Open Your Eyes and ...

One more Santa email and then I move on. Here is a meditation from 2005.

Every time I watch “Miracle on 34th Street,” I get a strange, hopeful feeling that this just might be true. Who knows? The guy in the red suit down at the mall might just be the real thing. All of the sudden, the anxious, excited, hopefully pangs of childhood stir in my belly. Instantly, I remember visiting Santa Claus as a child. Instantly, the past becomes the present.

I don’t remember ever being afraid of Santa…or clowns for that matter. I do remember being shy and a little bit nervous. The kind of excited nervousness one might feel when looking out across the Niagara Falls. Standing that close to such concentrated power is both exhilarating and a little overwhelming. That’s how Santa made me feel. Someone with such awesome power was nearby.

During Christmas, Santa visited Gimbels, our local department store. During the rest of the year, other visitors appeared: the Jolly Green Giant, Humpty Dumpty, a variety of clowns and a host of other storybook characters. Each time we came to the store, I would peer at them through the racks. My heart raced, my hands sweated, and I stood awestruck just watching these otherworldly characters.

For a little boy with large imagination, these characters somehow represented the sacred, the holy other. The limitations of our world did not confine them. Their sizes, their colors, their powers and their stories all broke the ordinary conventions of this world. These characters were extra-ordinary.

At some point, the clock struck midnight and the magic of childhood evaporated. The big clowns climbed back in their little cars and drove away. Santa lost his sleigh and became just another sales associate trying to help the malls make more money.

Yet from time to time, I feel the pangs again. From time to time, I begin to see again and sometimes even believe. When I watch movies like “Miracle on 34th Street” I wonder, “Is it possible?” Then like waking up from Dorothy’s Oz, I see these characters all around me—in the faces of my friends.

As I look at my friends, I realize that the characters never really did disappear. They’ve been with me, all along. I just grew accustomed to the magic and lost my sight.

All these larger than life characters, like Santa Claus and the Jolly Green Giant, exaggerate certain features. Santa has an unlimited supply of gifts for the world. The Jolly Green Giant is jolly, green and a giant. Chesterton used to say, “All the exaggerations are right, if they exaggerate the right thing.” Maybe a little exaggerated giving is not so bad. And of course, no one can be too jolly. Can they?

As far as green goes, well, I’m not sure what to say. But my folks did tell me about a man who ate so many carrots his skin turned orange.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that I have known some pretty exaggerated characters in my life. I once had a friend who was convinced he possessed some of Spiderman’s abilities. And I must admit, he did seem to climb up walls fairly easily.

I had another friend who wanted to possess some mind reading power. He would tell people to think of a card and then promptly present the supposed card. Usually the thought and the card did not match. He may not have been a mind reader, but he did possess an amazing discernment of people and their moral fiber. In college, I studied Astronomy with a guy who looked like he came right off the mountaintop with a shaved head, overalls and big teeth. And yet, he was a know it all: a real one. He really did know it all. His ability to remember facts and details astounded me.

The more I look around, the more I realize these fantastic fairy tale characters are real people. And they’re everywhere I turn. They’re in front of me in the grocery store. They’re beside me on the highway. They’re taking my lunch order.

I’ve come to believe everyone I meet is extra-ordinary. There is no ordinary person. Each person is exceptional, unique, larger than life, and mysterious.

I could spend a lifetime studying one person, any person, and never fully plummet the depths of their mystery. Created in the image of God, human persons reveal aspects of wonder and glory that can be breathtaking. Their power for good, and evil, is overwhelming.

In the common graces of God, each person I encounter is wonder-filled. When I finally begin to see this, I feel the pang again. I realize I’ve been born into a fairy tale world of fascinating characters. There are no ordinary, common unexceptional people. Each person is a treasure, a marvel, a glorious being, a sacred other. In spite of our flaws, I can see through each person to see the hand of our Creator, revealing His glory in all things.

This season I am seeking new eyes to really see the majestic wonder of all the people around me. Open your eyes, you might be surprised at who you might meet.

Advent - Santa and the Wonder of Belief

Here's a meditation I wrote 3 years ago about the magic of Christmas. Like Chesterton, I learned to believe in God in the fairy tales of childhood. Here is on attempt to capture that believe in wonder.

Every year cartoons and movies retell the same story: the story of a child or an adult who has lost the wonder of Christmas, “the Christmas spirit.” Every year the tale of innocence and experience is retold through the lens of Santa Claus and a heart that needs only believe.

Christmas is the time when we hope, we wish, we dream it might all really be true. Of course, we know better. And yet deep within us there is a longing for that place called the North Pole. The sophisticated refuse to waste their thoughts or time with such pointless dreaming, ah but the child in all of us longs for the dream to come true.

In our Christmas stories, we express the truths our imagination knows to be true, even when our intellect says otherwise. I believe that our stories embody our deepest beliefs: the beliefs that are fundamental to our whole understanding of the world.

Some parents hoping to protect their children give them presents but refuse to give them the stories of Christmas. But maybe stories are more important than an endless supply of boxed toys that will soon be discarded. Long after the specific toys are forgotten, the stories will be remembered. The stories shape us: they shape the boundaries of our imagination; they shape our understanding of the world—both seen and unseen.

And what do our Christmas stories tell us? What we believe really matters. The magic of Christmas is veiled to the unbeliever. For them it is only commerce—buying and exchanging of presents. But for those who believe, we know the Christmas present reminds us that the greatest treasures cannot be purchased: they can only be received as gifts. The believer offers milk and cookies in gratitude.

After we sit in the glow of our twinkling Christmas trees inside, we might notice the glorious glow of our trees outside: and for that matter our grass and our bushes may look a little brighter. The world around is not as dull and dreary as we had come to believe, but is really an explosive symphony of light.

When we see the Santa strolling through the mall, we reminded of a goodness and a kindness and an unending benevolence just north of all we can see or hear.

We are not alone.

And who knows how often we entertain angels unaware?

In the swirl of Santas, and snowmen, and songs of sleigh rides, we discover something else—a lean to, a broke down barn, a rustic shelter. Inside this stable lies a baby that bears the hopes of all the ages.

Once again, the manger is an embarrassment to the sophisticated. How could the God of the ages come to earth as a poor child? Yet this tragically beautiful tale captures the imagination: a virgin with child, a cold winter night, no place in the inn, a miracle birth, shepherds and angels and wise men. And in the center of the story: the hope of hopes lying helpless on the hay.

This is the myth of myths, the story of all stories. The story of the God who comes to earth as man—not to betray the world, not to oppress or destroy but to love in weakness. To embrace the downtrodden, love the unlovely, heal the broken heart, preach freedom to the captives, the bear the weight of every pain, every fear, every sin, to overcome evil with goodness, and to overcome death with life forevermore.

We fear the story is too good to be true. Because ultimately we fear good stories cannot be true. We’ve seen too much pain, too much loss, too much needless suffering. We’ve lost our innocence to the dark reality of this cruel world. In the midst of this dark world, a light still shines.

Dare we believe? Dare we become childlike again? Dare we believe that our stories were pointing to something real? Dare we believe in someone who created us for a life beyond all we ever could hope or imagine?

