throne and lead Israel into a time of unheard of prosperity and peace. This Messiah was a larger-than life figure, someone who had the spirit of Moses and the strength of the angels. Not exactly the type of person you’d expect the illegitimate son of a carpenter to be.
The second group missed the Messiah by looking down. This crowd fell into one of two categories: they either got themselves preoccupied with day-to-day living or they got preoccupied with making a buck . . . and then another buck . . . and then another buck. They were either consumed by the pressures of just making it or they were inflamed with the fast-paced life of wheeling and dealing. For them, the Messiah became just another part of a busy, hectic day, part of a religious backdrop that had ceased to have any real, spiritual meaning in their lives. Over time they began to believe that maybe the Messiah was just some myth, that maybe He was just some figure in the far-off future. No, that group isn’t likely to hear the beautiful words of yet another street preacher in dirty clothes.
The third group missed the Messiah by looking within. Today, you and I have been trained to see Jesus when we read passages like the Suffering Servant passage of Isaiah 53:3-7, which says, “3 He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. 4 Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. 5 But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. 6 We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all. 7 He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth.” But the Jews of Jesus’ day were living in a time of a harsh and limiting Roman rule. They could look back on a national history of oppression and hardship. With that in mind, what were they most likely to do? Right . . . they focused upon their problems and woes and in their minds they became sure the “Suffering Servant” was themselves. It’s really hard to make sense of a man on a cross when you think the worst of the world’s problems are your own.
Three groups, one that looked like this (Look up and away), one that looked like this (looking down at the ground), and one that looked like this (holding head in misery) . . . and they each missed the Messiah, the Savior, who was right there in front of them the whole time . . . and we’re no different. Think about that as we confess our sins before God.

The Jews of Jesus’ day had built up certain expectations of the way the Messiah was to appear, to be, to act. What they had done was formulate their own ideas and their own expectations, and project them on to God’s chosen one, the promised Messiah. What they had done was put God into a box. It was as though they wanted to see a lion . . . but not a wild lion, an untamable, unpredictable predator who might do anything to them . . . but a trained lion. A comfortable, predictable lion. A lion who would roar at their command and devour only their enemies. A tame lion. But Jesus Christ the Messiah is not a tame lion.
There is a fantastic illustration of this principle in book six of the great Christian author C.S. Lewis’ wonderful series of books The Chronicles of Narnia. In this book, called The Silver Chair, Lewis describes an encounter near a clear-running stream between a girl named Jill and a talking—and very wild—lion.
“Are you not thirsty?” said the Lion.
“I’m dying of thirst,” said Jill.
“Then drink,” said the Lion.
“May I—could I—would you mind going away while I do?” said Jill.
The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience.
The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic.
“Will you promise not to—do anything to me, if I do come?” said Jill.
“I make no promise,” said the Lion.
Jill was so thirsty no that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer.
“Do you eat girls?” she said.
“I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms,” said the Lion. It didn’t say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.
“I daren’t come and drink,” said Jill.
“Then you will die of thirst,” said the Lion.
“Oh dear!” said Jill, coming another step nearer. “I suppose I must go and look for another stream then.”
“There is no other stream,” said the Lion.
It never occurred to Jill to disbelieve the Lion—no one who had seen his stern face could do that—and her mind suddenly made itself up. It was the worst thing she ever had to do, but she went forward to the stream, knelt down, and began scooping up water in her hand. It was the coldest, most refreshing water she had ever tasted. You didn’t need to drink much of it, for it quenched your thirst at once. Before she tasted it she had been intending to make a dash away from the Lion the moment she had finished. Now, she realized that this would be on the whole the most dangerous thing of all.

