Merry Christmas!

Thank you for joining me on this Advent journey!

Merry Christmas!

 

 

 

 

The Curiousity of Jesus

This final week of Advent is a short one, so we will get one reflection on the theme I selected: “Curious expectations (seek, and you will find).”

Author John Pavlovitz writes of a time when he was asked by a friend,, “Do you know why a bluebird finds worms?” The friend responded: “Because that’s what it looks for.”
“Much of what we discover in this life is about the questions we ask, the things we give attention to, and the way we invest our time.”

I am in a profession where questions fuel my daily work. At home, if I wonder about the way a plant is growing, or curious if I can substitute this ingredient for that, I ask. Often Google, but still, I ask.

After the prophet Malachi spoke to Israel one final time about a Promised ruler, the people of God were left wondering for 400 years.

“But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah,
    though you are small among the clans of Judah,
out of you will come for me
    one who will be ruler over Israel,
whose origins are from of old,
    from ancient times.”
(Malachi 5:2)

They could ask questions of their religious leaders, and ask God in prayer, “how long, O, Lord?” But for those who really, really wanted to know what the Messiah would look like, or where He would come from, were left in the dark.

Due to the oppressive circumstances of foreign rule during the Exile, and then under the Roman Empire, people began putting their hopes in a mighty warrior who would lead them against their giant foes. But the Savior of the World did not arrive like a King, nor did He rally troops for an earthly battle.

Pavlovitz calls the birth of Jesus “one of the greatest surprises on the planet.” Everything about Jesus was unexpected. He goes on to say, “He was conceived in mystery, born in anonymity, and surrounded by people of little renown. That was unexpected. But these would not be the only surprises associated with Jesus’ presence. He would grow to teach of the wisdom of childlikeness, the elevated status of humility, the counterintuitive love of one’s enemies. Who Jesus would become, and the kind of life he would call his followers to lead, was the ultimate script-flip.”

Jesus understood the questions that surrounded Him, and chose to teach His disciples and everyone around Him to live with curiosity. To seek God’s will, to question injustice, to ask, “can I be healed?”. We see this most clearly in Jesus’ interactions with children. He cautioned his disciples to not turn away the children, because from them we can learn child-like faith.

If you’ve spent any time with a child, you know they are full of questions. Wonder and curiosity spill out of their mouths like waves. Sometimes it seems like you can see the wheels spinning as they prepare another inquiry.

Jesus taught in parables. Not to confuse, but to show that blessings, wisdom and beauty can come from unexpected places and people, as God shows up in the most unlikely ways.

I wonder how often young Jesus asked Mary and Joseph to recount His birth story. Scripture doesn’t allow us to see adult Jesus interacting with His earthly origin, but I imagine it was one of His favorite stories, and later fueled aspects of His parables. God didn’t need to have His son experience life from embryo to man, but He did. And in that way, we have a Savior who understands the everyday cycle of life and love, of loss and pain, of mystery and yes, even death.

This is a gift we are given each Advent. To journey along with our Savior as He welcomed His first, brand new day, heralding the beginning of a Life that would be sacrificed in order to make all things new.

I like the way Pavlovitz puts it:

“Every day we open our eyes and greet the sun, we are gifted a Christmas miracle. You wake in and walk into this glorious new day—into the delivery room of the present. You have this entirely new, never to be repeated opportunity to bring peace and compassion into a space that so needs it. Hope is being born again with the light arriving. Today is a birth day. This is the greatest of good news.”

Half way through December I began reading the book, Advent for Exiles, by singer Caroline Cobb. It’s an Advent devotional focused on the prophecies and stories of the Old Testament. And while I didn’t have the time or space to include her words this year, I want to end with one of her important points from Day 9. In lyrical terms, she calls us exodus people, observing that Jesus’ first coming brought about a new exodus, at His second Advent, Jesus will bring about a perfect and lasting exodus. She says,

“This is why we rehearse our redemption week after week at church: listening to the gospel story, singing songs of our deliverance, and taking part in the new Passover meal in the bread and wine of communion. When we do this, we are looking back on the new exodus Jesus initiated in his first advent. But we are also looking forward, staking our hope in his promise to bring us all the way home, until at last we are safe on Zion’s golden shore.”

I think this is why Advent is so important. We repeat the story to ourselves each year not just for nostalgia or Christmas tradition, but because we need to hear it. We need to be reminded of the God who came low and unexpected, full of hope for the weary, peace for those in pain, joy for the down-trodden, and love for the lost.

Then the angel said to them,
“Do not be afraid, for behold,
I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people.
For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior,
who is Christ the Lord.
(Luke 2:10-11).

 

He Entered the Dark to Bring Us Light

Today we observe the shortest light of day and the longest dark of night. For many years, I didn’t count the winter solstice as a part of my Advent tradition, but about ten years ago I was introduced to the solstice’s place in the church calendar with Blue Christmas. In the midst of preparing our hearts for Christ’s birth, Blue Christmas is a time to reflect and lament the hurt and brokenness that exists in the world, and acknowledge that our God hears and sees us calling out to Him from our deepest needs. On this side of the Nativity story we know God’s answer comes (past, present, and future) in the form of His Son, prophesied to be the great Light in the Darkness.

Author and speaker Annie B. Downs has a quote that I’ve seen online multiple times this week. She says,
“I (almost) always come limping into Advent, desperate for light, but almost too tired to look for it. Then I remember: the Light came looking for me and that’s the whole point.”

During the first Christmas of the pandemic my family decided to social distance and not spend the holiday together in the same city. It was weird and lonely. And so I took a mason jar and filled it with candle stubs from old Advent wreaths. I kept the jar with me all day and into the night. And it made the day feel less dark.

What power light holds! It's no surprise our holiday decorations focus so much on light. They pierce the darkness of winter like they have a story to tell.

We don’t often think about how the star over Bethlehem appeared to anyone else in the Nativity story. Imagine Mary and Joseph’s surprise when their dreary dwelling was suddenly cast in a beam of light. They were in the dark—both literally and spiritually—until Jesus was born and entered the dark. Scripture doesn’t give us an exact time when the star appeared, but if the wise men were able to say to King Herod, “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? For we saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him” (Matthew 2:2), then it must have been as soon as Jesus let out His first cry into earthly air. The star’s light became a herald for the Light.

I also see this as a bookmark to the darkness that occurred when Jesus hung on the cross, preparing to breathe His last breath. If the Creator would direct the heavens to showcase a brilliant star at Jesus’ birth, why would He not respond in kind at the devastation of His Son’s death. The same Mary who treasured these things in her heart, present at both her son’s birth and death, probably noticed this too.

How much more noticeable the light when it is surrounded by darkness. How much more debilitating the dark when it is devoid of light.

The God who hung the sun, moon, and stars in the sky is the same God who sees us in our pain and own personal darkness. He knows that we need more than just words to bring us hope. And so He uses all of creation to point us to Him.