This Christmas we might truly discover the Spirit of Christmas. Or rather, he might waken us to the wonder of a love that we have longed for all our lives.

“O come let us adore him, Christ the Lord.”

Advent - Hidden Glory

His memory betrayed the hour at hand. For even as Zerubbabel rallied the returned exiles to rebuild the temple at Jerusalem, his memories recalled another temple. The glory of Solomon's temple dulled this present project. Built at the height of Solomon's reign, the temple reflected the hope and glory of a people set apart to worship and proclaim the one true God.

Zerubbabel grew up in the shadow of stories from ancient Israel. His great grandfather, King Josiah, seeking to restore the ancient fervor, renewed the covenant with the Lord and called on the whole nation to worship the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. But the dark disobedience of his fathers required judgment, and the nation fell captive to Babylon.

Leading a band of exiles back to Jerusalem, the elder Zerubbabel was commissioned to oversee the rebuilding of the temple. This temple was not the product of Israel's great wealth and glory and power as reflected in Solomon's temple. No this temple would be built by a group of broken, humiliated and poverty-stricken people.

Under the direction of their captors, they were sent back to the land to rebuild the ancient ruins. As Zerubbabel looked over the process of rebuilding, his heart grieved - for his memories denied the hope before him. All he could see were the glory days of what once was and would never be again. How can a leader inspire his people when his vision for tomorrow has been extinguished by yesterday?

Haggai comes from the court of the Lord to encourage Zerubbabel.

"Be strong,' says the Lord, 'for I am with you.'" Then under the inspiration of the God's Spirit, Haggai recalls a more ancient memory. "According to the word that I covenanted with you when you came out of Egypt, so my Spirit remains among you: do not fear!"

The same God who rescued a broken band of slaves in Egypt, now speaks to a broked band of exiles. "For thus sayeth the Lord of hosts: 'Once more (it is a little while) I will shake heaven and earth, the sea and the dry land; and I will shake all nations, and they shall come to the Desire of All Nations, and I will fill this temple with glory,' says the Lord of hosts."

Something deep inside Zerubbabel awakens to the call of God. As he listens, the hope of glory continues, "The glory of this latter temple shall be greater than the former,' says the Lord of hosts. 'And in this place I will give peace,' says the Lord of hosts."


What Zerubbabel could not see was God's hand acting through Zerubbabel and all the exiles to prepare the way for a temple not made by hands. The glory of the latter temple was great because God was moving to bring all nations to the holy mount Zion.

Today we prepare our hearts to celebrate the coming of the Son. We remember the coming of the Savior in the manger. Just as Zerubbabel's temple seemed a dull reflection to Solomon's temple, so the birth of Jesus seemed but a dull reflection to the birth of Solomon, the Golden Son. Today we remember, we celebrate, we rejoice in the birth of Jesus—not the birth of Solomon.

As we prepare our hearts for His coming afresh, may we have eyes to see the glory of the Lord hidden in ancient ruins, broken places and out-of-the-way mangers.

The Dawn of a New Day

In the dark of night, the sky gives no hints that the sun will rise again. And yet we look with expectancy for another day to come. We remember the reliable regularity of a sun that rises in the sky every day of our lives.

In the earliest moments of dawn, the darkness must give way to the unstoppable light that fills the heavens. Advent comes to the weary pilgrims, crossing the crushing expanse of night. Like the promise of a coming dawn, it reminds those with crushed dreams and broken hearts that the Son has come, is coming and will come again.

I have known darkness that clouds and fills the lungs with smothering despair. And by God’s unspeakable grace, I have seen the light of a day that I thought might never come again. This advent I remember, and I rest in the utter faithfulness of my Creator.

Graven Images

Epiphany 2007

January 9, 2007
I’m still holding out. My antiqued nativity figures still light up the end of my driveway. I didn’t actually finish making them and setting them out until the week of Christmas, so I hate to take them down right away.

Last year my sister mentioned buying a plastic yard nativity and antiquing it. That sounded like a good idea, so I (and my sister-in-law) collected Mary, Joseph, the baby Jesus, the Wise Men, a camel, a sheep, a donkey and a cow.

In early December, I unpacked my nativity and began painting. The process included applying a primer coat of paint, then applying a copper coat and finally adding a dark antique stain that I would rub off with paper towels. This project gave me opportunity to do something with my hands instead of sitting at a keyboard or reading a book.

As I painted, I reflected on the stories and waited for inspiration. I’ve heard monks often pray and meditate while kneading bread, and this seemed like a perfect exercise for reflection while I worked.

But nothing came to me.

I painted, I stained, and I photographed my progress, but somehow the deep insights seemed hidden away. The only thing that came to mind was how the cow reminded me of the golden calf in Exodus. Surely, there must be some other great insight I could gain from this effort. A graven image on display for Christmas doesn’t seem inspirational.

Night after night, I reflected and the graven image idea returned again and again.

Gradually I began to consider what is a graven image? What is an idol? It is a form, a representation and image of the real, but it lacks one vital thing: breath, pneuma, spirit. It’s void of life.

God forbid the ancient Hebrews from creating graven images, and Jeremiah warns that “every man is brutish in his knowledge: every founder is confounded by the graven image: for his molten image is falsehood, and there is no breath in them” (Jeremiah 10:14). Without breath, without spirit, these images are simply forms—not persons.

God is person, and a person cannot be contained in a spiritless image. So when God chose to create an image of Himself, he breathed into it. Created in the image and likeness of God, humans are persons—not graven images. We are vital, living, changing and reproducing beings. When Adam gives birth to Seth the scriptures say, “he fathered a son in his own likeness, after his image.”

Just as God creates humans in His own image and likeness, humans create other humans in their image and likeness. A graven image cannot reproduce. It has no vital life. It has no animating spirit. It is frozen in time.

Each year we revisit the stories of Mary and Joseph through plays, nativities, and Scripture readings. Each year we join them in the journey to Bethlehem. Over time, it may be easy to forget that these were real people with real challenges. They may have lived in a different time and different culture, but they still faced the basic struggles of being human. In other words, they weren’t so very different from us.

And yet, they were caught up into a grand drama that occupies our imagination year after year after year. Our nativities can serve as reminders, signposts or snapshots of a moment in time. But Joseph, Mary and Jesus are not suspended in that moment. They lived, and as they lived they faced all the struggles of living in spite of the miraculous tale.

We face the danger of reducing the Biblical characters to graven images, to mere representations, to 2 dimensional figures in a morality play trying to teach us a lesson. We face the danger of forgetting these are stories about real people. When we do so, they seem to tower above us as some mythical cast of characters who lived divinely inspired lives in spite of their faults.

Yet, in reality, they were humans: real people with real struggles unaware of being caught up in the divine drama. And I suspect, most of us, most of the time live our lives unaware that we are caught up in a divine drama.

Just as God breathed into Adam, he breathed into us. That breath, that pneuma, that animating spirit is a vital, reproducing life bestowed on us by God. We are real persons created in the image and likeness of God. We are not graven images.

