Immanuel

The following in italic is an excerpt from Max Lucado’s An Angel’s Story, written from the perspective of the Angel Gabriel.

…My Father’s response was a pronouncement. “The time has come for the second gift.”

The frame beneath [Lucifer’s] cape bounced stiffly as he chuckled. “The second gift, eh? I hope it works better than the first.”

“You’re disappointed with the first?” asked the Father.

“Oh, quite the contrary; I’ve delighted in it.” Lifting a bony finger, he spelled a word in the air: C-H-O-I-C-E. “You gave Adam his choice,” Satan scoffed. “And what a choice he made! He chose me. Ever since the fruit was plucked from the tree in the Garden, I’ve held your children captive. They fell. Fast. Hard. They are mine. You have failed. Heh-heh-heh.”

“You speak so confidently,” replied the Father, astounding me with His patience.

Lucifer stepped forward, his cloak dragging behind him. “Of course! I thwart everything You do! You soften hearts, I harden them. You teach truth, I shadow it. You offer joy, I steal it.”

He pivoted and paraded around the room, boasting of his deeds. “The betrayal of Joseph by his brothers—I did that. Moses banished to the desert after killing the Egyptian—I did that. David watching Bathsheba bathe—that was me. You must admit, my work has been crafty.”

“Crafty? Perhaps. But effective? No. I know what you will do before you do it. I used the betrayal of Joseph to deliver my people from famine. Your banishment of Moses became his wilderness training. And yes, David did commit adultery with Bathsheba—but he repented of his sin! And thousands have been inspired by his example and found what he found—unending grace. Your deceptions have only served as platforms for My mercy. You are still my servant, Satan. When will you learn? Your feeble attempts to disturb My work only enable My work. Every act you have intended for evil, I have used for good.”

Satan began to growl—a throaty, guttural, angry growl. Softly at first, then louder, until the room was filled with a roar that must have quaked the foundations of hell.

But the King was not bothered. “Feeling ill?”

Lucifer lurked around the room, breathing loudly, searching for words to say and a shadow from which to say them. He finally found the words to say and a shadow from which to say them. “Show me, O King of Light, show me one person on the Earth who always does right and obeys Your will.”

“Dare you ask? You know there need be only one perfect one, only one sinless one to die for all the others.”

“I know Your plans—and You have failed! No Messiah will come from Your people. There is not one who is sinless. Not one.” He turned his back to the desk an began naming the children. “Not Moses. Not Abraham. Not Lot. Not Rebekah. Not Elijah…”

The Father stood up from His throne, releasing a wave of holy Light so intense that Lucifer staggered backward and fell. “Those are my children you mock,” God’s voice boomed. “You think you know much, fallen angel, but you know little. Your mind dwells in the valley of self. Your eyes see no further than your needs.”

The King walked over and reached for the book. He turned it toward Lucifer and commanded, “Come, Deceiver, read the name of the One who will call your bluff. Read the name of the One who will storm your gates.”

Satan rose slowly off his haunches. Like a wary wolf, he walked a wide circle toward the desk until he stood before the volume and read the word: “Immanuel?” he muttered to himself, then spoke in a tone of disbelief. “God with us?” For the first time the hooded head turned squarely toward the face of the Father. “No. Not even You would do that. Not even You would go so far.”

“You’ve never believed me, Satan.”

“But Immanuel?” The plan is bizarre! You don’t know what it is like on Earth! You don’t know how dark I’ve made it. It’s putrid. It’s evil. It’s…”

“It is MINE,” proclaimed the King. “And I will reclaim what is mine. I will become flesh. I will feel what my creatures feel. I will see what they see.”

“But what of their sin?”

“I will bring mercy.”

“What of their death?”

“I will give life.”

Satan stood speechless.

God spoke, “I love my children. Love does not take away the beloved’s freedom. But love does take away fear. And Immanuel will leave behind a tribe of fearless children. They will not fear you or your hell.”

Satan stepped back at the thought. His retort was childish. “Th-th-they will too!”

“I will take away all sin. I will take away all death. Without sin and without death, you have no power.”

Around and around in a circle Satan paced, clenching and unclenching his wiry fingers. When he finally stopped, he asked a question that even I was thinking. “Why? Why would You do this?”

The Father’s voice was deep and soft. “Because I love them.”

The two stood facing each other. Neither spoke. The extremes of the universe were before me. God robed in Light, each thread glowing. Satan canopied in evil, the very fabric of his robe seeming to crawl. Peace contrasting panic. Wisdom confronting foolishness. One able to rescue, the other anxious to condemn.