There is a stanza in the Advent hymn, O Come, O Come, Emmanuel that says:

O come, thou Day-Spring, come and cheer,
Our Spirits by thine Advent here;
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death’s dark shadows put to flight.

Jesus Himself is our day-spring, or sunrise, in modern terms, an echo of Isaiah’s prophecy about the coming light:

The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness,
on them has light shone.
(Isaiah 9:2)

Desiring God writer Jon Bloom reflects on this stanza of the hymn and Jesus’ role as the approaching dawn in his article, He Came to a World in Darkness. Bloom says,

“These luminous words of hope were first spoken 2,700 years ago to a fractured Hebrew people who were watching with anguish as a fearful night fell upon them. It looked as though Israel’s lamp would be forever extinguished. But the prophet foresaw that, beyond this fearful night, a great dawn was coming.

. . . Jesus came into the world as light and became the light of the world. And his light shone in our darkness. But he did more than shine. He set in motion the eternal destruction of our darkness by taking it upon himself. . . and His healing rays have been spreading throughout the world ever since.”

As soon as sin entered the Garden of Eden, we became a people walking in darkness. May we let this long night help that to soak in. From that point onward, we needed a Savior. Someone to not only show us the Light, but actually extinguish the dark. At the first Advent we received the one who would grow up to say: “I have come into the world as light, so that whoever believes in me may not remain in darkness” (John 12:46). But we are waiting for a second Advent: a time when Christ will come again to defeat death and darkness forever.

Until that day, we have a Creator who allows us to experience darkness. Without it, we would have no need for light; we would not fight for truth and justice and hope. But we are not alone in this dark. In the most radical intersection of all, we have a God who came down in human form to show us the way.

I love author Kaitlyn Bouchillon’s poetic reflection on this darkness and light. I will end with this:

“. . . The night will seem to swallow everything in a matter of hours, but we’re inching toward the promise, and in His kindness, God saw fit to enter the dark and start the clock.

For now, loss lingers . . . but one day, the day will go on forever. One day, night will be no more (Revelation 22:5). One day, all will be forever bright. But for now, as we limp through the dark, may we remember:

The countdown is on. The clock is ticking. Closer, closer, closer. Always, Light is pushing back and coming for us. And today, on the very darkest day as night stretches as far as it can go, the earth joins in with a declaration spread across creation:

From here on out, the light gets shorter. From here on out, it only gets brighter. No matter how deep the darkness, Hope has something to say. Even now, dawn is on the way.

Next week we’ll celebrate the Light of the world that pierced the night, the One who still wakes the day and paints the sky, the One who couldn’t stand to do anything other than come closer, closer, closer.”

This is Emmanuel. God with us.

Unexpected Partners

This week I've been reflecting on radical intersections in the Nativity story. There are miraculous coincidences of time and place, unlikely pairings, and unexpected participants, just to name a few.

One I had not focused on before sprung to mind as I was reading Hannah Brencher's Day 12 Advent devotional. I'll set up the scene: 

And while they were there [Bethlehem], the time came for her [Mary] to give birth.  And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn. (Luke 2:6-7)

We all know how pristine and romanticized the stable/cave looks in picture books and nativity scenes, but if we put ourselves in Mary and Joseph's shoes, this was not the ideal place for a birth. The city of Bethlehem was bustling with people, but scripture doesn't indicate anyone was there with this young family experiencing the birth of a child for the first time. They were alone. Except for God. And He had been there from the very beginning.

Brencher says,

"At that moment, she [Mary] and God partnered to bring this baby into the weary world.

I have to burn this picture into my brain to remind myself that God uses the most unideal circumstances to accomplish his most significant purposes.

The whole story of Jesus' birth is entirely unassuming.

It's anonymous.

It wasn't the talk to the town.

It wasn't making the news.

It was a birth in a relatively obscure area— out of sight and tucked away— and it wasn't until the star appeared that the news spread, "Immanuel is here. He is finally, finally with us.'"

Other than the creation of the world, the Incarnation was the biggest thing God had ever done. We surmise from Genesis 1:26 that the whole Trinity was present when the world was sung into being. God wouldn't need a human for another creation, would He? And yet, He chose to partner with a young woman in order to bring His Son into the world. A very radical intersection, indeed.

What kind of hope does this give us?

Sometimes when we speak about prayer, we refer to the idea that we are partnering with God in order to make something happen. Prayer should be a dialogue, for sure. But it is God who does the partnering. We have no power to corral Him into joining us. Instead, adult Jesus taught His disciples to pray in a certain, humble way when they had requests of God; to make themselves available for God's good works.

We aren't privy to Mary and Joseph's prayers, either in the times before they encountered God's plan of Incarnation, nor when they are huddled together in a quiet, dirty corner of Bethlehem waiting for Mary's contractions to increase in speed. But they were fully aware of the immense weight/honor they carried, being the earthly parents of this Precious Son. If this child was to grow up and bring about miraculous salvation, surely God had His hands on every step of their (and His) journey--including the intimate and messy act of delivering a baby.

What messy things in our lives could benefit from a divine partner like Jesus? (The answer is all of them). We need not be embarrassed by a less than perfect setting or set of circumstances. God--Father, Son, and Holy Spirit--is always ready to join us in the mess. That is what it means for us to call Jesus, Emmanuel. God with us. God choosing us. God partnering with us. For His glory and our good.

 

The Mindset of the Magi

Of the two gospels that recorded Christ’s birth, only Matthew spoke about the wise men who came to visit toddler-Jesus.

1 After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem 2 and asked, “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him.”

3 When King Herod heard this he was disturbed, and all Jerusalem with him. 4 When he had called together all the people’s chief priests and teachers of the law, he asked them where the Messiah was to be born. 5 “In Bethlehem in Judea,” they replied, “for this is what the prophet has written:

6 “‘But you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
    are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for out of you will come a ruler
    who will shepherd my people Israel.’”

7 Then Herod called the Magi secretly and found out from them the exact time the star had appeared. 8 He sent them to Bethlehem and said, “Go and search carefully for the child. As soon as you find him, report to me, so that I too may go and worship him.”
(Matthew 2:1-8)

It’s an amazing turn in the Nativity story, full of evasive moves, an evil villain, and a quest. We don’t really know much about the Wise Men, or Magi, as they were referred. I often wonder how Matthew learned about them at all.

Today, we know that the word Magi comes from “magus”, an Old Persian word for the priestly caste of Zoroastrianism. These Magi were known to be specialists in astrology and dreams. A perfect group of people to see a new star in the heavens. Only they were approximately 1,000 miles away to the East. Why would God orchestrate this part of the story with so many hurdles? Not only did they have to travel (on camel), they weren’t following a road, but a star. When they arrived, they were not quite received with open arms. And when they finally accomplished their mission, they had to sneak out of town like spies.

Maybe their story isn’t so dissimilar to Mary and Joseph’s. Nothing about the events leading up to Jesus’ birth were easy. Why would His worshipper’s journey be any different? I think we can find great comfort in this. As we walk through this life, our Father is orchestrating trillions of moving pieces for our good and His glory. That long wait we are experiencing might just be the length of time it takes us to get from the Persian desert to a small town named Bethlehem.