Jesus came as the perfect, complete image bearer. Jesus came to restore the image of God in us corrupted by sin. Jesus breathes upon His disciples and tells them, “Receive the Spirit.” He restores the vital, animating life of God within His people.

I fear sometimes that we may not always treat one another as real, vital persons created in the image and likeness of God. Instead, we might at times reduce one another to graven images, to mere representations. So we get angry when someone doesn’t act the way we expect, the way our “image of them” suggests they should act.

We may expect them to perform just as the image in our mind suggests they should perform, but they are not that image. They are real people—separate from us with a unique mind and body and spirit. And it is possible, and in fact probable that they will not always see the world as we do. Just as Paul and Barnabas did not always see eye to eye—neither will we.

As we learn to appreciate the people in our lives, we must give them grace to be the people God created them to be. We must trust that the same Spirit that rose Jesus from the dead, the same Spirit who groans and works within us, is working in them. They are not created in our image but in the image of God.

As we enter the season of Epiphany, we celebrate the revealing of God to the world in the person of Jesus. I would hope we might also celebrate the image of God in the people of God around us. I would hope that we might remember that each of us have been created in the image and likeness of God.

We are not graven images. We are corrupted images. The nativity tells the story of Jesus coming as the perfect image. The cross tells the story of Jesus restoring and redeeming our corrupted images. The resurrection tells the story of Jesus breathing into His images His animating Spirit.

My nativity sits on the hill as a reminder of the difference between graven images and images of God. I am reminded afresh to acknowledge the persons in my life: my family, my friends, the clerk at the store, the officer giving me a speeding ticket, the waitress forgetting to refill my drink. These are not graven images, they are vital, glorious, wondrous images of God—some living in the reality of that redeeming love and others waiting to be embraced and told of that redeeming love.

Unexpected Grace

My neighbors packed up their yard filled with Santas and snowmen. The shopping pages now blast New Year’s Day sales. The world has moved on from its brief fling with Christmas. Yet, those who celebrate the feast continue to roar in the echoing refrain of Glory to God in the highest.

Today is the fifth day of twelve-day feast, rejoicing in the miracle of the Incarnation of our Lord. And then comes Epiphany, an extended season for contemplating and celebrating the manifestation of the Son to the world. For many people in days gone by, Christmas carols would continue throughout Epiphany until February 2nd when the church celebrated the presentation of the Lord in the temple.

This year, my mind returns again and again the God’s coming in a way the no one could have anticipated and in a way that stirs the soul to awe. Here are a few thoughts that attempt to capture one theme that has been heavy in my heart:

The grace of God appears like an unexpected star on an uneventful night. Suddenly, light streams shower from a dark sky, and you step forward into the dawn of a coming Day.

The story of the nativity is the story of nighttime surprises. Gabriel greets an unexpecting Mary with the Word that brings new birth. Joseph’s dream awakens him to father the son of his Father above. The lonely shepherds behold a company of angels inviting them to come and see the Glory of God bursting out of heavens and into the earth. The heavenly drama beckons a few stargazers to leave behind an ancient world and behold the future made present.

While there are lessons to be learned from each story, these stories penetrate deeper than the moral truth of any Aesop’s fable. They illumine the ground upon which we tread. Each year we revisit Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds, and the Wise Men, and one day we might just realize we’re in the middle of the same story.

Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds and the Wise Men are not waiting for an invitation to Bethlehem. They do not anticipate God’s Word of favor to call them forth. Each of them are simply living their lives in the midst of countless other lives and countless other stories. They are not engaged in some heroic work; they are not calling down fire from heaven; they have no particular traits that will cause them to rise above the tapestry of history. Like their mothers and fathers before them, they were born, would live and eventually die with no particular lasting glory.

Suddenly, their common life is interrupted with a glory that exceeds the grasp of earthly minds. Suddenly God’s Word appears like favor, like new birth, like a sword of love that pierces the heart. Suddenly the light of morning grace awakens them, calls them to Bethlehem, and invites them to behold a new Day.

O come let us adore Him.

His glorious Word that sustains every living thing sounds in the cry of that baby in the manger. Halted in their journeys by this tiny vision of divine glory, the travelers can do nothing but worship. No words, no actions, no human ingenuity can add to the moment.

O come let us adore Him. Adore Him.

Jesus comes to dwell among us. Jesus comes to reveal the Father. Jesus comes to save His people from their sins. He enters history at a particular point in time through the womb of Mary. Yet, by His Spirit, He remains in history and continues to bring the Word of life to each of us.

The wondrous invitation to Bethlehem comes without warning and without expectation. In the middle of my dark night, His love surprised me like a sunrise casting its gentle glow over the surface of a black lake. In just a moment, the dark rippling water glowed with yellows and oranges and reds and blues and greens. The dawn overtook the night, and I stepped into the first light of a new Day.

And all I can do is worship.

O come let us adore Him. Adore Him. Adore Him.

I have more essays and reflections that I may or may not write this season. There is much to say and much to do. But at some point, when I pause and consider the splendor of that “wonderful, wonderful Day,” I am speechless. I am overwhelmed. I am falling before Him with a gratefulness that can never match His matchless grace.

O come let us adore Him. Adore Him. Adore Him. O Come let us adore Him.

The Spirit of Christmas

Each year, I hear at least one person say, “Are you in the Christmas spirit?” Or another might say, “I just don’t feel like Christmas this year.” Year after year the refrain rolls on. I’m not always sure what the “Christmas spirit” is or feels like. But I think it has something to do with the anticipation and wonder experienced by many children.

Of course, most children live in a state of wonder from moment to moment. They might spend hours playing with their Christmas toys or they might spend hours playing with the boxes that held the Christmas toys.

Unfortunately most adults live in a world divorced from wonder, so naturally the Christmas spirit might seem elusive. Just as the anticipation of the tooth fairy, the hopes of finding a leprechaun, or the delight of a refrigerator box might also seem elusive.

Advent provides us a season for turning our hearts toward that yearning for the coming of the Lord. In some sense, this yearning may actually hold the key to rediscovering that wonder. That yearning is like the yearning for Narnia after having tasted of that world. When the children return home, Narnia seems so close:

And the memory of that moment stayed with them always, so that as long as they both lived, if ever they were sad or afraid or angry, the thought of all that golden goodness, and the feeling that it was still there, quite close, just round some corner or just behind some door, would come back and make them sure, deep down inside, that all was well. (The Magician's Nephew)

This yearning may help us to realize that heaven is closer than we think. But to fully grasp the yearning as well as the “Christmas spirit,” we first may have to face the bittersweet depth the Christmas tale, and not simply a flattened two-dimensional image.

This season I soaked myself in the stories and in the songs. Many of older carols are sung in minor keys and ring out less “holly jolly” and more “ransom captive Israel.” In other words, the songs and stories both carry a deep undercurrent of anguish.

While we paint a “happy go lucky” glaze across the top of our Christmas celebrations that is not anything like the spirit of Christmas. It is more like an eruption of holy laughter ringing out in the midst of a darkening night of grief.

The older carols capture this ominous sense. Listen to the hard rhythms and images of this old song:

In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.

