Today Daily Devotional

They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate it in their presence.

— Luke 24:42-43

On the first Easter, Mary Magdalene wept at the empty tomb of Jesus. She was beside herself with grief. Then suddenly, when she turned around, she saw Jesus standing there. But she didn’t recognize him. She guessed he was the gardener. Not a bad guess, considering where they were and what time of day it was. But when he spoke her name, then she could see. It was Jesus, still Jesus.

Later that day, Jesus joined a pair of despondent disciples walking to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35). They had a long conversation with Jesus. But they didn’t recognize him, not even when he was teaching them from the Scriptures. But when he broke bread with them, then they could see. It was Jesus, still Jesus.

Later that evening, Jesus also appeared to his disciples in a locked room (Luke 24:36-49). They weren’t sure it was him. Besides being able to suddenly appear and disappear, he seemed different. “Is this a ghost?” they wondered. But he wasn’t that different. He was still flesh and bones. “Touch me and see,” he said. And apparently he was hungry. So they gave him some fish to eat. Then they could see. It was Jesus, still Jesus.

Sure, he was different. But he was still the same. Sure, he was different. But he was still human. And he still is.

Jesus, when you rose from the dead, you didn’t cast your human nature aside. You may be different, but you are still like us. We can’t wait to be different like you. Amen.

On the eighth day, when it was time to circumcise the child, he was named Jesus. . . .

— Luke 2:21

I hope you’re not squeamish, but today’s focus is circumcision, the cutting away of the foreskin. In North America, circumcision is fairly common. It’s usually done for medical reasons. But in the Bible, circumcision is performed as a sign of a special relationship with God.

It begins with Abraham and the covenant that God makes with him. God promises to bless Abraham and to bless all the peoples of the world through him (Genesis 12:2-3). And there’s more: “Every male among you [in your household] who is eight days old must be circumcised” (Genesis 17:12). That’s what God expects from Abraham and his descendants.

When the gospel writer Matthew tells the story of Jesus, he begins with Abraham. Because Jesus is a descendant of Abraham, Jesus is part of the covenant relationship that God made with Abraham. So Jesus is circumcised when he is eight days old.

Here’s what it adds up to. Jesus is as human as any of us, human enough to have part of his flesh cut away. But he is not just any human from anywhere. He is a Jew, a descendant of Abraham. And that makes him part of the one human family through whom God will bless all other human families, including yours and mine.

Jesus, Son of God, you are human, human enough to be marked in your flesh, human enough to be a son of Abraham, human enough to be the Savior of the world. We praise you. Amen.

She gave birth to her firstborn, a son.

— Luke 2:7

Oh, the wonder of it! The Holy Spirit overshadows the virgin Mary so that a holy child is conceived in her womb. For nine months the child develops in watery darkness to the soundtrack of Mary’s heartbeat and muffled voice. At last the time comes. The child emerges, takes urgent breaths, and cries aloud amid faces beaming with hospitality and love. Welcome to the world!

Now let’s just take this in. Who doesn’t adore a sweet newborn? Bright eyes gazing around. Coos erupting after long months of silence. Arms and legs stretching out in new freedom.

Think too of the helplessness and vulnerability of the sweet child. Then imagine that this little one is our great God. The Word has no vocabulary, the Almighty has no strength, the Wise One has no knowledge. The Lord of all is completely dependent on the comforting arms and nourishing care of mother Mary.

It’s a wonder that God would become helpless in order to help us. But it’s not that merely an infant is helpless while we who are grown up have things in hand. In the big, wide world around us, we are pretty helpless too. And all our hope depends on the help of the helpless baby, whose birth we celebrate today.

Jesus, you come into the world, and everything is changed—because you em­braced helplessness to help the helpless. We praise you for your wonderful kindness. Amen.

She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger. . . .

— Luke 2:7

“Silent Night” is a favorite Christ­mas song for many people around the world. Its gentle melody suggests a “heavenly peace” in which “all is calm.”

But our usual picture of Jesus’ birth is far from calm. Above the fields near Bethlehem, an angel army sings out, announcing the glory of God. Back in town, shepherds and wise men and sheep, cows, camels, and gifts are all crowded together in a stable. And somewhere in the midst of all that commotion is the baby Jesus.

