The Gift of God

You know, it’s quite wonderful, the way these carols manage to contain so much information in such poetic form. And here we find ourselves, some of us, for, like, the hundredth Christmas, and still not a lot has changed. We’re still thinking about the gifts. Except every so often someone says, “Yeah, but it’s not about the gifts. Why are you saying that?”

Well, it was about the gifts for the wise men, that’s for sure. Because they brought their gifts. And in fact, at the very heart of the Christmas story is a gift. It is the gift. It is a wondrous gift. It is a divine gift. It is a unique gift. It is such a gift that when this gift is received, it changes lives, and it changes lives forever. In fact, arguably, the gift of salvation in Jesus, about which we’ve been singing, is the gift that keeps on giving. That slogan has been used in advertising for over a hundred years. I went looking for it, and I found that in 1928, one of the print magazines contained this advertisement: “Give Mother what she really wants this season: this all-white Hotpoint electric range—a gift that keeps on giving.” What I want to know is: Who decided that this is what Mother wants?

We don’t have time this evening, but I could survey and see if anybody really wants a range for your Christmas. I had a friend who tried this kind of approach, and he got his wife a few years ago a tumble dryer. And he thought this was amazing. Little did he realize that it wasn’t remotely amazing, and on the sort of score chart, he got minus ten in relationship to male sensitivity tending towards romance. And I can imagine the poor lady unpacking that thing and going, “Oh, so this is what Mother wants, is it?”

But you know, the idea of something that is a gift that keeps going… I mean, like, if you get a bicycle when you’re five, it’s okay as long as you remain about five or six. But as soon as you get to eight or nine, you’d better get another bicycle, because it’s no use to you. Food—people give you lots of food. You can eat it immediately, but it’s quickly gone. In fact, many gifts are like that.

But the idea is receiving something that has a benefit to it that far exceeds its immediate impact on us. And when you think about Christmastime, if we were to just survey one another, and say, you know, “What is it that we hope to mark our celebrations?” I wouldn’t be at all surprised if amongst, if you like, the top ten, we would discover that the three words that have been focused on the screen and sung about so far would be included in that list. Somebody says, “Well, I would like for me to enjoy happiness.” Someone says, “Well, it would be wonderful if we could live in peace.” And someone else says, “Well, above all, if we could live in a world of love…”

Now, if you think about that, it makes perfect sense. Because the idea of “Nobody wants to be miserable”—unless you’re the Grinch, and we can take care of you—but by and large, the idea of happiness is hardwired into our lives, many of us—the pursuit of happiness. So it would be surprising if people didn’t include that in their expectations: “I’d like to celebrate in such a way that the whole evening ends like the end of It’s a Wonderful Life, where, in either black-and-white or colorized, you see this very tranquil and beatific conclusion.” Sometimes people say, “Well, I think I could discover happiness if I only had that” or “if I was only there.”

But you know, the search for happiness is such that, especially at times like Christmas, the caregivers tell us that it is often an occasion of meltdown, that it is not unusual for a sadness to creep in—a sadness because a family member is missing—or for frustration to creep in because there’s a family member that we wish was missing, but she happens to have come in from Minneapolis, and she’s eating with us this evening. I have no one in mind, and I apologize to anybody from Minneapolis. That’s just from nowhere. Or just the basic disappointment of unfulfilled expectations: “Oh, yes, it’s lovely. It’s just what I didn’t want.” Happiness.

Peace. Peace. Do you know that since the sixteenth century, it’s estimated that there have been eight thousand treaties signed between the nations of the world saying to one another that we won’t be at war? World peace is far out there. What about peace in our own little worlds? What about peace in our own little hearts? What about that sense of dispeace when you waken up in the night and you’re afraid, or you’re reminded of failures, or you’re stuck on disappointments, and these things have come unannounced, and they seem to linger, and it seems almost impossible to be free of them? Peace.

What about love—the preoccupation of the poets, the theme of songs always, for all time, it would seem? There’s a reason why “All My Love” by Coldplay at the moment is receiving so much airtime: not just because he managed to encourage Dick Van Dyke to get up from his slumbers and, at ninety-nine, dance to this theme but because the melody is so good and because the lyric is so strong. Who is there that doesn’t want to love or be loved? Where is love? What is love? You can’t analyze it. You can experience it.

We have been made to know God, to love God, to obey God.

One of my favorite movies, which dates me, is the original Oliver Twist movie, and particularly because of the incident that involves him being taken away, and he’s taken into the custody of the undertaker. And in that context—in the basement, at least in the movie—he looks out through the barred windows, and he sings the song in that very high soprano voice of a young boy, “Where is love?” It’s “Where is love?” And he says,

Does it fall from skies above?
Is it underneath the willow tree
That I’ve been dreaming of? …

Must I travel far and wide
Till I am beside the someone who
I … mean something to?
Where is love?[1]

Now, here’s the question—and I think it’s an obvious question: Why is it, after all this time, in the whole span of humanity in the universe, we find ourselves with the advances of technology, medicine, wisdom, universities, skills—why is it that we still long for these things? They’re out in front of us. We can’t quite get ahold of them. Where is this happiness that really lasts? Where is the joy that supersedes just transient things? Where is a peace that settles in our hearts and minds? Where in the world is there love?