Bleak, moan, hard as iron, stone. All these images suggest a world gripped by the cold darkness of a winter that goes deeper than mere seasons. It is the winter of the soul that freezes our spirits, kills our wonder, eliminates our faith, drains our hope, and leaves us faltering in despair. This is the setting for the Christmas tale.

The Nativity story crashes contrasting images and emotions. Earthy vulgar shepherds behold heavenly glorious angels. Light blazes in the midst of a dark night. Simeon warns Mary that a sword will pierce her heart as well. The cry of baby Jesus is eventually drowned out by the cry of the weeping mothers of Ramah who cannot be comforted because Herod slaughtered their children. Joseph and Mary escape to Egypt, sparing the baby God.

Though the angels proclaim, “Fear not!” There seems much to fear. The world Jesus is born into instantly reveals its hatred for God and its desire to kill and destroy anything that would challenge its flight into darkness.

In light of the tale, how do we respond to the angels’ wondrous proclamation, “Peace on earth, goodwill to man!” The Christmas tale never takes the suffering of this world lightly. It does not brush over the pain and anguish caused by evil. This evil manifests in criminals, in war, in governments and rulers like Herod, but it also manifests in each human heart: in my human heart.

Evil strikes out within every human heart. Each of us suffers, yet each of us causes suffering. It is to this dark night of human existence that a child comes. It is in this bleak mid-winter that a stable will suffice.

The joy that rings out at Christmas is the joy of the ransomed heart. It is the joy of the soul who is not forsaken, not left out in the cold, not abandoned by the Savior. This joy is not tempered by pain and suffering around us; instead this joy blazes ever brighter as the dark seems to grow even darker.

Thus Chesterton really is right when he says that “Man chooses when he wishes to be most joyful the very moment when the whole material universe is most sad.” So the Christmas spirit is not something that gently comes upon us like a warm hug. Rather it is a defiant spirit that chooses to rejoice when the world say no.

Yes the world is suffering. Yes there is pain and hatred and cruelty and selfishness all around. Yes even our very Christmas celebration is turned into a parody with layers and layers of absurd marketing ploys. And yet even these cannot stop us from singing. We raise the banner of Christmas like warriors fighting off the coldness of unbelief and cynicism. And like Habakkuk of old, we proclaim,

Though the fig tree may not blossom,
Nor fruit be on the vines;
Though the labor of the olive may fail,
And the fields yield no food;
Though the flock may be cut off from the fold,
And there be no herd in the stalls—
Yet I will rejoice in the LORD,
I will joy in the God of my salvation.
The LORD God is my strength;
He will make my feet like deer’s feet,
And He will make me walk on my high hills.
(Hab 3:17)

Christmas is a feast. Not because we feel good or warm or happy. It is a feast because we choose to rejoice when our world has lost its way. We choose to dance, to play, to laugh and to celebrate the infant whose cross-shaped love will triumph over all. And as we do, we might discover a world of wonder “just around the corner.” We might just be converted into little children: for only then can we enter the kingdom of heaven.

While Shepherds Watched Their Flock

Matthias sat down by the entrance to the cave. Rubbing his freezing, blistered hands together—specs of mud mixed with manure flecked onto the ground. The day had been long; the cold night would be longer. The warmth of the fire nearby gradually gave some relief to the bitter night.

His joints and bones ached and had ached for so long, it seemed normal. Years of nomadic life in summer and winter, rain and snow, blistering heat and freezing cold—aged his body. The once playful youth, who could rebound from every fall, now struggled sometimes to simply rise and sit. The lines carved into his face, the distant gaze in his eyes, and the creaking limbs betrayed his thirty-five years, suggesting an older, weaker man.

On this cool dark night he watched. He guarded the sheep asleep in the cave and watched for anything that might hurt the sheep or his fellow shepherds. While Bethlehem nights were usually quiet and peaceful, he could take no chances. Someone must watch in case of bandits, wolves, other creatures or other problems.

Matthias struggled to stay awake. Last night was his turn to rest, but a commotion among the dogs of the flock kept him awake most of the night. And now his mind and body fought hard to recover that sleep.

Puling out a little pipe from his leather pouch, Matthias began to play a tune. In a life of constant struggle for survival, this little pipe was one of his few joys. When he played, he dreamed. He traveled back to boyhood. To sitting by the fire as his grandfather told stories about days long gone.

According to pappa, shepherds were beloved of God and were the reason God chose Israel as his people. Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were shepherds. Moses was a shepherd. David was a shepherd.

Yes God loved shepherds and would one day restore their glory. They wouldn’t always be outsiders. Stories weaved through the cities accusing shepherds of everything from stealing, tricking and killing townspeople to even mating with their flocks.

Not every rumor was false. Their lives were hard, and sometimes survival meant doing things that made you less than proud. Poverty so gripped and controlled their lives, they no longer even owned the sheep they herded. Instead, wealthy landowners bought the sheep from the shepherds and then lorded over them like slaves.

This humiliation, this constant struggle, this life of virtual slavery drove shepherds to play a role that sometimes included the very worst of the rumors. A shadow of regret and guilt darkened many of their lives.

Living on the margin of the world, they felt forgotten, abandoned and even hated by God. They were dirty, smelly, poor and knew nothing but shepherding. Yet in spite of this, Matthias still dreamed on his pipe. Pappa made the life of shepherding seem wondrous, magical. Pappa’s words kept him alive on the inside even when the outside seemed to be crumbling.

In the desolate hours, Matthias felt the desolation of his life stir a yearning deep within for something. A longing burned and burned and he expressed the longing in slow lamentation on the pipe. He played on and on through the monotonous minutes and hours of the cold winter eve.

Suddenly a light jolted through him and the pipe flew from his hands. Instantly Matthias fell to the ground screaming. The other shepherds followed suit. God had finally come and the end was at hand. They would be judged…and found wanting.

But then two words, two words which promised hope and love and…possibility. “Fear not!”

As the words washed over him in a flood a peace, Matthias looked up at the cause of his travail. A light figure stood or floated before him. He could see no features for the intense brilliance almost blinded him.

Then the voice of a thousand bells spoke again, “For behold, I bring you good news of a 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. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger."

“Unto me? A baby born to me? A savior born for me?” The questions raced through his head, but in a moment, laughter erupted from Matthias’s belly like a sudden flood. The other shepherds laughed as well. Soon they were dancing and singing. The joy that burned within them was brighter and more furiously playful than anything they had ever known.

Shearing days could not compare to this spontaneous festival of laughter and dancing and frolicking that broke out in their midst. As though one angel was not enough to witness this joy, the sky suddenly flamed with thousands upon thousands of angel singing, ringing, shouting proclaiming

"Glory to God in the highest,

and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!"


As they danced, Matthias heard Pappa’s words ringing in his ears. “God really does love shepherds.” Then he out of the blue remembered something else Pappa would say, something he had forgotten all these years, “God loves shepherds because he is a shepherd and we’re his sheep.”