Last year I read an Advent devotional by Asheritah Ciuciu. This year I’ve been reading her reflections online. She draws another avenue of inspiration from the wise men’s story. But first, let’s finish the narrative:

9 After they had heard the king, they went on their way, and the star they had seen when it rose went ahead of them until it stopped over the place where the child was. 10 When they saw the star, they were overjoyed. 11On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. 12 And having been warned in a dream not to go back to Herod, they returned to their country by another route.
(Matthew 2:9-12)

Ciuciu writes:

“How do we fight so hard to create fun holiday memories, only to feel like failures? We imagine these weeks playing out like the script of a Hallmark movie: beautiful family moments set to cheerful tunes. But reality crashes into those daydreams, leaving us disgruntled and weary.

Instead of laughter and cherished moments … chaos and wailing.
Instead of a fun romp through the tree farm … frozen toes and hungry complaining.
Instead of perfectly frosted sugar cookies … burnt edges and runny royal icing.
Instead of peaceful family gatherings … harsh words and hurt feelings.

. . . [But] I’m encouraged by the story of the wise men preserved for us in Scripture. . . The word 'overjoyed' gives me pause. When the wise men saw the star, the ESV Bible says “they rejoiced exceedingly with great joy”. That is what I want for us this Christmas season: to recalibrate our holiday disorientation and set our sights on the shining Light of the world.”

After that grueling journey, can you imagine their joy? But I actually notice something that makes their rejoicing even more relatable to us. The second half of verse 9 says:
“they went on their way, and the star they had seen when it rose went ahead of them until it stopped over the place where the child was.” It’s kind of a clunky sentence, but from it we notice that the star needed to rise in order to be seen.

During the day, the wise men were guideless. Having arrived first in Jerusalem (where they thought a new king would surely originate from), maybe they wondered if the star was done shining. When they learned they were definitely not in the right city and could no longer see the star because of daylight, I imagine they doubted whether the star would return that evening to finish the journey.

If that doesn’t mirror our tendency to worry and doubt, I don’t know what does. We love to see and know, to understand. When we are “in the dark” about anything, it can feel like a personal affront or an insurmountable task. But just because the answer/guide is not visible doesn’t mean it’s not there. But because we can’t see God moving doesn’t mean He isn’t.

When I sat down to write, I originally thought I’d reflect on the radical intersection of the wise men and King Herod. As early as 500 A.D. Christian writers began referring to the Magi as kings, basing their ideas on prophecies like Psalm 72:10. And then in 1857, John Henry Hopkins Jr. penned the carol we know as We Three Kings.

Kings versus king. There are all sorts of comparisons and contrasts (mostly contrasts) we can draw between these two, but when we boil it down, we only need to ask one question: Who wanted to find Jesus in order to worship Him?

God used the totally unexpected to pay homage to His Son. And He continues to use these unexpected kings to show us the magnitude of His power and grace, the wide reach of His hands, and the vast circumference of His plan.

An Unlikely Peace for the Lowly

We’ve talked about the prophets, Zechariah and Elizabeth, Mary and Joseph. Now it’s time for some more about the shepherds.

I named this third week of Advent, Radical Intersections (the most unlikely participants). The whole Nativity story is full of unlikely scenarios, protagonists, and conclusions, but I think the shepherds stand out as the most unique early recipients of God’s Good News. Their example as the marginalized and lowly ones in Israel is not to be questioned; it is the fact that God chose once again to shift the narrative in favor of the humble and unexpected.

Kelly Nikondeha, author of The First Advent in Palestine, writes,

“The story of the first advent, according to Luke’s telling, is the story of God pushing boundaries of respectability in pursuit of another kind of peace . . . He reaches deep into the social fray, stretching all the way to a band of shepherds. The whole of society is embraced by Emmanuel—God with all of us, right down to the lowliest shepherd!” (p.87)

We all know the depictions of Bethlehemite shepherds by their hard-working smell, low social status, and keen attention to their flocks. Modern sermons and commentaries might equate them with today’s manual laborers or migrant farmers (“nearly unseen and certainly under-appreciated, yet absolutely essential to the economy,” Nikondeha writes. p. 89). But what Nikondeha wants us to remember is that it’s not only about who God sent His Son for, but also about who acknowledged Him when a choir of bright and loud angels said, “go!”

Jesus could have been conceived into a wealthy family, born amidst the royals in Jerusalem, but one of the biggest reasons He wasn’t, was for people like the shepherds. The Messiah came low in order to show the humble path to salvation. And He came low in order to be received by the lowly—in a manner they understood and were curious about. Imagine if the angels had only said,  

“Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. . . Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!
(Luke 2:10b-11,14)

What if they left out the part about Jesus' swaddling clothes and manger bed, I’m not sure the shepherds would have wanted to go. They would have known that no fancy family would receive messy field-dwellers and their whole meandering flock into the birthing room of a baby savior. But maybe they could go see what was going on with a new baby born amidst animals like their beloved sheep.

Nikondeha reflects on this idea early in her book:
“How Jesus entered the world matters. Where and when God chose to come into the world carries significance.” (p.5)

So far, the message of the Messiah’s identity had reached a priest and his wife, a peasant girl and her carpenter fiancée. Now, the angels made sure the shepherds heard the Good News as well. This showed how far-reaching this new salvation would be—not just for the religious leaders, not just for the righteous and devout, not just about their homes, livelihoods and land. Including the shepherds in the narrative shows us that the Messiah’s peace can permeate the very edges of the economy and those most likely to be exploited. One of Bethlehem’s chief commodities were the very lambs and sheep the shepherds cared for. And now, forevermore, we place them and their caretakers next to figures of Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus, asleep on the hay. A radical intersection indeed.

A Humble Response

I watch a fair number of medical dramas on TV. Some include ambulance staff, while others focus on those working in the medical facilities. In both instances, the first responders are the ones who set the tone for those in crisis. They often express an almost unrealistic amount of patience and compassion. They always know the right things to say and the right actions to take.

As I was reading John Pavlovitz’s devotional, Low, I was struck by his description of Mary as, “the first responder for those of us who seek to emulate Jesus in the world.”
Here is the passage from Luke 1:26-38 to refresh our memory:

26 In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee named Nazareth, 27 to a virgin betrothed to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. And the virgin's name was Mary. 28 And he came to her and said, “Greetings, O favored one, the Lord is with you!”  29 But she was greatly troubled at the saying, and tried to discern what sort of greeting this might be. 30 And the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. 31 And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus. 32 He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David, 33 and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”
34 And Mary said to the angel, “How will this be, since I am a virgin?”

35 And the angel answered her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be called holy—the Son of God. 36 And behold, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son, and this is the sixth month with her who was called barren. 37 For nothing will be impossible with God.” 38 And Mary said, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” And the angel departed from her.