I have reflected much on what happened next. Though I have relived the moment countless times, I’m as stunned as I was at the first. Never in my wildest thoughts did I think my Kind would do what He did. Had He demanded Satan’s departure, who would have questioned? Had He taken Satan’s life, who would have grieved? Had He called me to attack, I would have been willing. But God did none of these.

From the circle of Light came His extended hand. From His throne came an honest invitation. “Will you surrender? Will you return to me?”

I do not know the thoughts of Satan. But I believe that for a fleeting second the evil heart softened. The head cocked slightly, as if amazed that such an offer would be made. But then it yanked itself erect.

“Where will we battle?” he challenged.

The father sighed at the dark angel’s resistance. “On a hill called Calvary.”

“If you make it that far.” Satan smirked, spinning and marching out the entryway. I watched as his spiny wings extended, and he soared into the heavenlies.

The Father stood motionless for a moment, and then turned back to the book. Opening to the final chapter, He slowly read words I had never heard. No sentences. Just words. Saying each, then pausing. “Jesus. Nail. Cross. Blood. Tomb. Life.”

He motioned toward me, and I responded, kneeling again before Him. Handing me the necklace, He explained, “This vial will contain the essence of myself; a Seed to be placed in the womb of a young girl. Her name is Mary. She lives among my chosen people. The fruit of the Seed is the Son of God. Take it to her.”

“But how will I know her?” I asked.

“Don’t worry. You will.”

I could not comprehend God’s plan, but my understanding was not essential. My obedience was. I lowered my head and He draped the chain around my neck. Amazingly, the vial was no longer empty. It glowed with Light.

“Jesus. Tell her to call My Son Jesus.”

-Excerpt from An Angel’s Story by Max Lucado


The days leading up to Christmas this year seemed laden with the contrast of heaviness and blessing. It was easy to see God’s goodness. But, it was also easy to see the difficulties of life—of those hurting, of those confused, of those searching. Over and over again, I kept being drawn back to God’s sovereignty…that in all this, He knows. In all this, He will use for good. All this pain, He can redeem. There were a few looking to me for counsel. In it, I felt the overwhelming need to encourage them to turn to Jesus. To allow Him to show them that He knows, and He understands. To remind them that even when there are no answers at the present, there can still be peace. To allow Him to give them hope even when it’s hard to hold on to any.

Jesus. Such a name greater than all names. Such a Savior in a world broken, and laden with pain.

I read the above excerpt a few days before Christmas, and it took my breath away. We do not know exactly what happened in the planning and giving of a Savior, but we do know the Father’s heart, and what was written by Max Lucado captures it so beautifully, I feel.

We do live in a broken world. It is hard to see the light at times, especially when Satan’s schemes so often succeed. But, it is easy to forget that God allows Satan’s schemes, and He will use them for His good. And more so than that—He has always had a plan for redemption.

Immanuel. God with us.

He would send Himself into this world, to become flesh. To feel what His creatures feel. To see what we see. He would bring mercy and light.

And more so, He knew that coming into this world through a pure virgin, taking on flesh, meant an eventual painful death on the cross on a hill called Calvary. Satan would battle there too. But God would be ultimately victorious.

This…it is so profound to know that there is a God who loves us to battle and sacrifice Himself on our behalf. To know that the plan existed before time, and started its process in the body of an infant child, meek and mild…of the Father and destined to conquer sin for all.

And this…this we must remember and carry with us, not just today but always…that though Satan wars still, through Jesus, we can be victorious. All can be used for His good. The Father has been and always will be, a Sovereign God. Satan ultimately does not have power that the Father does not allow. Let us keep in mind and heart, now and forever...that to Satan, God essentially speaks, “I love my children. Love does not take away the beloved’s freedom. But love does take away fear. And Immanuel will leave behind a tribe of fearless children. They will not fear you or your hell.”

For today

This morning, I awoke—with little light streaming through our newly hung curtains—and checked the weather on my phone. A special alert came up: “Dense Fog Advisory.” Could it be? I wondered…I really haven’t experienced fog much here in Brooklyn yet, at least not on the street level. I peered through our curtains to the east and found I couldn’t even see the buildings more than three streets over, including the dominant Brooklyn skyline that is now our normal view day in and out. I smiled. I went to wrap on further warmth to my body with the robe that has been packed away for a week, finding comfort in its softness, and walked into the kitchen to see the west view. I couldn’t even see the river, less than ¼ mile away from us, just over the highway. Again, I smiled.

The internet wasn’t working this morning, so I did not read the news as I usually do while eating my breakfast. Instead, I simply sat, ate, and read a book that fed my soul instead.

In doing so, it made me wonder again--like I did last night--as to why in a city with as much stimulus it bears, do I seek to create more stimulus in my mind than is needed? It seems there is such a line between stimulus that is beneficial in resting and stimulus that just clutters up the mind more. The line is not always thick and it is not always thin. It depends on the day, on my heart and mind, and this is where discernment must come in.

This city…this city. The only way to truly “escape” it is basically to close one’s eyes and sleep, but even then, as my dear husband has found, there is not always rest. There are noises from the hissing of a radiator heating, honking from the highway, doors closing of nearby neighbors, and occasionally, lights that shine forth into said windows. We even found that we must close our bedroom door at night, for right now our living room window without curtains, displays a seeming strobe light of endless lights in no true rhythm or pattern as they stream forth from the highway. Even our new apartment is evidence of this paradox: on the east, the street is calm, quiet, very few cars but more pedestrians with their children, families, dogs. On the west side with a barrier of about 50 meters, we have the craziness of the highway, complete with the on-ramp in front of us, but then, just on the other side of it, is the East River, its tranquility evidenced as water sparkles and shines both in the day and night. We go up to the roof above us, and we can see for seemingly miles—a rarity in this city—complete with the sunsets, city lights of night, and breaking of dawn. This, is peace.

There seems to be such an innate human wrestling with the pursuit of peace and how to best attain it. We cling onto the little we have and fight for what we do not yet. The drivers on the highway show the best example: in their pursuit to get to a said place, they honk, swerve into the lanes, accelerate quickly only to have to decelerate quickly due to the traffic in front, and all of these actions on every individual’s part only leads to more frustrated individuals, a frustrated general public, and a disharmony of the parts working as a whole.

What then, in my mind and my heart, honks forth, swerves in front of things that shouldn’t, races ahead to only be decelerated again? And what of my mind and heart is simply resigned to sit in the traffic and go the pace that the situation currently allows at the time?

In time, I will get there. But there’s only so much I can do to in navigating a situation. It is better to be on the journey and allow it to take me when and where I should go.

I see this exit—should I take it? Should I go there? I see that building—what’s in it? The walking and learning of a new neighborhood feeds this innate questioning. But even more, it whispers to me, who do you want to become?

Overall, there is such peace. But there too, is an innate wrestling. I see the prospects of so many things, like the rooftops and skylines from our new building, both near and far. And those far—for some reason, I think I have to get there soon. The questions race through my mind… “What of getting involved here? What does that mean? In a few years, God willing, we will start a family. So, what does that mean for now?” In this questioning, the buildings between here and there create tension; they seem to become obstacles needing to be navigated on the way to an eventual goal and reality. I start to get anxious about what those intermediate buildings may hold and I forget the process of journeying, of discovering.

I forget that what is between here and there, God uses and will continue to in shaping me to whom I hope to become.

Take, for instance, the quaint little neighborhood café on the first floor of our building: Iris Café. This too, is a reminder. John brought to mind a poem I wrote three and a half years ago titled “Flowers Along the Way.” In reading it just now, I find it ironically appropriate here too, in a new way.

Heart unsettled
Uncertainty resides
Whisper in the midst
New things into light
Unknown territory ahead
Ground unsteady beneath
Destination a ways away
But still I never fall
For the Spoken Word remains
Be still in the moving
Sands ever shifting
Path ever changing
Only One keeps me going
For the Living God remains
Climbing still
Trusting ever more
Heart will never break
And there will be flowers along the way


It is easy to forget that there are treasures in the journey, flowers along the way. Or perhaps—in this city—buildings along the way.

In all this, what then of a smile this morning with the fog, and a blessed contentment that came with it? “Why so content with it?” I asked myself. In my spiritual life, fog has never really been a settling thing for me before. It has masked things I wished to be visible for perspective in my surroundings. Yet, on the morn of last night, I found it incredibly comforting. Yes. I can’t see those far buildings or river of possibilities today. I can only see what is right in front of me. Simplicity granted in a mind and heart of stimulus and thoughts, dwelling in the midst of a bustling and full city. Gratitude became the response for God masking the things far away today as a reminder…

…that for today, I am right here.