But hold on. The wise men don’t show up until later. So let’s take them out of the picture, along with their gifts. And there’s no mention of a stable—just a manger, a feeding trough. So there might not be animals there either.

Now let’s back up to the first hour or two after Jesus’ birth. Commotion will come later, when the shepherds find “Mary and Joseph, and the baby . . . lying in the manger” (Luke 2:16). But for now, as lamplight flickers, all we can see is Mary and the baby and Joseph. Exhausted, Mary is fast asleep. Joseph might be able to rest too. Meanwhile, Mary’s snugly wrapped baby, content from his first feeding, sees light, shadow, and movement with his newborn eyes. Let’s stay right where we are, silent as night. And let’s take in the picture. The God of all creation is a newborn baby watching shadows sway.

Jesus, on that night long ago you came to be “God with us,” one of us. Thank you! Amen.

They crucified two rebels with him, one on his right and one on his left.

— Mark 15:27

When we think of the glory of God, we probably have something like Isaiah 6 in mind. The prophet Isaiah had a vision of God in a heavenly temple, “high and exalted, seated on a throne.” Seraphim (fiery creatures with wings) were flying about, singing, “The whole earth is full of his glory.” And the temple trembled and shook (Isaiah 6:1-4).

That’s glory. Glory is big. Glory is high. Glory is powerful. No doubt that’s what James and John have in mind when they ask to sit on either side of Jesus in his glory. They want the best seats in the house. They want to be where the action is. They want to be where power resides.

They have no idea what they’re talking about. Because Jesus is on a long mission that will redefine glory. Glory will not ­describe an untouchable God so high up as to be invisible, except in a vision. No. Glory will now describe God in human flesh, lifted a few feet off the ground and nailed to a cross. Glory will now ­describe the God available to be touched, to be spat upon, to be mocked. This is what it means for God to be human. And this is how glory is redefined when God becomes a suffering servant.

“We have seen his glory,” John says (John 1:14).

Jesus, we praise you for your glory. It’s a glory that overturns our expectations. Thank you for setting them right-side up. Amen.

“A sword will pierce your own soul too.”

— Luke 2:35

We are wondering this month about the incarnation, about Jesus’ being divine and human. He is both, but sometimes we downplay his genuine humanity. Sometimes we imagine his divine nature overcoming the weaknesses and shortcomings of his flesh and blood. But that would make Jesus something other than human.

I wonder what Mary thought about the genuine humanity of her son. When he was a cranky baby with teeth coming in, Mary would have comforted him. When he was a youngster with a skinned knee, Mary would have wiped away his tears and cleansed the wound. And when he focused on his mission and got too busy to eat, Mary worried and went with his brothers to find him. It seems they thought he might have gone out of his mind (Mark 3:20-21, 31).

Hardest of all, when soldiers stripped him naked and flogged him, when they drove nails through his flesh and bone to pin him to a cross, when his closest friends abandoned him, when he cried out in anguish, and when a spear opened a gash in his side, Mary stood by helplessly. She saw every bit of it. And she felt it all in the depths of her being. As Simeon had warned her, a sword pierced her soul too.

How human was Jesus? Hu­man enough for his mother’s heart to break.

Jesus, your mother loved you. She cared for you. She worried about you. She cried over you. How blessed you were to have your mother! Amen.

When Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit. The earth shook, the rocks split. . . .

— Matthew 27:50-51

Elijah was on Mount Horeb when God said, “I am about to pass by.” Then a shattering wind started to blow. But God was not in the wind. Then the earth started to shake violently. But God was not in the earthquake. Then a fire started to blaze on the mountainside. But God was not in the fire. Then, with all this blazing, shaking, and shattering going on, God spoke in a whisper (or as the Hebrew text suggests, there was “a sound of sheer silence”—NRSV).

God sent Jesus into a mad world, a world gone crazy. We know what that’s like. It was a world filled with noise and turbulence. Roman armies rattled their weapons of domination, while rebel groups raised their shouts for freedom. Religious factions argued their points of doctrine, while broken people lifted their cries of pain.

