Anchor of Hope

I want to explore something I haven’t had time to research or think about; a topic I may blunder a bit. I also want to be cognizant of the women (and men) who reading these thoughts may be triggered by current or former pain. You are seen and loved.

In her chapter on Mary, Kelly Nikondeha makes a brief comment about the gospel writer’s contrast between Mary’s virginity with Elizabeth’s barrenness (p.46). I don’t know if I have ever picked up on that comparison before. Both circumstances bring to mind a sense of longing, and buried pain. We may immediately feel more empathy for Elizabeth who had dealt with unexplainable infertility for her whole married life. Possibly Mary’s longing was rooted in her desire for the protection of a husband in the tough and wild landscape of Roman-run Galilee. Only, before her marriage could be finalized, she was “found to be with child”—a scandalous offense, and the very opposite of security in the home of a husband. Scripture doesn’t tell us much about how Mary was treated when her family and community found out she was expecting a baby outside of marriage (I wonder if they would have even wrapped their minds around the idea at her still being a virgin—that wasn’t how biology worked), but we don’t have to look far to understand the cultural expectations of the time.

For both women, virginity (though pregnant) and barrenness were huge burdens to bear.

We aren’t given a glimpse at Elizabeth’s mind and heart prior to hearing Zechariah’s message from the Angel Gabriel, but during her confinement she remarks, “The Lord has done this for me. In these days he has shown his favor and taken away my disgrace among the people.” (Luke 1:25). Being the wife of a priest, she held some regard in her own rite. But in a culture so centered on the blessing of children, surely her childlessness was a topic of shameful gossip among her neighbors.

Even after receiving news of such a miraculous promise and beginning to feel the quivering of a baby in her womb, a lesser woman would have held doubt and pessimism. Thoughts like, “this is too good to be true,” or “I don’t deserve this” could have swum through her mind.

Yet, when Mary comes to visit Elizabeth, we are told in Luke’s gospel that Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaims: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear! But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? As soon as the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!” (Luke 1:41-45)

Her joy is doubled. And it is infectious. (The Holy Spirit was definitely helping a lot.) Mary’s next words (according to the writing of Luke’s gospel) are what we call the Magnificat—from the Latin, “My soul magnifies the Lord.” Instead of laying out a litany of her woes: scary visit from an angel, pregnant before being with Joseph, Joseph wanting to divorce her (though graciously quietly), any and all scorn from her community, Mary only has praise for her Lord.

In her Advent devotional, The Season of Waiting (and waiting, and waiting . . .) writer, professor, and speaker Kate Bowler explains longing as “the experience of feeling the lack, the recognition, that things are not as they should be” (p. 18). She describes this as the quintessential feeling of Advent. “Advent recognizes the absence of peace, yet the exquisite certainty of its coming” (p. 19).

On this eve before the third week of Advent, I wonder at the ways God prepared Mary and Elizabeth for their separate “comings.” We aren’t privy to their inner thoughts, their hopes and dreams; only the way they choose to respond.

In this case, their actions speak louder than their words (and their words are glorious!)

The virginity of Mary and the barrenness of Elizabeth aren’t perfect opposites, but their contrast can help us see God’s response to all of our waitings, especially those rooted in “groanings too deep for words” (Romans 8:26).

I’ll end with this from Kate Bowler’s devotional:

“Sometimes in the darkness, we dare not hope because it feels too expensive.
There is no energy available for that, humanly speaking.
But hope isn’t wishful thinking.
It’s an anchor into the future.
Because of this, we can bless even our darkening days,
knowing that the earth will once again tilt toward the light.
And it will be a glory that blazes everywhere,
though now we catch only glimpses.
In the meantime, and that’s what we have—the meantime—
let’s come into the light and bless the waiting, because it will not be in vain” (p.22).

Mary and Elizabeth’s pain was redeemed in miraculous ways. We can’t expect anything less for women in Jesus’ family tree (look at Ruth and Rahab!). Yet on this side of eternity, many of us won’t see the newness God promises as an Earthly blessing. His blessings are both miraculous and mysterious. And because of that, we can both rejoice with these Advent women, and be Advent women ourselves, longing in hope.

"The only song that can set Terra free"

In 1975, pastor, professor, and writer, Calvin Miller penned the beginning of what would become the The Singer Trilogy. It is a mythic, allegorical, and poetic retelling of the New Testament. Not something you encounter every day! If you’ve never read the trilogy, I highly recommend it. Here is a lengthy quote from the first volume, The Singer, which sets the stage for the Troubadour’s coming:

