Missiological Fluidity: Counter Narratives in an Age of Indulgence

The holiday season is upon us. I am one of the few people working at my shared workspace this afternoon. Tinny music is blaring from a cheap speaker inside a digital screen nearby, it is just loud enough to irritate me. Periodically, the annoyance distracts me enough that I lift my eyes from this screen and watch the bigger one—where advertisements for Black Friday tantalize me to buy, buy, buy!

Once we get Thanksgiving out of the way, we can finally go shopping!

The Black Friday Narrative

Since Thanksgiving falls so late in November we have less time to prepare for Christmas. I can almost feel the rise of our collective sense of anxiety. The holiday season for some is the most wonderful time of the year. For many, it is the loneliest, most expensive, and most stressful time of the year.

Despite our various situations, most of us are lulled into believing that MORE is better. So, on Friday we will stand in line waiting, maybe for hours, to grab, and push, and even shove our way to the best deals at our favorite Big Box store.

Advertisers tempt us into believing that nothing is off-limits. Do you want a new 4X4? Buy it and throw one in for your spouse. Do you long for diamonds? Buy a few for yourself—you deserve to indulge. Everything we could ever want is available with the flutter of our fingertips and, if times are tough, we can delay the pain and buy on credit.

We don’t need it but we want it. We scramble for more for fear of missing out or, heaven forbid, running out. We believe that somehow this holiday season will be different. This year, all the effort, all the money spent, all the surprises will finally satisfy. But, most of the time they don’t.

We might blame these temptations on the times, on our 24/7/365 access to anything our hearts desire. But in a weirdly comforting sort of way, this insatiable desire, a deep wantonness, has been around for a very long time.

Want in the Wilderness

In Exodus, just after Israel is released from their Egyptian overlords by the “great power of the Lord.” They celebrate their deliverance by singing the song of Moses—their God-appointed-deliverer. Together in unison (I’d imagine) they belted out the chorus,

I will sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; the horse and rider he has thrown into the sea. The Lord is my strength and my song, and he has become my salvation; this is my God, and I will praise him, my father’s God, and I will exalt him. The Lord is a man of war; the Lord is his name (Exodus 15:2–3)

The lyrics of this articulate composition remind Moses and generations of people gathered that God parted the Red Sea and cast Pharaoh’s chariot, their great enemy and captor, into the deep, dark Sea. You can almost hear them belting the final stanza.

The Lord will reign forever and ever!

Then … they were thirsty. Even after singing The Song and recalling their miraculous journey, it appears as though they’ve been left high and dry. “What shall we drink?” they moaned. They’ve already forgotten the Lord, their fathers’ God, the Man of War, the One who reigns forever and ever.

This One, gracious, patient God, who created the water made the bitter sweet. And, there sparkling on the horizon, twelve springs of water and seventy lovely palm trees, reminded the Israelites that God provides. They ended up camping out right next to God’s visible, tactile, aromatic, abundant provision. If they doubted (which undoubtedly they did) they could simply dip a hand into the water or shimmy up a palm tree.

Then, fifteen days into their second month of their freedom, they began to grumble. Again.

Would that we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the meat pots and ate bread to the full, for you Moses, have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger (Exodus 16:3).

So, the Lord, who hears their grumbling, responds first by showing them his glory. Then God provides them with bread from heaven in the morning and quail in the evening, plenty to satisfy everyone’s hunger. His only restriction is that they take only enough for them and their families for each day. They don’t need to dry it, pickle it, or freeze it, because God promises to provide just enough to satisfy their hunger pains.

But they did not listen to Moses. Some left part of it till the morning, and it bred worms and stank, and Moses was angry (Exodus 16:20).

I wish this passage wasn’t so painfully familiar.

Counter Narrrative

Counter to the Black Friday narrative, the Scriptures remind us that God promises to provide everything we need according to his riches in heaven. I speak for myself here (maybe for you too) but I am pretty sure I am unable to comprehend those riches. I want to. I want to find peaceful satisfaction in all that God provides for me today. In this season, I want to hold the gift of the gospel, the gift of God’s Son so close that all the sparkly baubles and flimsy promises will finally pale in comparison.

The gospel provides the season’s counter narrative. The love of God is displayed most beautifully and generously in Christ Jesus—whose birth we celebrate at Christmas. God’s love is given without condition,

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish, but have eternal life (John 3:16)

On Black Friday as we snatch up some good deals, let’s not forget that we celebrate the birth of Jesus—the better Moses—who loves us and has finally delivered us, once and for all, from this bondage to want and dissatisfaction. Look into the eyes of the weary cashiers and the harried sales-people and take the opportunity to say thank you and pray for the opportunity to speak freely about the gospel and the birth of God’s Son.

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)