In the midst of all this racket, God spoke quietly (silently?), sending us Jesus. He didn’t look like much. And in the world’s eyes he didn’t amount to much. Even so, his enemies and the Romans would orchestrate a spectacle to be rid of him. At the center of it all was a cross.

The sun went dark that afternoon, until Jesus cried out with all the voice he had: “My God, why have you forsaken me?” And when he died, crying out again and giving up his spirit, the earth shook and the rocks split. Because God had spoken.

Jesus, help us to listen for your voice, which calls us by name and leads us in the way of faithfulness. Amen.

The written notice of the charge against him read: the king of the jews.

— Mark 15:26

Jesus is a human being, like any of us. Yet Jesus is extraordinary too. Because Jesus is a king. Who of us can say that?

When an angel announces the birth of Jesus, he is described as a king (Luke 1:32-33). When the Magi (wise men) journey to find Jesus, they are seeking a king (Matthew 2:2).

But Jesus winds up not looking much like a king. Instead of faithful followers, he has a band of disciples who betray him, deny him, or just abandon him. Instead of having a loyal army, he is mocked, beaten, and spit on by enemy soldiers. Instead of gold and jewels, he wears a crown of thorns. And instead of sitting high on a throne, he is lifted up onto a cross.

We might prefer to have Jesus be a superhero. Someone who stands tall. Some­one who has extraordinary powers. Someone who can deflect any attack and defeat every enemy. Someone who never loses. That’s the kind of king we want!

But the King we get is as vulnerable as any of us. The King we get dies like any of us, like all of us. This means our King is human, as human as any of us. And he’s just the King we need.

King Jesus, open our eyes a bit more today. Help us to see the King you are so that we can know the King we need. Amen.

“I am God and not a man.”

— Hosea 11:9

There is a clear and great distinction between God, who is the Creator, and the creation, which is God’s handiwork. God is forever; creation is for a while. God is perfect; creation, at its best, is very good. Creation contains life; God is life.

That great distinction gets blurred by the incarnation, when the Creator God takes on created flesh. For nine months, God takes shape in Mary’s womb. Then, over time, God the baby becomes God the man.

Think about what this means. God stands on human legs and sees with human eyes. God thinks with a human brain, speaks with a human voice, and loves with a human heart. And at the end, God suffers blows and barbs in his human flesh, and he bears humiliation and shame in his human soul.

A whip tears up Jesus’ back. Thorns pierce his brow. Slaps burn his face. Along with the thorny crown, a robe of royal purple completes the mocking picture of Jesus as a pathetic nobody, worthy only of pity.

“Look at this guy!” Pilate says with scorn in his voice (John 19:4-5). Yes, look at him. Jesus is just a blur, about to be smudged out. He looks nothing like God and nothing like a king. And that’s the wonder of it. Because Jesus, the broken man, is God and King.

Jesus, help us to see clearly who you are so that we can love you more fully and follow you more closely. Amen.

He made himself nothing. . . .

— Philippians 2:7

Every December we celebrate the birth of Jesus. So this month we’ve been wondering about the incarnation—how Jesus is human, as human as any of us.

But Jesus is not just human. He is also God. As one of the church’s ancient creeds puts it, he is “true God from true God.”

Does that put limitations on Jesus’ humanness? Does it put an asterisk next to his name? Is Jesus as human as any of us but not the same as any of us?

Philippians 2 tells us that Jesus left behind the advantages of being God, that he made himself nothing, that he humbled himself by becoming human, and that he suffered a shameful death. It sounds like Jesus embraced his humanness completely.

To be human is to be limited. Yes, we are made in the image of God (Genesis 1:27). And yes, we are crowned with glory and honor from God (Psalm 8:5). But we are limited beings. Ultimately, we are limited by death. Whatever our strength and skills, whatever our passions and dreams, death will claim us.

Death claimed Jesus too. Jesus, who is eternal God, died. If he shared that ultimate human limitation with all of us, then maybe he shared the whole ­array of limitations that are part of being human. That’s worth wondering about.

Jesus, our limitations frustrate us. Some of them even scare us. You know this because you experienced it, even the worst of it, for our sake. Thank you. Amen.