2020 Highlights

Cameron here. 

A commercial that always comes on in between Youtube videos on our Smart TV begins, “2020. The year of the virus.” Only after these ominous words are the five seconds over and I am able to skip the ad. 

I do, of course, wish things could be different. I wish Sara could return to in-person preschool. I wish I could have graduated in-person and taken my family to Disneyland. I wish we could have visited family in the US for Christmas. The “year of the virus” took those things from us.

Yet instead of finishing the year with such solemnity, I decided to list some highlights. 

 

Personal:

• Probably my best year for daily Bible reading
• More and more confident in our parenting
• Both Sara and Noah are happy and developing well
•  Seeing Jessica thrive as a math teacher for Bucharest Christian Academy

 

Ministry:

•  Romanian language speaking progressed considerably
•  Bible study (in Romanian) each week since lockdowns over WhatsApp Video
•  The couple I do the Bible study with came to Christ!
•  Finding I can actually teach my seminary classes via Zoom
•  Another family on track to join us with IMB in Bucharest in June
•  Preached several times this year (mostly on Zoom)

  Academic:

•  Graduated with my PhD in May 
•  Presented at a (virtual) missiology conference
•  Two books which will (Lord willing) be published in 2021 – one I authored, one I edited
•  Four published book reviews
•  Asked to join two task forces with the International Orality Network: Next Gen and Theological Education

Divine Stillness

Does Christmas really bring out the best in us? 

As I write this short piece, our small Christmas tree sits atop a small end table. It is wrapped in gold and silver garland. From nearly every branch hangs a meaningful ornament. One of our two strands of lights have gone out this year, but no one seems to mind. It is the variety of ornaments that captures everyone’s attention. 

 

If you come into our living room and look at our Christmas tree, you may be surprised to find ornaments picturing holy scenes (baby Jesus in the manger), beautiful figurines (a golden Biltmore mansion), handmade items (a felt dove with a ribbon proclaiming “love”), and even silly ornaments (the Chick-fil-a restaurant cow). 

 

It is a mixture of emotions that arise when I gaze at our tree: joy, nostalgia, hope, peace. The beautiful stillness of the ornaments makes me want to bring such stillness into my own heart, to swallow it and let it become part of me. 

 

But then I am called back to reality. My daughter yanks my arm, pulling me into the kitchen to pour her more orange juice. My wife enters the room to tell me she slept late, and I’ll need to watch the kids while she gets ready for her online class. The ornaments are left dangling, just like my fleeting moment of peace. 

 

Does Christmas really bring out the best in us?

 

In between the thousands of little chores which fill up my day, I glance longingly at the ornaments. What is it about them that calls to me? Am I wishing for the time again when Jessica and I were first married, like in the ornament marked, “Our First Christmas”? Was life really simpler? Did I enjoy Christmas more then? Was I more at peace? 

 

Jesus came to bring peace on earth, the Bible says. That is, he came to bring peace between the holy God and sinners. The peace Jesus brings is an eternal one. If Jesus had not come, living as a human man, dying for our sins, and rising again on the third day, peace could not be possible.  

 

As I think about the peace Jesus brings, rightly highlighted all the more at Christmastime, I do find my soul calmed. Even in the midst of a busy and changing life, I find myself opening my heart to a different kind of beautiful stillness. This other stillness, a divine stillness, lasts far longer than one season per year.

 

“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.” 

                                                                                                                        -Luke 2:14

Honor, Shame, and the First Christmas (Conclusion)

Concluding Reflections

Obviously, these characters are not real. Or are they? I think that, if we allow ourselves to be stretched imaginatively a bit beyond the usual Christmas readings and reflections, we may enter the world of honor and shame in which the Bible was written (and still characterizes that part of the world).

            Although shame clearly surrounded the events of the First Christmas, God was also clearly doing things that transformed that shame into honor. Jerome Neyrey’s Honor and Shame in the Gospel of Matthew highlights how the Gospel writers noted that (1) Jesus came from honorable lineage, being a direct descendant of King David, (2) Joseph and Mary were considered by God to be virtuous, (3) no less than five divinely given dreams (three to Joseph, one to Mary, and one to the Wise Men) affirm Jesus’ unique divinity, (4) “celestial phenomena” occur in the skies in the form of a star and the angelic host, and (5) Old Testament prophecies of the Messiah’s coming were finally being fulfilled.[1]

            Finally, a word on Christmas in our time, during the coronavirus pandemic of 2020. The externals of Christmas look different for everyone this year. Absent are the parties, markets, concerts, and perhaps even church gatherings. The internals of Christmas need not change, of course. By these I mean feelings such as joy, wonder, devotion, and love. Those of us who fight to retain the externals of Christmas ought not shame those of us who reluctantly opt only for the internals. And vice versa.

            One way we can keep the internal fires aglow this Christmas, I think, is to try to consider the Christmas story in fresh ways. That is what I have tried to do here, by looking at the Christmas story through the “non-Western” value system of honor and shame. For the glory of God alone this brief devotional is offered, which is simply another way of praying that God may be honored above all things. 

            

 

 

 

---

[1]Neyrey, Honor and Shame in the Gospel of Matthew, 97-101. 

Honor, Shame, and the First Christmas Devotional (Part 5: David, a shepherd)

Read: Luke 2:8-20 

Dear Journal,

            My flock wandered over to the east of Bethlehem this afternoon. I guess I shouldn’t say “my flock,” since the sheep actually belong to someone else. They pretty much are mine, I guess, since I’ve seen all of them grow up from when they were newborn lambs. Anyway, the “sheep I tend” wandered over to the east of Bethlehem. 

I usually don’t mind when they want to go closer to another flock, provided the other flock’s shepherds are close by and can identify their sheep from mine. I think it was the singing that got my sheep’s attention, as funny as that sounds.

When the other shepherds came in view, I whistled them over so we could exchange news. It’s usually nice to talk to another human (besides my dad and brother, who shepherd this flock with me). These guys, though, were different.

The first shepherd wouldn’t even let me share my news first, which is, of course, customary for the shepherd who initiates the conversation. Instead, he blurts out, “You will not believe what happened to us last night!” Then he starts talking about angels lighting up the night sky like it’s midday, singing about giving God glory. 

“It was crazy terrifying at first,” added a second guy. “But they told us to go Bethlehem and we’d see the newborn Messiah in the manger of a stable. So, we dropped everything and rushed off.”

“Wait, you just left the sheep and everything?” my brother interjected. “And you went where? To a manger?” The shepherds nodded. 

Until that point, the oldest of the three shepherds had not said a word. Then he spoke. “It was just as the angels said.” The old shepherd had a distant look. I knew he was replaying the whole thing in his mind. Was that a tear I saw in his eye? 

“He’s here,” whispered the old shepherd, almost to himself. “The Messiah. I saw him!”

So, here I am. Under the same night sky that evidently shone last night with angelic light. If this is true, I want to see the Messiah, too!

Honor, Shame, and the First Christmas Devotional (Part 4: Reuben, an Innkeeper)

Read: Luke 2:1-7 

Dear Journal,

            Just returned from the stable out back. I tried to make it as warm as I could. I didn’t tell my wife who the extra blankets were for.

            About an hour or two ago, a young couple appeared at my door asking for a room. “You’re too late,” I said, “We’re all full tonight. Census time, you know.” The girl looked like she was going to cry. When she silently stroked her belly, hidden up to that point by a large woolen cloak, that’s when I knew. What could I possibly do? My wife and sons were already asleep, so they couldn’t share our room. Especially not if the girl was that far along. Besides, everyone will know tomorrow what happened, anyway. It’s hard to hide that turning away a seriously pregnant woman.

            My wife was about her age when she gave birth to our firstborn. “All I have is a stable.” The girl’s eyes met mine. “Follow me,” I said.  

            I don’t know what I’ll say to my wife and sons when they hear the girl’s cries if she gives birth tonight. What kind of a person is born in a stable?

Honor, Shame, and the First Christmas Devotional (Part 3: James, cousin of Joseph in Bethlehem)

Read: Matthew 1:18-24 

Dear Journal,

            I cannot believe the shame our family endured today! After arriving yesterday at my aunt’s house, my family and I decided to make the best of our forced family reunion here in Bethlehem. The Roman soldiers along the road stared at us like we were their cattle or something. I’m pretty sure my oldest son saw me stick my tongue out after we passed a centurion just outside Jerusalem.

            Anyway, after a fairly restful night, my wife helped my aunt make breakfast. As we were finishing, though, I heard my cousin, Joseph’s, voice outside the door, asking to come in. My uncle and I answered the door, but I managed to shut it before my small kids could see who it was. 

            Joseph and his childlike bride, Mary, stood shivering quietly. They had obviously traveled all night to make it in time for the census. My uncle just shook his head. What a softie! As Joseph helped Mary back on the donkey, I let him have it. “Do you understand the kind of shame you’ve brought on all of us? Don’t you know you can divorce this Jezebel?I don’t need to tell you that our family honor is at stake here!”

            Joseph’s always been a quiet guy, and always honest. That’s why I was so surprised when he told us that an angel had told him the child inside Mary was the Promised Messiah. I’ve never known him to lie before. But that story was too much for me! Rather than risk arguing more in the street, my uncle and I just closed the door. Maybe Joseph will come to his senses soon. Although, if he came all the way here with the girl, I’m not sure.

Honor, Shame, and the First Christmas Devotional (Part 2: Moses, a neighbor in Nazareth)

Read: Luke 1:39-56

Dear Journal,

            My childhood friend, Joseph, came by this morning. Even though we live only a couple of streets apart here in Nazareth, I hardly ever see him anymore. Not really. He mostly stays in his family’s workshop, and I have my animals to look after.

            I remember one time in school sitting next to Joseph. We must have been six or seven. He memorized the Shema faster than everyone else. The teacher honored him for it, but Joseph just shrugged it off. Then he helped me memorize it.

            I was just finishing feeding my donkeys when Joseph knocked and asked to use one for his trip to Bethlehem. “That’s a long way,” I said, unhitching one of my sturdier donkeys. “But I suppose there is no getting around it. I guess a lot of people will be traveling for the Roman census.”

            There was no use asking how long Joseph would be gone. Nobody knows. I did ask why he wanted a donkey, though. He said it was for his new wife. That made me hesitate for a minute, knowing that Joseph’s pregnant wife, carrying a baby that’s not his, would be sitting on my donkey. “Please” was all Joseph said.

            After Joseph left, my wife came in to tell me it was lunchtime. I didn’t tell her what had happened.

Honor, Shame, and the First Christmas (Part 1: Mother of Mary)

 Read: Luke 1:26-38 

Dear Journal,

            Another confusing day today. I never dreamed I’d be explaining the trimester cycle of pregnancy to Mary. At least not now. My daughter is younger by far than even my second cousin, Miriam, was when she got pregnant. We all know how that turned out. Was it one or two months she had to stay with us because her father couldn’t bear to look at her? I think it was two months. I haven’t seen her since.

            Mary insists that Jehovah has a special plan for her and her child. How am I supposed to tell that to my friends at the well tomorrow morning? Every day they make some sort of comment about how I failed as a mom. I am sure they are right. I know my husband thinks so, too. I know that is why he has become so dismissive of me. Our home has become so quiet.

            The funny thing is that, when I look at Mary, when she is by herself, she seems overjoyed. I can’t understand it. It is like she keeps reliving the dream she had a few months ago.  Back when our lives were normal. Back when I had friends in this town.

            Joseph is an honorable man. One of the most honorable in all Nazareth. Far too good for my sinful daughter. If I were him, I’d be thinking about divorce.

            Time to go. There is washing that needs to be done. Jehovah knows, Mary is too weak to help me.

Honor, Shame, and the First Christmas: A Character-Centric Advent Devotional (Intro)

Introduction 

In his Christmas Day sermon several years ago, our pastor here in Bucharest decided to stop and take an insightful “rabbit trail.” For about three minutes, Beni mentioned the cultural value of shame Mary and Joseph must have felt upon their arrival in Bethlehem. Earlier that year, I had been introduced to this cultural paradigm in a doctoral class. Then I began seeing honor and shame rhetoric everywhere, especially as it plays out in Romania.

            One of the most helpful points made by writers on honor and shame (HS) is that HS is ubiquitous in the Bible, meaning that it is all over the place. More than twice as many verses in the Bible deal with shame rather than guilt, although most of us from the global West don’t hear many sermons on shame. It is worth remembering that, before Adam and Eve were declared guilty in the Garden, they felt the sting of shame. Why don’t we hear sermons like this? To a certain extent, the answer is cultural. In Western nations like the US, we’d like to think laws are either broken or upheld; if you break a law, you pay the penalty and it’s done. In a courtroom, the lawbreaker pleads innocent or guilty. Innocent until proven guilty.

            But what if the lawbreaker is innocent, but accused of something socially despicable? Something like rape? The stigma and suspicion will most likely follow that person, forever tainting their reputation. Shame sticks and lingers. Shame becomes part of their identity. Further, what if that happened in a small town where everybody knows everybody? 

Such a reality of social stigma and shame surrounded the events of the First Christmas. It is indeed mind-boggling to think that God entered our world in the midst of sin and shame. This great irony would not have escaped the attention of First Century Jews.

            In Honor, Shame, and the Gospel of Matthew, Notre Dame professor Jerome Neyrey maintains that Matthew in particular was written to give Jesus praise and honor. With a Jewish audience in mind, Matthew structured his narrative in such a way that he highlighted people and events that vindicated Jesus amid circumstances which, taken at face value, are shockingly shameful. 

            In this short devotional of five parts, I take up the theme of honor and shame in the birth of Jesus Christ. Instead of writing abstractly, I have chosen what a former professor of mine calls “character theology.” My desire is to honor Christ by digging deeper into some of the surrounding characters of the story. Yet they are not principal characters. In fact, these characters do not appear in any Bible verse. None of them are given any lines to speak in either Matthew or Luke’s Gospel. I write them in the form of journal entries. The characters reflect on the scene before them, attempting to make sense of these events. In doing so, I hope we can all do the same.

 

Cameron D. Armstrong

Christmas 2020

On tornadoes, car wrecks, and finishing my PhD

Graduation (or quarantine) offers a good time to reflect on the past. As the saying goes, it marks the ending of one era and the “commencing” of the new. Although my PhD commencement is postponed to a date that is TBD, my thoughts and feelings are still mixed like every other graduate in every other context.



Why write this piece now, instead of after May 9 when my degree posts? Because this week I turned in my defended, revised, formatted, 212-page dissertation. Due to Coronavirus restrictions, I am not sure when my professors will be able to sign the signature page and then I’ll upload it to the ProQuest Dissertation database. I hope it will be soon. For the glass-is-half-empty guy in me, that means I’ve finished 99% of the work but can’t yet finish the 1%. But I’d prefer the glass-is-half full approach. I’d prefer to focus on the blessings. Let me explain why.



I celebrated Christmas 1989 paralyzed in the hospital. At four years old, a car accident on a black ice-filled Michigan highway left doctors questioning if I’d ever walk or talk again, let alone learn in a “normal” classroom with kids my age. After a few months in a wheelchair and afternoon medical rehab, I slowly relearned balance while quivering atop a balance beam and being told to enunciate words as I voiced them. My extraordinary recovery was, according to the papers, nothing short of miraculous.



God broke into my life loudly after that period. I met Jesus and vowed to follow him forever. It goes without saying that it is the best thing that has ever happened to me.



Interestingly, this is not the first time I’ve graduated somewhere and strange, life-changing events occurred. On February 5, 2008, during my last semester at Union University, an F-4 tornado ripped apart our campus in a split-second whoosh. With a strength I can only categorize as from God, I went into crisis mode and helped lead fellow students out of crumbling dorms and around downed telephone wires. Hundreds of thousands of dollars damage. Thousands of lives changed. Zero lives lost. A week later, I went back to student teaching but knew I’d never be the same.

May 2008. Bachelor of Arts in History. Union University.

October 5, 2012 was the day Jessica and I landed in Bucharest. Naively thinking I knew what to do as a missionary, I look back on those first few months and either roll my eyes or (if I’m by myself) give myself a literal facepalm. Jessica and I were basically newlyweds, having been married about a year and a half. Praise God that, in early December 2012, our supervisors introduced us to Beni and Anda Mogos, with whom we’ve served at Biserica Crestina Baptista Agapia for almost eight years. I graduated in December 2012 with my second seminary degree, a Masters in Theology.

Graduation December 2011, Masters of Divinity from Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary

Finishing my PhD in this odd season, then, does not disappoint me. The oddity and ups and downs has a sort of emotional familiarity. True, it is unfortunate that I won’t don my graduation regalia, take photos with family and friends and profs, or spend a day at Disneyland (which we were planning as a surprise for our kids). But these are minor setbacks that will soon be remedied as postponement dates are announced. Six years of part-time PhD work at a top-notch Christian university, studying with some incredible scholars (in California, Switzerland, and Thailand) who pushed me to think and write and publish and teach for God’s glory, absolutely has been worth it.



And, for all this, I am thankful.

12:57

12:57 PM on Wednesday will mark four weeks since Sara set foot inside her grădiniță (preschool). That is a long time for a three-year-old. That is a long time for anybody. It is especially hard to look into her eyes and mutter truthfully, “No, I don’t know when you will go back to school.”



No doubt this experience is the same the world over. People use various terms to describe this period: strange, difficult, crisis, etc. So many unknowns. Certainty in uncertainty is a global reality. Red, yellow, black, and white.



Speaking from a spiritual standpoint, we’ve always known that life is fragile and fleeting and only God and his word never pass away. Like grass and flowers withering and falling, mankind lives grandly and dies. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.



Yet woe to the preacher who does not step down from the spiritual standpoint and enter the material realm. Fear and sickness and suffering and death should not be glossed over in the name of spirituality. God forbid.



So, we tell our daughter the truth. “There are sick people out there, Sara, and people we trust have told us to stay home.” Surprisingly, she gets it. As hard as it is, she gets it. “Daddy, let’s pray for the sick kids and sick grown-ups.” Indeed. Why didn’t I think of that?



Once there was a wise Romanian Baptist pastor whose prayers, it is said, launched a revival even in the height of Communism. In 1974, Liviu Olah wrote, “I’m convinced that what nuclear energy is to the material world, prayer is to the spiritual world.” I wonder if, for our day, “nuclear energy” may be substituted with “pandemic”?


The time has come when COVID-19 is not some distant disease in China. Many of us now know people personally battling the Coronavirus. As Sara and Liviu Olah have prompted me in recent days, let us pray. As our kids stare searchingly into our eyes, trusting that we know what to do, let us pray. As Johns Hopkins University reports climbing statistics toward a possible “peak,” let us pray. And, Lord willing, after this season passes, we will all be better for having disciplined ourselves to pray.

The Christmas present that made me weep

I don't think it's ever happened before. At least not to me. Could my mother's voice really make me that emotional?

We were blessed this year, blessed beyond measure, to spend the month of December with family in the United States. We did A LOT of driving - over 50 hours - and visited a lot of family and friends and churches. Jessica and I even took our first overnight trip ever without kids. Christmas Day found us in the loving home of Jessica's parents in Charleston, West Virginia. The next morning we drove six hours south to my parents in Maryville, Tennessee.

I am the oldest of three siblings. It is an interesting dynamic to see my brother, sister, and I with our spouses, nine little kids, and my brother's little dog, Nacho, all piled together in my parents' home. So much laughter. So many toys.

Until this year, our kids (ages three and one) had never spent Christmas in the US. It was so thrilling seeing our daughter, Sara, "help" each person unwrap their gifts. Then she'd jump for joy out of excitement. Yet one gift stands out.

I guess I must have missed Sara opening it. Actually, I heard the gift before I saw it. "I know it is hard when we are apart..." The recording was muffled somewhat, yet clearly it was my mom's voice. The book, titled When..., is a record-a-story. Grandparents (or whoever) can pre-record themselves reading so that, at any time, kids can press a button and hear their loved ones read them a story.

We arrived back in Bucharest on January 3, jet-lagged but ready to put everything away and set our faces toward 2020. When When... came out of the suitcase, I made a comment about how hard it would probably be for me to hear that book. So, of course, Sara immediately wanted to read it. I fumbled some excuse about doing dishes, thereby making my exit and heroically leaving my wife to shepherd whatever emotions the book might give our three-year-old who lives seven time zones away from her Nana.

Later that evening, I thought to myself: "I am a man who faces my fears!" So I picked up the When... book, flipped past the page that says, "A story for Sara & Noah Read to you by Nana on Christmas 2019", and mashed the first button. Mom began:

I know it is hard when we are apart.
You know when that happens, you're still in my heart.

Mushy, I thought. I can take this...

We can still be together as quick as a wink, 
If I shut my eyes tight, and then I just think.

I think of our great times together and then,
I think of the time when I'll see you again.

Okay, I told myself, maybe this will be a bit rough.

When I see you again, we will have so much to say,
When I see you again, it will be the best day.

When I see you again, we will make such a big fuss.
When I see you again, we will be all about us.

We're apart for now, and I'll miss you until...
I see you again,
And when I see you I will...

Too late. Quietly weeping now. This would not have been all bad if, at this point, my daughter had not looked up from her coloring to watch me. And then Sara spoke:

"I know, daddy. I know. I know you wish we weren't so far away from Nana."

More tears. Who taught Sara such empathy? How did she know precisely what to say? And how on earth did she not cry after reading the first page of this book?

Did this episode dismantle whatever feelings my daughter may have harbored that I'm Superman? I don't think so. Instead, I think Sara began to view her usually-joyful dad in another role: a son who sometimes misses his mom.

There are a lot of other rabbit trails I could take at this point, waxing eloquent about the sacrifices of missionaries. I'd rather not take those trails tonight. No, tonight I'll simply choose thankfulness. I'm thankful for Christmas with family and memorable gifts such as When... I'm thankful for the wife and kids God has graciously given. I deserve none of it. Truly, I am blessed beyond all measure.