Other than the prophets, Mary is the first one to receive details about the Messiah. At first, she is troubled by the angel’s presence—I think anyone would be! I actually find it miraculous that Mary was able to take in anything the angel Gabriel said after, “Do not be afraid; God has found favor with you.” Dialogue and recognition with the Most High was role for the men in her community. How did God even know who she was?

Nothing the angel said indicated this baby would grow up with the character of a servant, but it is Mary’s response that first sets the tone for how this Savior might be different than everyone thought. Whatever looks of surprise were on Mary’s face during this exchange, her response is one of both humility and expectation.
From the Message translation (v.38):

Yes, I see it all now:
    I’m the Lord’s maid, ready to serve.
Let it be with me
    just as you say.

None of us are given a road map for our faith, and even angel-visited Mary is not given much direction beforehand. If she had known about all the hardship in her future, would she have accepted God’s plan so readily?

Pavlovitz writes:
“Mary was asked to literally carry and deliver the love of God to a planet in dire need of such a thing. She willingly accepted the collateral damage of bearing goodness in a time and place in which doing so would prove difficult.”

I named this week Rejection and Refinement. And it makes me wonder at the way God uses the hard things in life to mold us to be more like Him. Imagine if Mary had been a princess in a palace, instead of a peasant in a backwater town no one thought much of. Every need of hers would have been met. It would have been so easy to hide a pre-marriage pregnancy behind wealthy curtains and royal walls.

While there’s nothing wrong with that version of Mary, it doesn’t show a weary world how God operates. He chooses the lowly to lift up; the poor to bless. Friendships could have been lost. By law, Mary could have been stoned for her apparent infidelity. Joseph could have gone through with his plan to quietly dissolve their betrothal and Mary would be left with no prospects for a future home and family. The same Mary and Joseph who faced massive societal rejection were seen by God. He chose them. And he allowed them to walk the hard path, demonstrating with divine intimacy what it meant that their child would be called Immanuel.

When adult Jesus preached about caring for the widows and the orphans, I wonder if he thought about his mother. At the beginning of this story, Mary is not a widow and pre-born Jesus is not an orphan, but according their position in society, they might as well have been. And so God cared for them. And He continued to care for them and showed the way when they arrived in bustling Bethlehem with no room for them at the Inn.

Another rejection. This time in the city of their ancestors! In a time when hospitality was paramount. But I don’t think this was a mistake. Once again, we see Mary and Joseph as first responders with humility and grace.

I recently read a new Nativity picture book, The Good News of Christmas, by Rousseaux Brasseur and Sian James. It has a lovely rhyming cadence and beautiful illustrations. I was struck by their version of this scene:

“When they arrived they found there was no lodging at the inn,
So Jospeh search around the town for a resting place for them.
He finally found a stable where the animals were kept,
And, about to faint, without complaint, they laid down there and slept."

We don’t know what went through their minds, or what words were said, but Mary and Joseph had trusted God’s provision thus far, amidst worse rejection and unwelcoming behavior. And we can’t fault their kinsfolk completely. Bethlehem was swarming with people for Caesar’s census. The hospitable circumstances must have changed because Mary and Joseph chose to stay in Bethlehem for another couple years, until the last example of rejection in this Nativity story:

10 When they [the wise men] saw the star, they rejoiced exceedingly with great joy. 11 And going into the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother, and they fell down and worshiped him. Then, opening their treasures, they offered him gifts, gold and frankincense and myrrh. 12 And being warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they departed to their own country by another way.

13 Now when they had departed, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Rise, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you, for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” 14 And he rose and took the child and his mother by night and departed to Egypt 15 and remained there until the death of Herod.
(Matthew 2:10-15)

The prophets foretold that the Messiah would be despised and forsaken, but as a baby? To be rejected three times before you were three years old? It seems like such a unnecessary part of Jesus’ beginning. But if we’ve learned anything about God’s unexpected plan for the Messiah, we know that Jesus’ low arrival and circumstances as a refugee are exactly what make Him the refuge we need as weary travelers looking for a place to belong. May we learn to respond like Mary and Joseph.

The Gardener's Great Stump Reversal

This year, Desiring God is basing their Advent reflections on verses from the quintessential Advent hymn, O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.

In his article, "He Came to a World Condemned,"
guest writer Brian Tabb reflects on the hymn's fourth verse: O Root of Jesse. [Note some lyrics might differ from the version you know]:

O come, O Branch of Jesse’s stem,
Unto your own and rescue them!
From depths of hell your people save,
And give them victory o’er the grave.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Immanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

If you’ve celebrated Advent at all, you probably recognize the reference from Isaiah 11:1-3,10:

1There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse,
    and a branch from his roots shall bear fruit.
2 And the Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him,
    the Spirit of wisdom and understanding,
    the Spirit of counsel and might,
    the Spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord.
3 And his delight shall be in the fear of the Lord.
10 In that day the root of Jesse, who shall stand as a signal for the peoples—of him shall the nations inquire, and his resting place shall be glorious.

But there is another verse, earlier in Isaiah’s prophecies that references this mysterious stump:

“…And though a tenth remain in it [the cities that are laid waste],
    it will be burned again,
like a terebinth or an oak,
    whose stump remains
    when it is felled.”
The holy seed is its stump.
(Isaiah 6:13)

We often recognize this branch of Jesse's as showcasing the Messiah’s Davidic ancestry without realizing that the branch is growing out of a rather lifeless remnant of a tree. Neither in Isaiah 6 nor 11 is the stump a hopeful image. But rather, it is the branch that grows from it, which signifies hope.

If the prophecies had been given earlier in David's chronology, maybe the phrase would make us think of the mighty trees like the cedars of Lebanon rather than cut down promises. But by the time Isaiah is speaking to God’s people in exile, the line of David is in fragments.

Tabb helps us with the chronology from David onward:

"In 2 Samuel 7, Yahweh promises to set his love on this son of Jesse and to establish his descendant’s kingship forever. The Davidic dynasty continues for centuries, and most of these rulers are hardly men after God’s heart like David. When King Jehoiachin is banished to Babylon (2 Kings 24), David’s line is reduced to a lifeless stump."

From the perspective of the Old Testament, anyone could ask, how can the Messiah come from this? Anyone would be wary of God’s promises under these circumstances. Nothing looked hopeful. But hidden in Isaiah’s prophecy (and verse 4 of this hymn) is a lesson about God’s faithfulness towards David’s ancestors.

In the beginning of his gospel, Matthew records Jesus’ genealogy. If you’re not a history nerd, genealogies can be boring, but the “easter eggs” found in just these six verses are not to be missed.

2 Abraham was the father of Isaac,
and Isaac the father of Jacob,
and Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers,
3 and Judah the father of Perez and Zerah by Tamar,
and Perez the father of Hezron,
and Hezron the father of Ram,
4 and Ram the father of Amminadab,
and Amminadab the father of Nahshon,
and Nahshon the father of Salmon,
5 and Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab,
and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth,
and Obed the father of Jesse,
6 and Jesse the father of David the king.
(Matthew 1:2-6)

It was not common for women to be named in Biblical genealogies, but Matthew takes great care to include three specific (gentile!) women: Tamar, Rahab, and Ruth.