For the first time since childhood, Matthias beamed with a heaven-sent pride. He was called of God, chosen to shepherd the sheep. Chosen to reveal the wisdom and kindness of God upon the earth. And now, unexpectedly chosen to share in the joy of God’s redeeming Israel by sending the baby shepherd king who would restore his flock and lead them home.

His dreams stopped short when the sky turned black. As suddenly as they came, the angels departed, and Matthias turned to his fellow herders, “Come my friends, we must go at once. Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us."

O Antiphons - Dec 17

I realize that most of you will read this on Monday morning, but tonight (as in Sunday) the singing of O Antiphons begins. For the next seven evenings the church traditionally sings (chants) a series of prayers that express our longing for the coming of the Lord. Each chant draws from of different title for the Messiah. This time of singing is a countdown to Christmas Eve. The rhythm of Advents shifts from a focus on the second coming of Christ to the first coming. This gives us an opportunity to meditate upon the various passages of Scripture focusing on the coming of the Messiah.

From Christmas Eve we shift from Advent to Christmastide. A 12 day feast centered on the Incarnation (thus the 12 days of Christmas). I'll write more about that later.

Those who have read my meditations for a while have both taught me this rhythms of the season and learned the rhythms alongside me. Instead of rewriting a summary on O Antiphons, I've simply included an excellent summary below.

What Are the ’O Antiphons’? FR. WILLIAM SAUNDERS

The “O Antiphons” refer to the seven antiphons that are recited (or chanted) preceding the Magnificat during Vespers of the Liturgy of the Hours. They cover the special period of Advent preparation known as the Octave before Christmas, Dec. 17-23, with Dec. 24 being Christmas Eve and Vespers for that evening being for the Christmas Vigil.

The exact origin of the “O Antiphons” is not known. Boethius (c. 480-524) made a slight reference to them, thereby suggesting their presence at that time. At the Benedictine abbey of Fleury (now Saint-Benoit-sur-Loire), these antiphons were recited by the abbot and other abbey leaders in descending rank, and then a gift was given to each member of the community. By the eighth century, they are in use in the liturgical celebrations in Rome. The usage of the “O Antiphons” was so prevalent in monasteries that the phrases, “Keep your O” and “The Great O Antiphons” were common parlance. One may thereby conclude that in some fashion the “O Antiphons” have been part of our liturgical tradition since the very early Church.

The importance of “O Antiphons” is twofold: Each one highlights a title for the Messiah: O Sapientia (O Wisdom), O Adonai (O Lord), O Radix Jesse (O Root of Jesse), O Clavis David (O Key of David), O Oriens (O Rising Sun), O Rex Gentium (O King of the Nations), and O Emmanuel. Also, each one refers to the prophecy of Isaiah of the coming of the Messiah. Let’s now look at each antiphon with just a sample of Isaiah’s related prophecies :

O Sapientia: “O Wisdom, O holy Word of God, you govern all creation with your strong yet tender care. Come and show your people the way to salvation.” Isaiah had prophesied, “The spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him: a spirit of wisdom and of understanding, a spirit of counsel and of strength, a spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord, and his delight shall be the fear of the Lord.” (11:2-3), and “Wonderful is His counsel and great is His wisdom.” (28:29).

O Adonai: “O sacred Lord of ancient Israel, who showed yourself to Moses in the burning bush, who gave him the holy law on Sinai mountain: come, stretch out your mighty hand to set us free.” Isaiah had prophesied, “But He shall judge the poor with justice, and decide aright for the land’s afflicted. He shall strike the ruthless with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall slay the wicked. Justice shall be the band around his waist, and faithfulness a belt upon his hips.” (11:4-5); and “Indeed the Lord will be there with us, majestic; yes the Lord our judge, the Lord our lawgiver, the Lord our king, he it is who will save us.” (33:22).

O Radix Jesse: “O Flower of Jesse’s stem, you have been raised up as a sign for all peoples; kings stand silent in your presence; the nations bow down in worship before you. Come, let nothing keep you from coming to our aid.” Isaiah had prophesied, “But a shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom.” (11:1), and A On that day, the root of Jesse, set up as a signal for the nations, the Gentiles shall seek out, for his dwelling shall be glorious.” (11:10). Remember also that Jesse was the father of King David, and Micah had prophesied that the Messiah would be of the house and lineage of David and be born in David’s city, Bethlehem (Micah 5:1).

O Clavis David: “O Key of David, O royal Power of Israel controlling at your will the gate of Heaven: Come, break down the prison walls of death for those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death; and lead your captive people into freedom.” Isaiah had prophesied, AI will place the Key of the House of David on His shoulder; when he opens, no one will shut, when he shuts, no one will open.” (22:22), and “His dominion is vast and forever peaceful, from David’s throne, and over His kingdom, which he confirms and sustains by judgment and justice, both now and forever.” (9:6).

O Oriens: “O Radiant Dawn, splendor of eternal light, sun of justice: come, shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.” Isaiah had prophesied, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shown.” (9:1).

O Rex Gentium: “O King of all the nations, the only joy of every human heart; O Keystone of the mighty arch of man, come and save the creature you fashioned from the dust.” Isaiah had prophesied, “For a child is born to us, a son is given us; upon his shoulder dominion rests. They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-Forever, Prince of Peace.” (9:5), and “He shall judge between the nations, and impose terms on many peoples. They shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks; one nation shall not raise the sword against another, nor shall they train for war again.” (2:4) .

O Emmanuel: “O Emmanuel, king and lawgiver, desire of the nations, Savior of all people, come and set us free, Lord our God.” Isaiah had prophesied, “The Lord himself will give you this sign: the Virgin shall be with child, and bear a son, and shall name him Emmanuel.”

(7:14). Remember “Emmanuel” means “God is with us.”

According to Professor Robert Greenberg of the San Francisco Conservatory of Music, the Benedictine monks arranged these antiphons with a definite purpose. If one starts with the last title and takes the first letter of each one - Emmanuel, Rex, Oriens, Clavis, Radix, Adonai, Sapientia - the Latin words ero cras are formed, meaning, “Tomorrow, I will come.” Therefore, the Lord Jesus, whose coming we have prepared for in Advent and whom we have addressed in these seven Messianic titles, now speaks to us, “Tomorrow, I will come.” So the “O Antiphons” not only bring intensity to our Advent preparation, but bring it to a joyful conclusion.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Saunders, Rev. William. “What are the ‘O Antiphons’?” Arlington Catholic Herald.

Reprinted with permission of the Arlington Catholic Herald.

THE AUTHOR

Father William Saunders is dean of the Notre Dame Graduate School of Christendom College and pastor of Queen of Apostles Parish, both in Alexandria, Virginia. The above article is a “Straight Answers” column he wrote for the Arlington Catholic Herald. Father Saunders is also the author of Straight Answers, a book based on 100 of his columns and published by Cathedral Press in Baltimore.

Copyright © 2000 Arlington Catholic Herald

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Saunders, Rev. William. "{title1}." Arlington Catholic Herald.

This article is reprinted with permission from Arlington Catholic Herald.