Were the Jews of Jesus’ day looking for a Messiah that was a lion . . . or one that was safe? They wanted a safe Messiah, a predictable Messiah. They wanted a Messiah that would do what they expected him to do, one who would smash their enemies and give Israel a prosperous and free life. They wanted a mighty Messiah who would work within their established system, enabling them to carry on just as they had during Israel’s glory days of King David.
They missed Jesus Christ entirely because they were either looking up . . . or down . . . or within. How often do we do the same thing? How often do we convince ourselves that we’re truly looking for Jesus Christ, but all the time we’re looking in the wrong direction?
See, I’ve got this theory that what we really want isn’t Christ . . . but safety. We want a tame lion. So we look everywhere, high and low and into ourselves, we’ll look to the TV, to the internet or something off the best-seller list, grasping on for some answer that sounds right . . . not even that, just something that sounds right enough. Something that’s predictable, something that makes sense. Something that doesn’t demand anything of us.
But the true Messiah, the true Savior, isn’t like that. Living a life that is committed to following Jesus Christ involves putting our necks on the line sometimes. Following the real Jesus sometimes involves risk.
Let me give you an example: There was a time when I had spent a week at a church-planting boot camp. We had spent the entire week about the need for reaching the lost, about growing churches that were serious about evangelism, about being people who took the call to make disciples seriously. We studied the Scriptures and we prayed and we asked God to work through us.
So at the end of that week I found myself ready to break out and witness to some people! Fresh off this fantastic week of communing with God, I found myself in a long, slow-moving line of people waiting to get on our airplane. I just knew this was my chance to make an impact for God’s kingdom. So, in a casual kind of voice, I asked the lady in front of me, “Did you ever think this is what the end of our lives is going to be like? Everyone waiting around in a line, not sure if we’re going to get through the gates or not?”
Now, at this point in the story, you’d typically here the speaker go on to tell you how the evangelist went on to lay out the plan of salvation and the poor pagan would be so convicted that he or she would break down in tears, and the evangelist would lead everyone on the plane—including the pilot and the attendants—in a prayer of repentance and of confessing Christ as their Lord and Savior. Boy, I wish I could tell you it worked out like that. But despite my well thought-out and appropriate leading evangelism question, that lady gave me just one look that said, “Oh, Lord . . . another one of those religious whackos. I hope to God I don’t get stuck in a seat next to him!” And BOOM! . . . I was blown out of the water, left looking like a fool.
But that was okay. I decided there and then that I’d rather take the chance, I’d rather look like the fool, because the other option was too horrible. It was okay for me to look a bit foolish, because I had something serious to offer. I had something serious to offer because Jesus Christ gave Himself for me, that He chose me as one of His own. Christ has given me everything that I need for eternal life . . . and it’s more dangerous to run away than it is to come and drink.
I was reading in Jeremiah a few weeks back, and a few verses struck me so strongly that I printed them up and put them on the back of my office door where I would see them. Jeremiah 5:30-31 says, “A horrible and shocking thing has happened in the land: 31 The prophets prophesy lies, the priests rule by their own authority, and my people love it this way. But what will you do in the end?”
What will you do in the end? Will you continue to look for your salvation everywhere but to Jesus, who is right there before you the whole time? Will you look everywhere but the Scriptures to find answers? Will you look for safety . . . or will you look for Christ?
Early in the most familiar book of C.S. Lewis’ Narnia series, The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe(which, incidentally, has been made into a fantastic-looking movie and is due out in just a week or so),, Lewis portrays a fanciful world where four children are chosen kings and queens of the the land, animals talk, mythical creatures come to life . . . and a the great lion we met before is named Aslan. Aslan is what you would call a Christ figure, a literary metaphor by which Lewis attempts to explain Jesus Christ.
In this reading, the four children are being prepared for their first meeting by a couple of beavers. Watch what they say about Lewis storybook Jesus figure, Aslan:
“But shall we see him?” asked Susan.
“Why, Daughter of Eve, that’s what I brought you here for. I’m to lead you where you shall meet him,” said Mr. Beaver.
“Is—is he a man?” asked Lucy.
“Aslan a man!” said Mr. Beaver sternly. “Certainly not. I tell you he is the King of the wood and the son of the great Emperor-beyond-the-Sea. Don’t you know who is the King of Beasts? Aslan is a lion—the Lion, the great Lion.”
“Ooh!” said Susan, “I’d thought he was a man. Is he—quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.”
“That you will, dearie, and no mistake,” said Mrs. Beaver; “if there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.”
“Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy.
“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver; “don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

No, maybe Jesus Christ the Messiah isn’t exactly what we might call “safe.” He certainly wasn’t predictable for the Jews of His day, He wasn’t what they expected. But He is beyond all doubt “good.” He is good because He is so much more than we are expecting, He goes beyond from what we merely expect to what we truly need, and He will always be there to guide us, because He is the God who Was, Who Is, and Is to Come.