I wish I had time to go into their individual stories, but suffice it to say these three women’s lives looked like lifeless stumps—until the Lord intervened and turned their lives around. God’s common grace of course covers far beyond our human understanding, but He had a special plan for these women and their offspring. From a seemingly hopeless existence, God brought new life—both belief in Him and a fruitful legacy.

Brian Tabb writes,
" . . . the old hymn [and Isaiah 11] draws our attention to a rich biblical theme of hope on the other side of calamity, renewal from the rubble, deliverance through devastation.”

The Bible is full of stories of miraculous reversal. The Messiah’s family history is full of them. So, it is no surprise that Jesus would turn everyone’s expectations on their head with his arrival and life on earth. Born in a lowly feeding trough, raised in a backwoods town like Nazareth, and traveling around with no plans for food or lodging (far from a glorious resting place!)—this was hardly the description of a savior.

But that is just who He is. Even at the end of His life, Tabb reflects, as “Jesus is hailed as ‘King of the Jews’ not by joyful subjects but by jeering adversaries, He is lifted up on a cross. Ironically, the Branch from Jesse’s stem is impaled on a life-taking tree. . .  The crucifixion looks like the death blow to these prophetic hopes for a forever king. Then, in the greatest reversal of all, the broken Branch bounds out of the tomb on the third day. . . This messianic king ‘conquers’ in a most surprising fashion: not by crushing rebels but by dying in their stead and then standing victorious over the grave."

If that’s not a fruitful branch from a lifeless stump, I don’t know what is. Like a withered twig, Jesus was broken and crushed for our sins, but that did not stop God’s plan—it was the very center of His inverted design to bring all peoples back to Himself. From the beginning in Eden, the wise Gardener chose the way of Emmanuel to turn our darkness into light.

And so we rejoice with the hymn’s refrain:

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
shall come to you, O Israel.

 

The Narrow Way

It may seem a bit out of the ordinary, but this month my church is going through the book of Jonah for Advent. There are many obvious parallels between Jonah and adult Jesus, but I had never stopped to think about Jonah’s connection to the birth of Christ. Today our pastor spoke on the precision of God’s salvation—both for Jonah and through Jesus.

Orchestrating His creation for His exact goal, God choose one of His created beings (a giant fish/whale) to save/swallow another of His creation (Jonah) from His very creation (the stormy sea). And God knew and guided the fish to be exactly in the right spot (in the whole Mediterranean Sea) at the right moment.

Miraculously, Jonah survived in the belly of the great fish for three days and three nights (a foreshadowing of Jesus’s death and resurrection) before God told the whale to vomit Jonah onto dry land.

Some people approach God’s way and call it constricting or too narrow (much like Jonah would have felt inside a giant fish, deep underwater). But my pastor reasoned, “there is nothing claustrophobic about God’s grace—it is precise. Look at the precision of God’s salvation in the Incarnation; the narrowness of a baby.”

Taking this image a step further, I turn to day 4 of the Good News of Great Joy Advent devotional published by Desiring God. John Piper begins by providing context from the gospel of Luke:

“In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And all went to be registered, each to his own town. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the town of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be registered with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child.” (Luke 2:1–5)

He then says,

“Have you ever thought what an amazing thing it is that God ordained beforehand that the Messiah be born in Bethlehem (as the prophecy in Micah 5:2 shows); and that he so ordained things that when the time came, the Messiah’s mother and legal father were living not in Bethlehem but in Nazareth; and that in order to fulfill his word and bring two unheard-of, insignificant, little people to Bethlehem that first Christmas, God put it in the heart of Caesar Augustus that all the Roman world should be enrolled each in his own town? A decree for the entire world in order to move two people seventy miles! . . . God wields an empire to fulfill his word and bless his children.”

The theme I have chosen for this second week of Advent is Rejection and Refinement. As Jonah waded in all the stomach juices of the giant fish, He could have thrown himself the largest pity party and focused on God’s apparent rejection. But instead, something miraculous happened—Jonah’s heart finally turned to prayer. The prayer recorded in Jonah 2 was composed in the most rejected circumstances, but God’s spirit enabled it to be a time of refinement for Jonah.

The road to Bethlehem and Jesus’ birth was far from easy for Mary and Joseph. Mary was almost stoned for being pregnant before marrying Joseph. Joseph’s reputation was put to the test. The literal road to Bethlehem was long and treacherous. They arrived in their census town and found there was nowhere to stay, except with the animals. Mary gave birth in a setting far less clean and comfortable than she was probably expecting.

I’ve been re-listening to the audiobook of Madeleine L’Engle’s chapter book, Meet the Austins. Within the first chapters, the family experiences the sudden death of a family friend. Trying to reconcile what they know about life and death, Vicky Austin and her brother drive out to Hawk Mountain with their mom to look at the stars. Mrs. Austin says, when horrible things happen, “sometimes it's very hard to see the hand of God, instead of the blind finger of chance.”

How could all the little things that had to come together for Jesus to be born in Bethlehem happen by chance? The precision points to the very nature of God’s miraculous hands. Luke says that Mary treasured all these things in her heart. She was a smart cookie, I’m sure she noticed the intricate weaving of God’s plan as she sat with a sleeping Jesus swaddled in her arms.

The narrow way is not one of rejection. It is a journey of faithful refinement and grace.

and a Little Child Shall Lead Them

We end the first week of Advent by looking to the faith and wonder of a child.

There is a fictionalized account of Mary and Joseph’s flight to Egypt with toddler Jesus that my family often reads at Christmas. It is a short story entitled, Dance in the Desert, by Madeleine L’Engle. In it, L’Engle describes a scene where wild desert animals approach the caravan’s circle. The adults in the camp stand ready to defend, but Mary gently says, “wait.” As the title of the book indicates, the wild animals of the desert and toddler Jesus dance.

I believe L’Engle was thinking of Isaiah’s prophecy in chapter 11 when she wrote this story:

There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse,
    and a branch from his roots shall bear fruit.
2 And the Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him,
    the Spirit of wisdom and understanding,
    the Spirit of counsel and might,
    the Spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord.
3 And his delight shall be in the fear of the Lord.
He shall not judge by what his eyes see,
    or decide disputes by what his ears hear,
4 but with righteousness he shall judge the poor,
    and decide with equity for the meek of the earth;
and he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth,
    and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked.
5 Righteousness shall be the belt of his waist,
    and faithfulness the belt of his loins.

6 The wolf shall dwell with the lamb,
    and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat,
and the calf and the lion and the fattened calf together;
    and a little child shall lead them.
7 The cow and the bear shall graze;
    their young shall lie down together;
    and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.
8 The nursing child shall play over the hole of the cobra,
    and the weaned child shall put his hand on the adder's den.
9 They shall not hurt or destroy
    in all my holy mountain;
for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord
    as the waters cover the sea.
(Isaiah 11:1-9)

After the familiar Messianic verses about a branch shooting out from Jesse’s line, there is a passage that describes previously savage and gentle animals resting together in peace. It is a symbol of the enormity of the Messiah’s impact, not only on the peace of humans, but of the natural world. In the middle it says, “and a little child shall lead them.”

This is no Pied Piper situation, no animal circus on parade. This is a symbol of innocence and trust. A foreshadowing of restoration. Had Adam and Eve’s children been born in the Garden of Eden, they too would have been able to explore and play among the animals without any fear or concern.

Any young child today is full of wonder and trust not because there aren’t scary things in the world, but because they don’t know about sin and evil, danger and difficulty. And more to the point—they rely on their grownups to provide all they need. But there is a time coming, Jesus promises, when we will all be like children again: without fear, and fully surrounded by God’s loving and providing presence.

When adult Jesus taught about the Kingdom of Heaven in parables and stories, he wasn’t doing it to be obtuse or confuse. He was actually fulfilling the prophecy of Psalm 78:1-2 (as Matthew reminds us in 13:25):

“I will open my mouth in parables;
    I will utter what has been hidden since the foundation of the world.”

Jesus spoke in parables because wanted His listeners to respond more like children. John Pavlovitz writes about this in Week 2 of his Advent devotional, Low:

“The older we get, the more wonder-deprived we tend to become. I think the Jesus who comes low understood this, which is why his parables inserted miracles into the mundane. The kingdom of God was treasure hidden in a field; it was a seed falling into good soil; it was yeast working quietly through the dough; it was sparrows and wildflowers and pearls. It would have been impossible for his listeners to experience their ordinary days the same way after hearing him. I imagine that’s a bit of what he meant when he talked about embracing the greater life by becoming a child.”

I have the luxury of working with young children and babies in an environment that enriches this type of wonder. Have you ever gotten down on the ground next to a toddler, to be able to see things as they do? This altered vantage point helps us see ordinary things differently.

Pavlovitz invites us to enter this stance and seek God there—especially in this season of waiting we call Advent.

He goes on to say in Week 3:

“. . . I was talking to my son about the approaching Christmas season, and he said, ‘I really like the waiting. It’s fun.’ He described the time leading up to the holidays as his favorite part: the anticipation and the excitement, the electricity of looking forward to something and of counting down the days. For him, it’s far more enjoyable than the relative letdown of the day itself.”

I think I resonate a lot with that little kid. From a young age (even before I could articulate it) the mystery and wonder of Advent has delighted me. As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to see how much I need the heart of Advent for the rest of my life. For life is full of waiting, and those in-between times can often be more challenging than the challenges themselves.

But Advent gives us an amazing hindsight that spans the centuries. We will never have to wait 400 years like the people of Israel did. But we can look at the silent gap between Malachi’s end Matthew’s beginning and reorient our hearts as we wait.

Pavlovitz finishes his reflection on the 400 years between the Old Testament and New Testament saying,

“. . . What is simply the turn of a page to us represents several generations of painful waiting, of awkward silence, of unresolved questions—which is why the birth story of Jesus is the perfect one to bridge those two parts of the story. It is a wonderful end to a time of anxious waiting. If we cultivate a bit of faith, that in-between time, even in difficult days, can be a hopeful space for us, a place where we can welcome transformation even with all the present unknowns.

Rather than wanting the time to pass quickly, we can actually enjoy it because we know we are being renovated.

This season may find you in painful waiting—in that sometimes frustrating before. One of the truths you can rest in is that, as with the child in Mary’s womb and the groaning world enduring those long months, there is always change taking place, always new life about to spring forth.”

The perfect trust and wonder of a young child. How ironic and wonderful that the millennia of waiting for a Messiah was fulfilled by the birth of such a child. 

 The Prince of Peace who made Himself low, for us. To bring new life. And to show us the way to everlasting peace.

When Waiting is Not About Us

5 In the days of Herod, king of Judea, there was a priest named Zechariah, of the division of Abijah. And he had a wife from the daughters of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth. 6 And they were both righteous before God, walking blamelessly in all the commandments and statutes of the Lord. 7 But they had no child, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were advanced in years.
(Luke 1:5-7)

… 13 But the angel said to him, “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard, and your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you shall call his name John. 14 And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, 15 for he will be great before the Lord. And he must not drink wine or strong drink, and he will be filled with the Holy Spirit, even from his mother's womb. 16 And he will turn many of the children of Israel to the Lord their God, 17 and he will go before him in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the just, to make ready for the Lord a people prepared.” (Luke 1:13-17)

I’ve been reading a lot of Hannah Brencher’s daily Advent devotionals this year. Some years I gravitate towards one thing to reflect on. This year I have a feeling I’ll be bouncing around.

She says of Elizabeth’s story in Luke:

"It is far too easy to package up the story of Elizabeth and say, "See!? Elizabeth was waiting for something, and then God showed up!" Yes, this is all true. But anyone who has felt the waiting period- the loss of years and time and dreams deferred- knows the feelings, longings, and pain of another day unfulfilled leaves scars. It isn't something you get over instantly (or sometimes ever). It stays with you. It changes you.

The waiting changes us.

It turns us into different versions of ourselves."

The Bible has many stories of barren women seeking the Lord for a child. The first that comes to mind is Hannah. Like Elizabeth, Hannah did receive a child, but their years together were short. From the beginning, the child had a calling that was greater than that of being a son and heir to their birth family.

It’s easy to think of any waiting as a punishment. And in hindsight one often reduces the experience as a time when a lesson was learned. But Brencher argues that both ideas “dismiss the beauty and benevolence of God's character."

This is a bold sentence, but the waiting is not always about us.
If we look closely at the story of Elizabeth and Zechariah (from the perfect view of 2000 years later), we see that their waiting was more about God’s timing.

The baby that would grow up to be John the Baptist needed to be a contemporary of Jesus. Did he need to be the son of Zechariah and Elizabeth? I don't know. Did he need to be related to Jesus by blood? Maybe not.

There are a lot of things I am waiting on and have waited on in my life. And there have been times where I've been gifted with the ability to see why the waiting was important. Yet on this side of heaven, that is not something we are promised.

There’s a passage in Galatians 4, where Paul thinks back to the birth of Jesus and says,
"But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, 5 to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons." (Galatians 4:4-5)

I love that phrase. The fullness of time. It is beyond our understanding. And it holds so much promise.

In whatever we are waiting for, we do know this: God is with us in the waiting. Even the waiting that is only heard in groans from our hearts. When we grow weary from hoping, He does not.

There is a quote I love from author Victor Hugo. And I think it speaks to this:
“Have courage for the great sorrows of life and patience for the small ones; and when you have laboriously accomplished your daily task, go to sleep in peace. God is awake.”

Elizabeth's waiting had a finish line. A baby takes nine months to grow. I do not begrudge her for getting what she had hoped for for so long. I'm thankful for her story because it helps me have the courage to wait well. Israel's waiting for the Messiah can sometimes seem so distant and huge. But Elizabeth and Zechariah were people who lived and breathed and waited, just like you and me.