THE AUTHOR

Father William Saunders is dean of the Notre Dame Graduate School of Christendom College and pastor of Queen of Apostles Parish, both in Alexandria, Virginia. The above article is a "Straight Answers" column he wrote for the Arlington Catholic Herald. Father Saunders is also the author of Straight Answers, a book based on 100 of his columns and published by Cathedral Press in Baltimore.

Copyright © 200{#} Arlington Catholic Herald

Joseph's Surprise

Here's another attempt to retell one of the nativity stories. In this short sketch, I was trying to thinking about questions the bible doesn't address like how did Joseph find out about Mary's pregnancy and what happened to the customs of the day? While this is beyond the text, it helped me to see Joseph a real person and not a two-dimensional character.

Surprised by Love

The town gathered in anticipation, excitement: could he be the one? Every birth in the tarnished house of David brought expectation that maybe just maybe the ancient prophecies would come true, and Jesse’s root would bloom once again. Then the royal house of David would once more rule the land, and the darkness of Rome and of Herod’s wicked rule would finally come to an end.

The family waited anxiously for news of the coming baby. Could he be the true Son of David that restores our fallen house? Could he really be the one?

He was not the one.

His father named him Joseph. And he grew in his father’s footsteps, a simple man bearing the quiet dignity of a royal family that had long since lost its status. They were simple people, simple carpenters. And they were faithful. Their lives revolved around God’s precious gift to the His people: the Torah.

Joseph, like his father and like his father’s father, observed Torah. He worshipped the Holy One of Israel. He expressed his devotion through obedience. A man of few words, Joseph’s actions defined his faith. He remained faithful to the ways of the fathers.

In the fullness of time, he looked for a righteous wife from a righteous people. The family must observe Torah. The family must walk in the ways of the Lord. The family must be a trustworthy, holy people. Joseph found such a family. And within that family, he found Mary.

Joseph’s family and Mary’s family entered into covenant. They celebrated the betrothal between Joseph and Mary. As the time of feasting came to a close, Joseph took Mary by the hands, looked her in the eyes and proclaimed, “I am going now to prepare a place for you, but I will come again and take you into my house.”

As Joseph and his family traveled home, an excitement danced in the air. He began to dream. Soon his life would be transformed: his house would be a place joy overflowing with children. This poor man would treat Mary as a princess. The royal blood of the House of David would still shine in their simple life and their simple home.

Months passed and one night Mary’s brother suddenly appeared at Joseph’s home. Marked with the anguished look of a man bearing news that split through his heart, he tried to speak. Joseph assumed the worst: “Is Mary dead?”

“No. She’s with child.” Falling to his knees, her brother began weeping and begging for mercy upon her and the family.

Stunned, Joseph stumbled to the floor.

Soon he began weeping as though Mary really has died. God’s surprise appearance in Joseph’s life was unexpected and unwelcome.

He grieved for the betrayal. He grieved for the dreams now dead He grieved for her family who could not escape her shame He even grieved for her.

He wanted to spare them, yet the Torah constrained Joseph to act in certain ways. How could he act faithfully and yet with mercy toward her family? The dismissal would be a quiet affair. No trial. No public shame.

A weak and weary man lay to sleep that night with a heart torn between betrayal and compassion. His sleep offered no respite. Suddenly his room lit up like the Eastern sky at sunrise and an angel of the Lord appeared in his dream, “Son of David!”

These three words resounded deep within his soul, deep within his blood, deep within his family, and Joseph woke up for the first time in his life.

His family bore the shame of a fallen house. “Son of David” echoed through his soul. It came as a blessing, a song of deliverance. It came as a surprise of love. In these words of life, God’s “hesed,” his lovingkindess, his unrestrained mercy, his unfathomable love brought life to Joseph.

“Do not be afraid to take to you Mary your wife, for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit. And she will bring forth a Son, and you shall call His name Jesus, for he will save His people from their sins.”

Joseph arose.

The once dead root, now stirred. God called Joseph forth, and he obeyed. His heart burned from the visitation, from the word of God. And now his mind now raced with a flood of dreams, memories and new responsiblities.

For some reason an old legend about Moses’ father captured his imagination. A similar dream, a similar visitation, a similar command, “For he will save the Hebrews from their bondage in Egypt.” Moses’ father faithfully and quietly obeyed. He received no earthly glory and simply faded into the shadows, and yet his faithfulness made a way for the redemption of God’s people.

Now Joseph has been offered a similar commission.

A loved burned in his heart for Mary and for the baby within her womb. He would lay down his life for them. From now on, his life would be in service of their life. He would name the child “Jesus.” And by naming him, he would legally claim Jesus as his own child.

As the Son of David, Joseph would obey the commission of God and make way for the long awaited, true Son of David to come forth, restoring David’s fallen house and restoring God’s people.

The time, the time, the time. He must hurry.

In a moment, he’s running. Running to his parents’ house, alerting them that there’s going to be a wedding. While he makes no mention of the baby, he explains the Lord told him the wedding must happen right away. Soon the whole town is percolating with energy as everyone joins in the preparation.

Then a few nights later, Joseph dresses in the full regalia of the bridegroom. Flowers and robe flowed around him. The Son of David goes to claim his bride.

The wedding party slips away in the middle of the night with torches, music, dancing and celebration.

He appears at Mary’s family’s house like a thief in the night.

Mary’s grieving family had awaited his appearing for days with terror. They feared the trial, the public shame, the end of their family name. Their feared the curse over their poor, foolish daughter.

But Joseph doesn’t show up as the judge. He comes as the bridegroom to claim his bride.

[springlist] God' little move

O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.

When the hopes and fears of all the years finally does show up, he shows up in the little town of Bethlehem. He arrives at the most inopportune time. Joseph and Mary are in the middle of a traveling—not too fun for Mary. The innkeepers have no idea he’s coming, so they’re no prepared.

His parents find refuge in an animal stable that was most likely underground in some cave. The stench probably revolted a pregnant mother and simply added to her miserable condition.

There are no grand parades. No key to the city. No international commission. God sends a sky full of angels to alert a few shepherds keeping watch. Then he sends a sign to some pagan stargazers that a king has been born. Everyone else misses the big announcement.

God makes the most dramatic intervention into human affairs in the history of the world, and He does so in a small, almost unnoticeable way. The Savior appears. He reveals himself in little and lowly places. He comes unexpectedly to unexpected people, and he fulfills expectations of all the ages.

And yet, we continue to expect God to show up in the big, the dramatic, and the exciting. We expect God’s action in our life to be larger than life. It isn’t.

A silent, shuddering voice stirs us, awakens us and in the midst of our problems, our frustrations, our longing for change, we cry out for God to come—not realizing it is His nudge that caused us to cry out in the first place.

The God who loves to surprise the world with little graces is coming to your heart. He is coming to transform you and transform the world. Instead of demanding He perform His life-changing work in a bold, dramatic and even entertaining way, why not bow and simply pray gently, “Let it be unto me O Lord, according to your word.”

Who knows what the Sovereign of Surprise might birth in you?

Telling Stories during Advent

The story of the shepherds, a manger, a husband and his young wife all surrounding the manger of a newly born Savior has been told, retold and told again for countless generations in multiple languages. It inspires young and old, poor and rich, religious and even irreligious.

