5 For every boot of the tramping warrior in battle tumult and every garment rolled in blood will be burned as fuel for the fire. Isaiah 9:5 English Standard Version
Every soldier has one, their “I
Love Me” wall. Look inside the office or home of any soldier and you will find
it. Even those of us who’ve left active duty, whether retired or simply ETS’d (Expiration
- Termination of Service) have one. Some are quite large and gaudy, while
others are more sedate or subdued, but we all have them. They are the place
where we enshrine, or memorialize, our service. Sometimes they are filled with memorabilia,
awards, and trinkets gathered from far-flung places. Sometimes they are shadow-boxes
filled with medals, unit patches, and rank insignia. They remind a soldier, and
their family, of a time of hard work and sometimes in time of war, great
sacrifice. I have mine. Periodically, when no one is looking, I stop and look
it over remembering the men and women that I served with and the things,
sometimes dangerous and astounding things that we did together. I take pride in
my service…and then at Christmas time I read Isaiah 9.
Isaiah 9:5 always sobers me up,
bringing me back down to earth. In my closet hang my uniforms. I’m not sure why
I kept them, but I did. After I retired from the Army, I pursued a career as a
teacher. Every November, I would drag out my dress uniforms, dust them off and
put them on, taking a bit of pride in the fact that I could still manage to
button them up. My students and coworkers were always impressed with the shiny
bits, even though I cannot claim to be highly decorated. They indicate good and
honorable service with a couple of awards for actions in combat, no awards for
great heroism. The uniforms serve no real purpose now. They just take up space
in my closet; however, I find it hard to throw them away. They, and my “I Love
Me Wall,” represent twenty-seven years of my adult life, a portion which gives
me pride. But when considered in the light of Advent, they lose much of their luster
and importance.
In Advent Emanuel reorders
things. The conquering soldier, the men who gained their position through force
of arms, find out that they are not truly powerful. The truly powerful one
arrives on the scene as a little baby. He does not come adorned with emblems of
rank or honor. He does not demand His own way. He does not conquer. He’s known differently.
Isaiah goes on to pen a famous description of the savior, one that we read
regularly.
6 For to us a child is born, to us a son is
given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be
called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Isaiah 9:6
Those precious and powerful words
of comfort roll down through the ages landing in my life, demolishing the pride
of my “I Love Me Wall.” It is not that my service was dishonorable, it’s just that
my service has no saving power. They are snippets of ribbon, shiny bits of
metal, and trinkets with no power. In the end, they will serve as fuel for the
fire. The true power of reality rests in a small infant child who goes by the
name of peace, comfort, and counselor. Emanuel came not to bludgeon, but to ensure
reconciliation, bind up the wounded, and bring ordered thinking to the
disordered mind. And while I do not intend on taking down my “I Love Me Wall,”
Advent puts it into proper perspective. It is not something I put my faith and
trust in; after all, it is destined for the ash-heap and has no power. All power
rests in a little child, sleeping in a manger because there was no room for Him
in the inn.
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