Author: Ryan Hoffer

As a recovering alcoholic, 9.5 years sober, it is imperative that I remember the condition that brought about my sobriety. In those last miserable days, when my wretchedness reached a fever pitch, God, even in tribulation, was doing for me what I couldn’t do for myself. That is, He was imparting to me a perspective that could only be reached through desperation and, in doing so, casting off every objection that my spirit would otherwise give to such a surrender.

To use a common recovery expression, this is “the gift of desperation.” It is a gift, on the one hand, because it is benevolent, securing for us our welfare, and on the other because it must come from outside ourselves. A gift is given by another. We cannot give ourselves awareness—for unawareness is, by its very nature, ignorant of itself. Nor can our perspective be altered without the external application of some force.

No, this gift is given from without, by God, who knows the remedy for our condition and the measures that must be taken to arrive at it. He does this daily in the subjectivity of our own affairs and once and for all in the Incarnation.

This is the Gospel: that God, through Christ, has done for us what we could not do for ourselves. And, what’s more, He is continually doing for us what we cannot do for ourselves—breaking chains, restoring relationships, healing infirmities, quieting anxiety, and providing things both material and immaterial.

Ask God today to do for you what you cannot do for yourself, and thank Him that He has already done it in eternity.

A common theme among the heresies of the early centuries was the limitation of Christ’s humanity. Ironically, many false teachers accepted the divinity of Christ but denied His humanity (a fact that seems to only strengthen the argument for the former). Some groups claimed that Christ was an apparition or that He merely inhabited a human body but wasn’t Himself human.

One of these groups was the Docetists, from the Greek word dokein, meaning “to seem or appear.” Docetist groups believed that physical matter was evil and, therefore, practiced extreme self-denial to rise to a higher spiritual truth. According to their warped view of the created order, Jesus could not have had a physical body because that would impugn His divinity. The apostle John seems to be aware of these false teachings, as he goes to great lengths to stress the physical nature of Jesus throughout his writings, saying things such as:

“That which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we looked upon and have touched with our hands” (1 John 1:1).

One of these false teachers, Cerinthus, was a contemporary of John and promoted Docetist views during the first century. We know from second-century writings that these pagan philosophies were so influential that they established their own schools and began leading people astray. Early church writers have even stated that John wrote the fourth Gospel in refutation of Cerinthus’ views.

This may seem trivial or irrelevant to us today, but the truth is that we can put the matter to rest because the early church worked hard to combat these heresies and establish the orthodox position on Christ’s humanity. They did so by examining the Scriptures and refuting the claims of popular pagan philosophies that were entering the church. These assertions were then formulated into creeds that reaffirmed the truths of Scripture.

When we know the Word of God, we can sift through popular misconceptions about who Jesus is—whether regarding His humanity or divinity. As 1 John 4:2 states:

“By this you know the Spirit of God: every spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is from God.”

This week, as we celebrate the incarnation, thank God that He came in the flesh and that we have attestation to this very fact.

An often-neglected portion of Scripture is the names and numbers contained within. There are tallies of persons and tribes, inventories, and measurements. But let us consider the details, lest we mistake the divine for drudgery. For the Gospel itself begins with such a list! The apostle Matthew starts:

“The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham. Abraham was the father of Isaac, and Isaac the father of Jacob…”

God, in His wisdom, saw fit to begin the Gospel with a retelling of the people through whom the Savior would come. And, in touching on this, He bids us to revisit history. These are figures and events—stories of actual people who encountered God—whose experiences are told in the pages of the Old Testament. This would have been especially important to the Jewish audience of Matthew’s writing, who were keenly aware of their ancestry.

But Matthew’s list does more than represent the Jewish heritage of Jesus; it recapitulates all of history in the person of Jesus. For Matthew, to begin the story of Jesus is to start with Abraham and lead up to the “fullness of time,” as the apostle Paul puts it. In that sense, this genealogy can be heard saying something like, “Jesus not only entered history, but all of history worked toward His entrance.” His incarnation is so pivotal that it split time and became the standard by which we measure the calendar year in B.C. and A.D. (Anno Domini).

This is especially important today, as we celebrate the birth of our Savior. Let us rejoice with a reading of the genealogy in Matthew 1:1–16, thanking Him that the Word of God became flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:14).

One of my favorite verses in all of Scripture is found in Luke 1:38, where the mother of our Lord receives the news that she will bear the Son of God: “And Mary said, ‘Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.’” The phrase “let it be” is noteworthy—so much so that the great theologian Paul McCartney memorialized it in song! Mary’s response reveals the sublime resignation of her will to that of the Lord’s.

This posture stands in stark contrast to others in the same story. For example, Zechariah, upon hearing from the angel Gabriel that his wife would bear John, the prophesied herald of the Lord, remarked, “How will I know?” (again with the popular songs!). These two responses—Mary’s and Zechariah’s—reveal very different attitudes: one of acceptance and one of doubt.

To further emphasize these differing attitudes, consider the identity of these two figures. Zechariah was a priest and undoubtedly knew the Scriptures the angel was referring to. Mary, on the other hand, was a young girl, untrained in the law and prophets. Yet in Mary, we see a submission that we would do well to emulate when the Lord employs us in His will.

As you seek the Lord today, what is your response? How will I know? or Let it be?

A few years ago, when my son was in first grade, I faced the age-old parenting dilemma: What do we do about Santa Claus? Using a little creative thinking, I decided I could have my cake and eat it too by teaching him about St. Nicholas, the fourth-century church figure who was indeed a historical person. Nicholas was the bishop of Myra (in modern-day Turkey) and is remembered in church history as a generous almsgiver and a staunch defender of orthodoxy.

In the early 300s A.D., a church leader in Alexandria named Arius began teaching that Jesus had not always existed but was a created being and of a different essence than the Father. This false view of Christ’s nature began to sweep the Mediterranean world, deceiving a great number of Christians. When Emperor Constantine rose to power, the heresy had spread so widely that he called an assembly of church leaders to reach a consensus on the matter. This meeting, known as the Council of Nicaea in 325 A.D., is widely recognized for 1) being the first “ecumenical” (representing the whole) council and 2) establishing the orthodox Christological position.

Lists of attendees show that St. Nicholas participated in the meeting, where—over the course of several months—the 200+ bishops debated the Arian controversy using the Scriptures. A medieval legend (which likely lacks historical accuracy) recounts Nicholas becoming so provoked upon hearing Arius argue that he crossed the room and slapped him, for which he was subsequently deposed by Constantine. When the council concluded in July of 325 A.D., Arius’ view was condemned, and one of the most famous creeds in all of Christian history was drafted: the Nicene Creed, which is still read in many churches today.

In this document, it is stated that Jesus is:

the Son of God, begotten from the Father, only-begotten, that is, from the substance of the Father, God from God, light from light, true God from true God, begotten not made, of one substance with the Father, through Whom all things came into being, things in heaven and things on earth, Who because of us men and because of our salvation came down, and became incarnate and became man, and suffered, and rose again on the third day, and ascended to the heavens, and will come to judge the living and the dead.

While creeds are man-made statements, this creed reflects the doctrine of the nature of Jesus as set forth in the Scriptures. As a participant in the Council of Nicaea and a defender of the orthodox position on Christ’s nature, we can appreciate Nicholas’s contribution to the treasury of thought on Christian belief and practice.

(*Needless to say, after my son disseminated this new knowledge about Santa Claus to his classmates, I received an email from his teacher.)

Perhaps as a byproduct of the Reformers’ reclamation of the biblical truth that we are saved by grace through faith alone (Eph. 2:8-9), there tends to be wariness around the discussion of deeds. To oversimplify, this stems largely from a Protestant overreaction to Catholic practice, both past and present. But let this not be the case, for deeds are not only a significant subject of Scripture, they are also the very means by which we demonstrate our allegiance to the Savior. Peter reminds us of this in verse 17, acknowledging that “[the] Father… judges according to each one’s deeds.” Indeed (pun intended), there will be a judgment after death, in which believers will be examined and rewarded for their actions in this life.

A brief survey of the Scriptures makes this fact apparent. Most of the letters to the seven churches in Revelation begin, “I know your works…” James, the brother of our Lord, declares, “faith without works is dead” (James 2:17). And the apostle Paul informs the Corinthians, “all must appear before the judgment seat of Christ, that each one may receive what is due him for the things done while in the body…” (2 Cor. 5:10). There are countless other passages in the Bible that describe not only the value of works but also the judgment of works.

That being said, we would be remiss not to read the remainder of Peter’s thought, where he assures believers that their eternal status is a matter of identification with Christ: “knowing that you were ransomed… with the precious blood of Christ” (1 Peter 1:18-19). Our eternal security, then, lies not in our deeds, but in having been ransomed by the blood of Christ. Today, let us heed Peter’s call to conduct ourselves in fear during our time on Earth, not for the sake of salvation, but out of love for our Master.