I love that line in Steven Spielberg’s Lincoln where the title character, in a rare assertion of his authority to acquire badly-needed votes to end slavery, loudly declares, “I am the President of the United States, clothed in immense power!” I know this will come as a shock to many, but there is slightly less power involved in being headmaster of a private Christian school. That being said, there is some clout at my disposal. I don’t really like throwing it around, though, as I’ve never believed that’s the role of servant leadership to which we’re called. Better to persuade, or even more, to pray that the Holy Spirit will convict and affirm. Except on rare occasions.
I remember one of those, last fall. I was out of town, enjoying a nice dinner at a nice restaurant with my parents, when my cell phone rang. One of my teachers, who also happened to be driving our charter bus that night to Dallas on a student ministry outing for our church, was on the line. She told me that our bus had just broken down on the side of a busy highway in Dallas. And, it was raining. Heavily. They were getting ready to get the kids out of the bus, so that they wouldn’t be struck by another car inside the vehicle as it was stranded on the side of the road. She just wanted me to know.
Now, this really wasn’t my problem. It was a church group trip. The bus belonged to the church as much as it did the school, and the kids on board were not primarily school kids. Let someone else figure it out, right? Back to my meal, right?
Only one problem: my baby was on that bus. Probably wet, cold, and scared. And, Daddy flew into action.
I got on the phone, pulling down all of my resources, canceling others’ reservations to vehicles for the next day, asking them to make other transportation arrangements, getting maintenance back to work after hours to ready our smaller vehicles in Tyler for the trip to Dallas, and ordering drivers for those vehicles to launch for Dallas with all deliberate speed. Sure, I was motivated by helping my school kids, too, who I also consider “mine”. But, my baby was on that bus. And, Daddy was bringing down the rescue. I know I later thanked and apologized to the people who had been inconvenienced by that emergency, but they were gracious. They got it. They were mamas and daddies, too.
The fourth candle in the advent wreath is the candle of love. The night of the storm and the broken down bus, love was on display. There was nothing weak or gentle about that love, however. It was fierce, and powerful, and strong. It had an element of desperation to it. In moments like those, love reveals itself to be a force of nature; in fact, the most powerful force in the universe.
Only when you understand the Fatherheart of God as having that kind of love for us can you truly understand the Incarnation, or the Cross. He loves us like that, you know. Desperate love is not an emotional state we commonly associate with God. Cool and detached is more His speed, in our minds, anyway. But, oh, how, we get that wrong. While God is clearly in control and is sovereign, there is nothing detached about His love for us. Jesus showed us that in the parable of the Prodigal Son: the father, seeing his penitent, broken son walking up the lane, broke all conventions of dignity of the day and sprinted down the road, robes flying as tears flowed from His eyes, embracing His beloved child who had returned to Him. That’s the desperation with which the Father loves.
When you understand that, you see, when His babies are in trouble, He will bring all of the resources at His disposal on a rescue mission to get them back, not sparing anything. Not even His Son, who is most precious to Him,. To save them. To make them safe. To restore them to Him, with robes flying and tears of joy.
How deep the Father’s love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure
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