As your making your list (and counting it twice), I would encourage to pause a little to reflect on the stories of the nativity. Let the stories soak deep into your imagination. Read and reread them. And if possible, tell the stories.

The gospels emerge from a storied culture. There were no movie theatres or televisions to entertain. Storytelling played a fundamental role in shaping these people. While most ancient people groups focused their calendar on agricultural rhythms, the ancient Hebrews focused their calendar on stories. Not just any stories, but stories they claimed and believed to be actual history. They reenacted the stories in their rituals. They retold and relived the stories year after year after year.

The stories gave them power to survive occupation, captivity and persecution. The stories of Abraham, Moses, and David filled the imagination of the disciples. The letters of Paul, Peter, John and even Jude are filled with allusions to stories. They thought in stories and they often wrote atop stories.

We need those stories inside us, and sometimes the process of telling the stories impacts us even more than hearing or reading them. So I encourage you to take time to tell the stories: whether in a journal or in gatherings with family or friends. My sister said she might give each member of her family an assignment to tell the story of a different character.

However you tell the stories, I encourage you to do it. You don’t have to be a grand novelist to tell the stories. By virtue of being human, we are all born storytellers. As the ancient Jews heard the story of the Exodus over and over, they begin to realize they were still a part of the story of a people redeemed from the hand of a great oppressor.

It is important to get the story of Zechariah, Elizabeth, Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds and others into the very fibre of your soul. It is important to take these figures out of the two-dimensional flannel board world and let our imagination help us see them as three-dimensional, fully human, beings: real people with real problems who encounter a real God.

As we tell the stories, we might begin to grasp the far grander mystery: that we are part of the story ourselves.

To help stir you and get you motivated, I thought I might share some of my feeble attempts at trying to retell these stories. I used my imagination to fill details and took some creative license, but I also tried to be true to what I knew of the history at the time. I’ll share few to help motivate you. But I encourage you that it is more important for you to tell the story than to read the story I send out.

The first story I worked with is the story of Zechariah, Elizabeth and Mary. This is long (and long than my average post), so those who want to read may choose to print it out.

Zechariah and Elizabeth carried their shame with a quiet dignity. Years of anguished longing and fervent prayers with no result: God remained silent. And in his silence, He marked them with a sign of public humiliation: barrenness. The time for birthing children came and went, Elizabeth’s womb dried up and her cries had no avail.

Zechariah and Elizabeth took their shame, their disappointment, their loss, their hopelessness and found hope in God alone. Their anguish became devotion to the God of Israel. Born into a priestly family, Zechariah’s life would be defined by serving and worshipping God every day in the Temple. The God who failed him. The God who turned His back to him. The God who abandoned him. Every day, Zechariah stood in the Temple and faithfully worshipped and served the Holy One of Israel.

One evening as Zechariah went to serve in the Temple, something happened that only happened a once in a lifetime. This priest humiliated by God was selected to an act of highest honor, offering incense in the Presence of the Most High.

With trepidation, Zechariah approached the Holy Place. Even though it was just a few steps, he was walking between worlds, stepping into the very place of heaven on earth where God’s glory shined and could overwhelm anyone. Long ago, Aaron’s sons approached the holy place irreverently and were instantly killed. And since that time, a certain holy fear surrounded this terrible, wondrous place.

Standing in the Presence of the Unnamable, the terrible glorious Creator, Zechariah obediently carried out his service of offering the incense. Suddenly Gabriel stepped out from the Presence and spoke. The moment the glory touched him, Zechariah fell to the ground in terror.

“Do not be afraid Zechariah. Your prayers have been heard, and your wife Elizabeth will bear a son and you shall call his name John. And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth. For he will be great in the sight of the Lord, and shall drink neither wine nor strong drink. He will also be filled with the Holy Spirit, even from his mother’s womb. And he will turn many of the children of Israel to the Lord their God. He will also 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 a people prepared for the Lord.” (The Message)

As Gabriel spoke, Zechariah’s trembling turned to tears. The anguish of carrying the years of shame swept over him, and he lay there moaning before the throne. His tears came from a deep wellspring, deeper even then his own grief. Suddenly, he was grieving with Abraham and Sarah in their barrenness. The pain of their dying world turned within him. Abraham and Sarah seemed to carry the barrenness of their generation as signs in their own bodies. Their world was dying around them, and in some impossible way God had chosen to recreate the world through them.

God’s promise filled their emptiness with hope of a world restored. Through them God would bless all creation. And through them, came Izaak. And through Izaak came Jacob. And through Jacob, came twelve sons who formed twelve tribes. Jacob’s clan would form a nation of people chosen to bear the blessing of God for all creation: Israel the chosen people, chosen to bless, restore, and break the curse. Unfortunately, story wisted in upon itself. Instead of blessing the world, they fell under a curse. Prophet after prophet after prophet called them back to the Law, back to the covenant, back to their commission to be the light of the world. Instead it seemed that darkness really did overcome the light.

Eventually Israel fell to surrounding empires. Her brightest and best were carried away, taken captive. Daniel, one of those captives, cried out day and night for the God to restore his people and to renew to covenant. Just as Zechariah and Elizabeth and had cried out day after day after day for God’s favor.

One night as Daniel prayed, Gabriel suddenly appeared. He promised the curse wouldn’t last forever. 70 weeks or 490 years would pass before God’s judgment would be complete. But then something new. God’s promises would be fulfilled.

And then Gabriel left. No words for many, many years. In fact, some suggested it had been close to 490 years and they were waiting expectantly for the end of the curse.

So Zechariah’s grieving took him through the whole history of Israel. He experienced the curse, the shame of God’s people from within. Now he realized, that he and Elizabeth bore the shame of Israel’s barrenness. For God’s people, in spite of their outward rituals, were a barren people, crushed under the curse of sin. No one could redeem, save God alone.

As Zechariah came to his senses, he began to grasp the impact of Gabriel’s words. He and Elizabeth would bear a son? But how could this be? They were too old? And how could this signal the end of exile? The end of the curse?

As he turned to Gabriel, he stuttered searching for a sign, “But how shall I know?”

Gabriel gave him a sign. He took away his words. Man shall live by the Word of Lord alone. And if he can’t do that, he will have no words. So Zechariah stumbled out from the Temple, just beginning to realize the power of words and the weight of God’s Word.

He could not tell the people what happened. He could give the priestly blessing. Even in this he was a living sign. For the priestly blessing would now be handed over to another. One day soon, the real Priest would stand and bless his people before He departed to be with His Father.

Zechariah held onto Gabriel’s last words, “My words which will be fulfilled in their own time.” The words were not dependent on man’s planning, man’s praying, man’s wrestling. The words carried the force of God’s blessing and would be fulfilled in God’s time by God’s hand.

Zechariah stumbled home to his wife. Silently, he embraced her unable to express the glory of what was happening. And yet, the hope of their future, and the hope of Israel’s future brought new life to a dying body and soon the life manifested in Elizabeth’s womb. The old woman cried out with the joy of teenage girl: “the Lord has dealt with me, He has looked on me, He has taken away my reproach among people.” As Elizabeth hid herself away to prepare for the coming child, Mary, her young cousin, was about to experience her own surprise.