 

A Birth Announcement for a Shepherd and King

For all the mysteries surrounding the Messiah’s arrival, those paying attention in Israel (and beyond) had many prophetic words to carry them through the quiet centuries following Malachi’s final message from God.

Two passages in Isaiah and Micah act as 700-years-early birth announcements for the awaited Savior. Both are very familiar to us. You might even be able to quote large chunks of the prophecies. Yet it you’re like me, the rhythmic cadence of God’s promises spoken to the prophets has become so recognizable that I tend to gloss over their meaning. That is why reading from different Bible translations can help to refocus our understanding.

Consider Isaiah 9:6-7, quoted from the Message:

For a child has been born—for us!
    the gift of a son—for us!
He’ll take over
    the running of the world.
His names will be: Amazing Counselor,
    Strong God,
Eternal Father,
    Prince of Wholeness.
His ruling authority will grow,
    and there’ll be no limits to the wholeness he brings.
He’ll rule from the historic David throne
    over that promised kingdom.
He’ll put that kingdom on a firm footing
    and keep it going
With fair dealing and right living,
    beginning now and lasting always.
The zeal of God-of-the-Angel-Armies
    will do all this.

Usually, birth announcements don’t include the name of the child. Baby boys especially aren’t named until the eighth day when they are circumcised. Often they are named for a wished-for quality or set of circumstances surrounding their arrival. But for this Messiah, He is already named, and seems to be doing the very work His names suggests. What’s more, they are names equated with God’s character. How can this be?

In her annual online Advent devotional, author Hannah Brencher writes of this passage:
“This announcement is more than God sending a son into the world. This is God is putting on skin and coming down to earth for us. This is an ancient, holy announcement that God is stepping into the ring. He is coming to fully participate in what it means to be human. And this announcement… well, it changes everything."

Things will be made new. A new understanding of what it means to serve and be served will be put into practice. Not only is this Messiah new, but so is everything about Him. From His origin and circumstances to His habits and lessons, the God-Man we know as Jesus turned every expected thing on its head.

Turning to the prophet Micah, we see this broken down into three “stunning glories” or revelations in chapter 5:2-5. David Mathis, executive editor at Desiring God leads us through these details in his article, Light and Warmth in Winter: Three Glories of His Advent.

First, “He comes from modest stock.” Not a phrase we often hear these days, but we know what it means. Bethlehem and Nazareth are romanticized in our Nativity stories, but they were small potatoes within all the cities of Israel. Bethlehem had a richer history being Rachel’s burial city and the birth place of David (another unlikely king who would rise to the throne by God’s hand alone).

You, O Bethlehem Ephrathah,
     who are too little to be among the clans of Judah,
from you shall come forth for me
     one who is to be ruler in Israel… (v.2)

“The first glory,” Mathis argues, “of the one coming forth is that he comes from Bethlehem. In Micah’s day, God had already done this once with David — the shepherd rising to the throne. Now, some three centuries later, the prophet tells of another ruler who will arise, and ascend, like David, and from David’s own line and town.”

Next, “He comes from ancient times.” We so poetically gloss over Micah’s prophecy that we often miss the words chosen by God.

. . . from [Bethlehem] shall come forth for me
     one who is to be ruler in Israel,
whose coming forth is from of old,
     from ancient days . . . (Micah 5:2)

Mathis again: “What the prophet says next might lead us to wonder if the little town is not the Messiah’s origin but his portal. He comes from Bethlehem, yes, yet also through Bethlehem. . . He is a human ruler, descended from David, and rising up like David from a modest upbringing, but he is more than a human king. And this is not David reincarnate, or some ancient champion, back from the grave . . . This is somehow the Ancient of Days himself, the only one who truly is ‘of old.’”

Lastly, “He comes to shepherd with strength.” The prophet Micah is not done. The last two verses of this passage show us how the Messiah will rule, his character, his essence.

And he shall stand and shepherd his flock in the strength of the Lord,
     in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God.
And they shall dwell secure, for now he shall be great
     to the ends of the earth.
And he shall be their peace. (v.4-5)

In the New Testament Jesus uses the image of the shepherd to talk about Himself and to outline lessons in His parables. But here we have a prophetic word associating the Messiah with being a shepherd. We will get to this more later in Advent, but shepherds were not the ultimate career goal. While they stood as a embodiment of care and protection, Judean shepherds themselves were smelly outcasts.

Mathis gives us a little more insight: “’He will ‘shepherd his flock,’ [is] a picture of compassion and concern, loving provision and protection. And he will do so ‘in the strength of the Lord.’ In other words, he will be a strong shepherd, strong enough that his flock might dwell secure under his rule and enjoy real peace in him — and this will mean the opposite for the foes of his flock. That their shepherd is strong is ominous for their enemies. And that their shepherd is strong is a sweet balm for his people: “they shall dwell secure . . . he shall be their peace.”

When the angels appeared to a band of Bethlehem shepherds 700 years later, they sang out “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!" (Luke 2:14) Indeed peace, eternal peace, for His flock is one of the biggest Advent promises.

The Message translates “peace” as wholeness. And indeed, the Hebrew word Shalom encapsulates so much more than we can put into words. When Jesus comes again, the second Advent, He will bring about wholeness, newness. Completeness with Him. Peace.
 

A New Way

For all my years of Advent reflections, I haven’t thought much about the difference between each Gospel writers’ Nativity account. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John were all different people, with their own literary agendas and gifts of observation. But something I recently re-read in Kelley Nikondeha's The First Advent in Palestine drew my attention to one of God’s providential parallels.

Nikondeha argues that Luke’s Gospel account gives us a “window into the Advent economy and environment”—the Galilean world in which Mary, Joseph, the shepherds lived. On the other hand, “Matthew shows us what that economy looked like through an understanding of one person's rule: that of Herod.” (p. 100).

If you know anything about King Herod, he was essentially a puppet king. Probably not even Jewish by birth, he was appointed by Rome to preside over all of Judea. As such, his reign was marked with heavy taxation, for the sake of Rome’s infamous infrastructure and his own private coffers.

This is the economic and political power into which infant Jesus would be born. But before we get to that, Matthew paints a picture of another power structure—the patriarchs and revered forefathers of the faith, the ones whose lives all pointed as archetypes of Christ. Over and over again, God referred to these greats and said: One is coming who is greater than he. Greater than Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; greater than Moses or Joshua; greater than Joseph, Jesse, David and Solomon. And so much greater than Herod.

It had been millennia since God’s people walked solely by faith and trust in an economy of love and goodness. Not since the Garden of Eden had humans been free from transactional grace with God. But Matthew shows us that a Messiah is coming from the very line that began in Eden. Not only that, but He would come to make all things new. God’s people would not need to answer to the Roman/Herodian economy of tyranny and wealth as the highest authority much longer.

Not only was God’s plan to bring a new “ruler” into the mix, but the ways of connecting, encouraging, loving, and following Him were about to change.

Isaiah prophesied about it in chapter 43:

16 Thus says the Lord,
    who makes a way in the sea,
    a path in the mighty waters,
17 who brings forth chariot and horse,
    army and warrior;
they lie down, they cannot rise,
    they are extinguished, quenched like a wick:
18 “Remember not the former things,
    nor consider the things of old.
19 Behold, I am doing a new thing;
    now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
I will make a way in the wilderness
    and rivers in the desert.
20 The wild beasts will honor me,
    the jackals and the ostriches,
for I give water in the wilderness,
    rivers in the desert,
to give drink to my chosen people,
21     the people whom I formed for myself
that they might declare my praise.

We will talk more about the dashed Jewish expectations for the Messiah later, but for now I want to focus on the ways that Jesus courageously humbled Himself for the sake of God’s new economy. Indeed He made a way in the wilderness of death and decay—all for our sake. 

In his book, Low: an Honest Advent Devotional, John Pavlovitz quotes, “Jesus didn’t need to live here. He could have shown up, tossed out another stone slab or a rolled parchment filled with black-and-white religious do’s and don’ts, and then disappeared into the ether—leaving a neat and tidy, easily navigable religion to delineate our every decision. Instead, he chose to live life alongside flawed human beings, in messy and meandering trips into wheatfields and lepers’ homes and leaky boats.” (from Week 1 Tuesday: This is Not a Test)

Jesus, the antithesis of highly seated King Herod, came to the lowest of places, in one of the lowest forms, to show us a new way. A new way of loving God and others. A new way of living out our faith. And best of all, a promise that one heavenly day, all things would be made new.

 

Prepare the Way of the Lord

I don’t feel ready for Advent this year. Just a few short weeks ago I hadn’t even pulled my winter coat out from the back of the closet. I still see colorful leaves hanging onto their trees with determination. Yet however much I don’t feel prepared, here we are: the first Sunday of Advent.

It’s funny, when you long for something, but are still surprised by its appearance. Into the silent waiting, distractions (of every color and sort) have a way of making the expected slide in under the radar.

I wonder if this is how the Israelites felt after their exile in Babylon and then 400 years of prophetic silence. First on the community’s prayer requests was the arrival of a Messiah. Yet when He actually came, no one seemed ready. Much less prepared for a Messiah wrapped in a baby’s clothes and wails.

Only a handful of God’s people were still living in active, curious expectation for a Savior. For them, God’s plans and purposes were a mystery to unravel. For so many others, the oppressive life of being a Hebrew under the thumb of whatever empire was in control was all they would handle. Routines became the norm; waiting the ever-repeating refrain.

How wonderful that we serve a God who does not leave us alone to our own devices. The whole of human history is marked by sign-posts pointing the way to the Messiah.

The gospel of Luke could have begun a lot of different ways. Matthew chose to jog his reader’s memories by recounting thousands of years of family genealogy. But Luke likes the reader to do some of the connection work, and opens with a story of a man named Zechariah.

Luke 1: 5-25
5 In the days of Herod, king of Judea, there was a priest named Zechariah,[a] of the division of Abijah. And he had a wife from the daughters of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth. 6 And they were both righteous before God, walking blamelessly in all the commandments and statutes of the Lord. 7 But they had no child, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were advanced in years.

8 Now while he was serving as priest before God when his division was on duty, 9 according to the custom of the priesthood, he was chosen by lot to enter the temple of the Lord and burn incense. 10 And the whole multitude of the people were praying outside at the hour of incense. 11 And there appeared to him an angel of the Lord standing on the right side of the altar of incense. 12 And Zechariah was troubled when he saw him, and fear fell upon him. 13 But the angel said to him, “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard, and your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you shall call his name John. 14 And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, 15 for he will be great before the Lord. And he must not drink wine or strong drink, and he will be filled with the Holy Spirit, even from his mother's womb. 16 And he will turn many of the children of Israel to the Lord their God, 17 and he will go before him in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the just, to make ready for the Lord a people prepared.”

18 And Zechariah said to the angel, “How shall I know this? For I am an old man, and my wife is advanced in years.” 19 And the angel answered him, “I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I was sent to speak to you and to bring you this good news. 20 And behold, you will be silent and unable to speak until the day that these things take place, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time.” 21 And the people were waiting for Zechariah, and they were wondering at his delay in the temple. 22 And when he came out, he was unable to speak to them, and they realized that he had seen a vision in the temple. And he kept making signs to them and remained mute. 23 And when his time of service was ended, he went to his home.

24 After these days his wife Elizabeth conceived, and for five months she kept herself hidden, saying, 25 “Thus the Lord has done for me in the days when he looked on me, to take away my reproach among people.”

After 400 years of prophetic silence, God chose to sneak up on a priest and strike him voiceless when he didn’t make the immediate connections.

I do not want to be like Zechariah. I may not feel ready for Advent, but I want my heart and mind to remain curiously open to God’s mysteries. The miracle of the Incarnation is just as relevant for us to today as it was for a family living in the Judean countryside roughly two thousand years ago. May we have the eyes to see it.

Isaiah 30:3-5
3 A voice cries:
“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord;
    make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
4 Every valley shall be lifted up,
    and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
    and the rough places a plain.
5 And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
    and all flesh shall see it together,
    for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”

Welcome to Advent

Dear friends (and those who may have stumbled upon this blog),

If you've joined me for any of the past fifteen years, then you are probably familiar with Advent. If you are a new reader, this will serve as an introduction:

In Latin the word "adventus" means "coming." Within the context of western Christianity, Advent is the season of four weeks leading up to Christmas—the celebration of Christ's birth. It is a time of joyful expectation and preparation. The four weeks are marked by the four Sundays, on which the candles of the Advent wreath are lit.

The first candle is traditionally the candle of Hope, followed by Peace, Love, and Joy. However, with so many church traditions comes a variety of names for each candle. Usually, they are organized around characters or themes as a way to unfold the story and direct attention to the celebrations and worship in the season. So, the sequence might be Prophets, Bethlehem, Shepherds, Angels; Expectation, Annunciation, Proclamation, Fulfillment; or Prophets, John the Baptist, Mary, the Magi.

Last year, I let Isaiah 9:6 be my guide and named the four Advent candles Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace. This year, I am trying something new. I will be using the broad theme “All things new” to direct my reflections, breaking the four weeks into the following micro themes:

1.    Mystery and Courage (waiting on the unknown)
2.    Rejection and Refinement (closed doors and open windows)
3.    Radical Intersections (the most unlikely participants)
4.    Curious Expectations (seek, and you will find)

For four short weeks every year, we stop and see—with amazing clarity—God’s miraculous hand shaping the trajectory of human history. I have a hard time seeing this kind of perspective in daily life. Even with God’s sustaining grace, I am so often numb to the repercussions of Christ’s advent in my own life. This blog is an attempt to peel back the layers of those truths and meditate on the everlasting love God showed when he sent us His son. And as we do that together, may our hearts be directed towards the greater Advent still to come.

Let us enter this season with expectation, ever blessed by those who have paved the way. I’m glad you have chosen to join me on the journey!