Now, the Bible is very clear about this. And in fact, until we understand this, Christmas makes no sense at all. And I understand why it is that people—many times men—will say to me, “Well, it’s just about the children.” Well, I think that’s partly a deflection on their part. They don’t want to face up to the fact that we’ve been singing about Jesus as a Savior. Why do you need a Savior unless you’re a sinner? And that’s what the Bible makes perfectly clear: We have been made to know God, to love God, to obey God, and yet we’ve chosen to do it ourselves.

And that’s why we hurt other people. That’s why our world’s a mess. That’s why we’re in the predicament we’re in. And the fact that the Enlightenment of an earlier era replaced faith with rationale, you say, “Well, how has it gone for us?”—as if somehow or another, if we move in the realm of rationality, it takes us out of the realm of religion. But in actual fact, what we’re being asked to do on an occasion like this is to think this out. Does it make any sense at all that God steps down into time? Yes! Because Jesus entered to the world to deal with our mess. To deal with the mess.

I was following behind a garbage truck this morning, I think it was, waiting for it to turn. It never turned, so I followed it for a long way. And it made me think about all kinds of things—mainly about trash and about what you do with it and where it’s going and “What are they doing with it?” and “I’m glad I don’t have that job”—all that kind of thing. But the fact of the matter is, Jesus actually came to deal with our mess. Because I want to please myself, I sin by wanting and doing things that displease God. And as a result, I spoil my world, I hurt other people, and my sin deserves to be punished.

Can you imagine for a moment if instead of “joy,” “peace,” and “love” being up on the screen, they decided that what they would do is they would take my sinful heart and shine it up on the screen, and everyone in the room could see what a sinner I am—could see the thoughts of my mind, could see the jealousies, the outbursts of anger, could see what I’m really like? I couldn’t stand it. You wouldn’t really want to see it either. And what if, after I’d had my shot, you had your shot, and there it went?

The psalmist says this: “O Lord, if you kept a record of our sins, who of us could stand?”[2] The answer is: None of us could stand. And this is where Jesus steps in. The Bible again is very clear. It says that sin pays wages. We get what we deserve. We’re made to love God; we choose not to love him. We’re made to trust him; we trust ourselves. We’re made to obey him; we do our own thing. It pays wages. The ultimate wage is death. But the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus.[3] Perhaps the most memorable verse in the whole of the New Testament is John 3:16: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have [everlasting] life.”

The gift of eternal life in Jesus is completely undeserved, it’s entirely unmerited, and it is available to all who will receive it.

I wonder if there isn’t somebody here tonight who says, “You know, I never ever thought about that once in my entire life. I never knew I needed a Savior.” Well, how would you know unless the Bible tells you? How would you know that true joy, real peace, lasting love is not found in a program, a self-help agenda? It’s not found in philosophy, in reimagining the future. It’s found in a person—that Jesus is the gift. That Jesus is the gift!

What do you do with a gift? I don’t have anything I want to give you up here. I’m Scottish; I don’t like to give things away. But if I had something, I suppose I could offer you a gift. I could tell you its benefits. I could tell you what it was worth and so on. And I would offer it to you; all you would have to do is come and receive it. The gift of eternal life in Jesus is completely undeserved, it’s entirely unmerited, and it is available to all who will receive it. People say, “Well, it can’t be that straightforward.” Why not? Why not?

But simply knowing that, even believing that, is of no value to us until we receive the gift. All you have to do is receive it. And when you receive it—which, by nature, you won’t want to receive—you will surprise yourself. And when you do, you will discover that that gift has had, if you like, your name on it for a very long time, and it has been uniquely, purposefully offered to you.

“Well,” people say, “I don’t know if I could ever possibly do it. I don’t know if I could do it.” That’s what people tell me all the time: “Well, it sounds very good, Begg, but I don’t think I could possibly be one of those Christians.” Well, somebody gave me a gift of gloves. They actually gave me two pairs of gloves. I gave one away—not one glove, one pair. And I’m left with this glove. And I wanted to bring it tonight as an illustration. You see this glove, all right? So I’m going to ask the glove to do things. I’m going to ask the glove to wave to you. I’m going to ask the glove to hold up three fingers. I could ask it to do a number of things. It can’t do a single thing until life goes into the glove. Then it can wave. Then it can hold up the three fingers. Then it can make an embrace.

The life of Jesus comes to live inside us. That’s why he’s come. That’s why we’re talking about it in our songs: that Jesus provides eternal life and that eternal life is never known apart from Jesus. And this Jesus, who we find first of all as a tiny babe in a manger, is the one who stood up into manhood. He worked in a normal life. He was endeared to people. He challenged folks. He spoke with clarity. He was a friend of sinners. And eventually, he was nailed to a cross. Why did the innocent die on a cross, unless he died in the place of our need? And that reality is such that that Jesus is mighty to save, and we discover that he is when we receive him.

[1] Lionel Bart, “Where Is Love”? (1968).

[2] Psalm 130:3 (paraphrased).

[3] See Romans 6:23.