Mary’s parents knew it was time to prepare their little girl for womanhood. So they found a husband. While much older, Joseph could provide for Mary, and her parents were delighted in such a match. Their marriage was sealed and now Mary need only wait for the time when Joseph would come to welcome her to his home. As Joseph went away to prepare a home for her, Mary waited quietly and patiently, preparing her heart for a new life, a new family and a new world. But nothing she did could prepare her for a visit from Gabriel.

Suddenly the angel appeared. “Rejoice young lady! Your beauty is God’s beauty and your joy is God’s joy. For God delights in you and has chosen to bless you!”

Puzzled and fearful, Mary bowed beneath the shining glory of this figure. Gabriel took her hand and gently helped her. “Mary, you have nothing to fear! This is good news! God has a special surprise for you: you are going to give birth to a son and you’ll name him Jesus.

He will be great,
be called 'Son of the Highest.'
The Lord God will give him
the throne of his father David;
He will rule Jacob's house forever—
no end, ever, to his kingdom." from the Message)

Sheepishly, Mary replied, “But, but how can this people. I am young girl. I’ve, I’ve never even been with a man.”

The Holy Spirit will come upon you,
the power of the Highest hover over you;
Therefore, the child you bring to birth
will be called Holy, Son of God. (from the Message)

And did you know that your cousin Elizabeth conceived a son, old as she is? Everyone called her barren, and here she is six months pregnant! Nothing, you see, is impossible with God."

As Gabriel spoke, a peace overwhelmed Mary. She couldn’t grasp what all he meant, and yet God was moving, working. She thought of her cousin Elizabeth. Years of shame would now disperse, as Elizabeth would bear the mark of God’s favor. Yet, even at the same time, Mary realized her own life would now be marked by shame. For she, not yet alone with Joseph, would be with child. All the questions people would raise. As these thoughts overwhelmed her mind, she rested in God’s promise.

In some mysterious way, He was restoring the throne of David. And in some way, the Spirit of God would hover over her womb (still formless and void like a new born earth) and He would breathe life. It was too much too grasp, she simply fell again beneath Gabriel’s words and submitted to the Word of God.

“Let it be to me according to your word.”

The angel left. The Spirit moved. Mary arose. With the child who would change the world, she traveled to see Elizabeth.

Resting in the shade of her courtyard, Elizabeth drifted between waking and sleeping when suddenly a voice burst into her daydreams. Mary’s greeting penetrated her womb and the baby within leapt for joy. Waves and waves and waves of joy rippled through her body. Elizabeth jumped and ran to her young cousin. They hugged and cried and laughed. Their voices lifted up into the Presence of God and the angels joined in a chorus of praise for the wonder, the mystery, the surprise of God’s love revealed in these ladies. For a moment, the whole world seemed to sparkle in the light of this joy.

Elizabeth and Mary began to speak, to proclaim, the prophecy the wonder of God’s grace revealed in their midst. Mary exclaimed:

I'm bursting with God-news;
I'm dancing the song of my Savior God.
God took one good look at me, and look what happened—
I'm the most fortunate woman on earth!
What God has done for me will never be forgotten,
the God whose very name is holy, set apart from all others.
His mercy flows in wave after wave
on those who are in awe before him.
He bared his arm and showed his strength,
scattered the bluffing braggarts.
He knocked tyrants off their high horses,
pulled victims out of the mud.
The starving poor sat down to a banquet;
the callous rich were left out in the cold.
He embraced his chosen child, Israel;
he remembered and piled on the mercies, piled them high.
It's exactly what he promised,
beginning with Abraham and right up to now. (from the Message)

In a world of wickedness and oppression, Mary saw God coming in the midst to set things right. Her baby. Her son. Her gift from heaven would usher in a new kingdom. The kingdom of God, and the poor and downtrodden would be restored. As Mary sang, she sang the future into being. For Mary, like the prophets of old, sang of the world’s future. Our future. And the song she sang and continues to sing is a song of hope. Grace and mercy and justice really will prevail. God’s love really does triumph. And wickedness and evil and pain and death are ultimately crushed by the loving-kindness of God.

Advent Peace

The songs we sing to celebrate this season carry profound messages of hope and possibility in the midst of dark nights and sometimes even darker days. One song that captured my heart last week is the familiar “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.”

For many of us, the words of the first verse echo easily through our minds after years and years of singing:
It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious night of old,
From angels bending near the earth,
To touch their harps of gold:
“Peace on the earth, goodwill to men,
From heavens’ all gracious King;”
The world in solemn stillness lay
To hear the angels sing.

This verse brings to mind the stories of childhood: shepherds in the field; Mary and Joseph in the stable; a glorious display of heavenly light as angels proclaim the good tidings of heaven. These images make me feel warm and safe—like the world is all right.

But the world is not all right.

It is easy to sentimentalize the sweetness of the angelic images and forget the arresting power of the song. Verse three paints a picture much closer to home:

Yet with woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And men, at war with men, hear not
The love-song which they bring;
O hush the noise, ye men of strife
And hear the angels sing.

We may sing of Christmas cheer, but our world aches of war and rumors of war.

War infects this world. Each moment on earth reveals more cruelty, more hatred, more human aggression. Nation attacks nation. One race fights another race. Fathers turn against sons and sons turn against fathers. Brothers kill brothers; lovers deceive lovers. And even the human heart divides against itself. We are at war: inside and out.

Beneath our bullets, our fists, our angry hearts, a soft refrain persists:
“Peace on the earth, goodwill to men,
From heavens’ all gracious King;”

During Advent, we pause to hear the steady plainchant that reminds generation after generation after generation: peace is coming. Unmoved by our constant striving, the promise of peace continues to echo and ripple into the fabric of all creation.

Advent reminds us to stop, to wait, to watch, to listen. For the Prince of Peace has come, is coming and comes even now. As we behold him, we are changed. Like the lonely shepherds, we rise up and follow. We follow the infant king to the place of peace: the cross.

Yes, even as we rejoice in the birth of a baby, we cannot ignore the death of a Savior. The path to Bethlehem ends at Calvary. The Advent wind whispers, calling us to follow the true Peacemaker into the ways of peace, into the place of cross.

Peace begins not with a treaty, not with a protest, not with gunshot, but with a cross. We embrace the place of death, laying down our rights, our needs, our glory, our importance, our name, our reputation. We lay down our lives. And in the wonder of Advent, we discover His life and His peace flowing out through us in love.

Come O Advent King. We are weary and worried. The war inside us breaks out all around us. We hurt the ones we love. We betray our friends. Our world reflects our hearts. We suffer and we cause those around us to suffer. Have mercy upon us. Lead us in the way of peace. May we sing, may we live, may we embody the angel song:

For lo! The days are hastening on,
By prophets seen of old,
When with the ever-circling years,
Shall come the time foretold
When the whole heaven and earth shall own
The Prince of Peace their king
And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing.