Seeds of Hope

 “Somewhere a seed just cracked open underground, completely certain that light exists.” – The Tiny Joy Project

Prophets, poets, and lyricists have written about hope since the day a great hope was first dashed in the Garden of Eden. A piece of fruit that appeared by the very breath of God’s Word snowballed us into a world where we would need hope. 

After the Serpent’s deception, God gave both a curse and a promise:

“And I will put enmity between you and the woman, 
And between your seed and her seed; 
He shall bruise you on the head, 
And you shall bruise him on the heel.” 
(Genesis 3:15 NASB)

That first fruit did not grow from a seed, but in His wisdom, the Creator implanted in every living thing, a seed. A seed that would look for the Light.

And every generation from Adam onwards sought to understand—who would this Savior be? Who would come to crush evil on its head? Where would he come from? How would we know?

Luke was well aware of this when he sat down to pen his Gospel account. I think we skim over the first few verses of his introduction, but today I was struck by them:

“Since many have undertaken to compile an account of the things accomplished among us, just as they were handed down to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and servants of the word, it seemed fitting to me as well, having investigated everything carefully from the beginning, to write it out for you in an orderly sequence, most excellent Theophilus; so that you may know the exact truth about the things you have been taught.”
(Luke 1:1-4 NASB)

In other words, “I have done the work for you, it’s all here for you to read. Pay attention!”

It’s no mistake that seeds are an image of hope; that we measure hope from conception to birth; that the Savior’s origin story begins as a seed, breathed into life by God Himself.

 

Waiting Together, in Hope

When have I ever felt “ready” (as in “prepared”) for Advent? Answer: probably never. A not-so-secret secret is that I don’t do much to make ready for this season of writing and reflection. The beauty, for me, is in the moment; the act of noticing and sharing what I’ve observed.

Author and podcaster Kate Bowler has a new social media series called “A Blessing and a Curse.” This morning, for the beginning of Advent, she wrote:

Not because the world is tidy or ready. (It isn’t.) But because this is how hope works:
One candle lit in the ruins.
One breath held in holy defiance.

This season is familiar ground for those who keep showing up.
Who wait for healing.
Who long for justice.
Who believe that even now, God is drawing near.

Welcome to Advent, friends.
The world is a mess, but God is coming, anyway.

Almost a decade ago, I read a Lenten blog by Addie Zierman about times when our whole lives, when the whole world, feels like Lent. Somber, weighed-down, incomplete. I don’t know about you, but that feels like 2025 to me. When we feel like the embodiment of Lent, we need to remember and proclaim the importance of Advent. The world is full of darkness. Current events are scary and confusing. Stories coming from news headlines can seem infuriating and debilitating. But this is when we need Advent the most. Light in the darkness. It is built into the very fabric of our winter holiday celebration to push back the darkness with light. 

The Advent season teaches us a lot about waiting. Advent waiting is full of expectation [see name of this blog!] and in many ways is an exercise in looking for the Light. This is not a passive waiting, but one full of curiosity, wonder, and hope. Waiting for understanding to bridge the gap between not-yet and “the fullness of time.” It is hard. But Advent teaches us it is not meant to be a frantic search. The Nativity story (as old as time itself) is stretched across four Sundays, causing us to pause and observe each theme and each character’s steady path towards the Christ-child’s feeding-trough throne. To pay attention. Here there is beauty and mystery, wisdom and comfort, if we only pay attention to the story before us.

I will end with a poem by Written to Speak author, Tanner Olson. He writes about this idea so wonderfully:

Advent begins quietly—
the way the fun slops into the sky
before we have the chance 
to say goodbye to the stars.
It starts small, soft, almost forgettable,
and yet something in us knows
this season is asking us to slow down
and pay attention.

We light one candle
to push back the dark,
to remind ourselves that hope
burns bright—
a spark that is just enough 
to keep us moving forward.
It comes in flickers,
in whispers,
in the gentle glow
of a God who has not forgotten us.

And maybe this is the hardest part—
the waiting.
The in-between.
The not-yet.
Trusting that God is working 
in the places we cannot see,
stitching together the things
we thought were falling apart,
breathing life where we assumed
there was only silence. 

But Advent tells us
a different story.
That even in the long nights,
God is doing more
than we can imagine.
That His timing is not absence,
and His quiet is not distance.

So we wait—
not with empty hands,
but with hands holding the truth
that light is on its way.

And we remember:
We are not forgotten.
We are not alone. 
God is filling our lives
with hope, peace, joy, and love—
often more than we know
what to do with—
as He invites us 
to slow down
and pay attention.

In this season,
we wait.
We hope.
We trust that God is doing 
Something more
than we can see.

Let us wait together, with hope.

Welcome to Advent

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

If you've joined me for any of the past sixteen years (wow!), 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, ushering us into the season with hopeful expectation and wonder. 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 tried something new and used the broad theme of “all things new” to direct my reflections, breaking the four weeks into micro themes centering around courage, refinement, intersections, and curiosity. This year I’m going back to the basics. My Advent guides will be the traditional names of the Advent candles: Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love.

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 first sent us His son. 

And as we do that together, may our hearts be directed towards the greater Advent still to come. For we know this to be true: the infant Jesus we celebrate at Christmas has promised He will one day return. On earth again, we will see His fully divine power and might. 

So 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!
 

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.