“The Father and his Troubadour sat down
Upon the outer rim of space.
"And here, My Singer," said Earthmaker, "is the crown
Of all my endless skies—the green, brown sphere
Of all my hopes." He reached and took the round
New planet down, and held it to his ear.
"They're crying, Troubadour," he said. "They cry
So hopelessly." He gave the little ball
Unto his Son, who also held it by His ear.
"Year after weary year they all
Keep crying.
They seem born to weep then die.
Our new man taught them crying in the Fall.
"It is a peaceless globe. Some are sincere
In desperate desire to see her freed
Of her absurdity. But war is here.
Men die in conflict, bathed in blood and greed."
Then with his nail he scraped the atmosphere
And both of them beheld the planet bleed.
Earthmaker set earth spinning on its way
And said, "Give me your vast infinity
My son; I'll wrap it in a bit of clay.
Then enter Terra microscopically
To love the little souls who weep away
Their lives."
"I will," I said, "set Terra free."
And then I fell asleep and all awareness fled.
I felt my very being shrinking down.
My vastness ebbed away.
In dwindling dread,
All size decayed. The universe around
Drew back. I woke upon a tiny bed
Of straw in one of Terra's smaller towns.
And now the great reduction has begun:
Earthmaker and his Troubadour are one.
And here's the new redeeming melody—
The only song that can set Terra free.

― Calvin Miller, The Singer: A Classic Retelling of Cosmic Conflict


 

With Healing in His Wings

Webster’s dictionary defines “anticipate” as “expected or looking-forward to.” There is a positive connotation. But anticipation also conjures images of prediction, knowing ahead of time, and supposing.

This second set of meanings reminds me of Naomi, the matriarch we meet in the book of Ruth. My church is going through this short but powerful book during Advent. I have always loved the way Ruth is woven together with deep messianic foreshadowing. It is a perfect addition to our Advent journey.

Back to this week’s theme: When I think of Naomi’s desire to be called Mara (bitter), I don’t see her response as the antithesis of anticipation. I don’t see her doubting or questioning. She is acting too much the realist for that. She seems to have anticipated that this was just how things were going to be for her after the death of her husband and sons. Her return to Bethlehem was based on logic. Bread had returned to Bethlehem; the famine is over. She had nothing to keep her in Moab.

Naomi was not looking forward to anything, but she was expecting bitterness to wrap around her like a shroud. Maybe, she thinks, she could at least finish her days in her ancestral home. Yet, in her extreme practicality, she doesn’t want to drag anyone, especially her daughters-in-law down with her.

God, in His divine happenstance, however, places Ruth as a faithful companion to Naomi and unfolds a story full of grace and redemption. My pastor explores this idea, saying, “Naomi calls herself empty, but knowing what we know about Ruth, she (Naomi) is actually more full than ever before.”

The book of Ruth contains the word “return” twelve times. It is a major theme. And it is the same Hebrew word as “repent.” Whether through the consequences of life’s circumstances or sin, Naomi has great need to return. Little does she know, her practical homecoming to the “House of Bread” will usher in a lineage culminating in the ultimate “Bread of Life,” Jesus.

As the story unfolds, we meet another important character: Boaz. He is a worthy and righteous man, and he just so happens to be a relative of Naomi. In his kindness, he shows great favor to Ruth when she randomly chooses his field in which to harvest barley behind the reapers.

Here we see another perspective on the word “anticipate.” Any anticipation of Ruth’s part is so saturated by faith that she almost seems naïve. Maybe it’s that this kind of deep trust in God’s way forward is so new to her, or more likely, the path is so steeped in God’s leading that she is earnestly expecting anything.

(It sort of reminds me of the scene in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince when Harry takes the felix felicis potion and blissfully ambles towards the exact circumstances he needs.)

When Ruth asks Boaz why he has shown her such favor, he responds,

“I have been told all about what you have done for your mother-in-law since the death of your husband—how you left your father and mother and your homeland and came to live with a people you did not know before. May the Lord repay you for what you have done. May you be richly rewarded by the Lord, the God of Israel, under whose wings you have come to take refuge.” (Ruth 2:11-12).

Naomi was returning. But Ruth was taking refuge. Rather than running from something (after all the famine was over), she was pressing towards something. Ruth was expecting, through faith, a refuge in the land of a God she did not yet know. And the closest thing to that God was her mother-in-law, who herself carried such a shallow faith. Ruth doesn’t know what to expect, but she finds herself under a shadow of grace. My pastor draws out the analogy: “Ruth doesn’t understand why it is so dark under the wing, but she somehow knows this is exactly where she is supposed to be.”

In the Gospel of John, Jesus is quoted as saying, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).

Ruth and Naomi had experienced a crash course in suffering. It is a woe Scripture urges us to expect; to anticipate. But that was not the end of their story, and it is not the end of ours. 

The third verse of Hark, the Herald Angels Sing reads:

Hail the heav'n-born Prince of Peace,
Hail, the Sun of Righteousness
Light and life to all He brings,
Risen with healing in His Wings.
Now He lays His Glory by,
Born that man no more may die
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.

This Advent, may we be a people who anticipate the redemption found only under His healing wings.

Paradox and Promise

Today we light the second candle of Advent. As we move from Waiting to Anticipating, the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth as told by Luke acts as a hinge between these two themes. Luke jumps right into his book with Zechariah and Elizabeth’s story. In modern Bibles, the header reads, “The Birth of John the Baptist Foretold”, but let’s pretend for a little while that we don’t know that. Let us walk with this elderly couple as they step out the door that special day, having no idea what news was going to greet them.

In a society where it was expected that righteousness resulted in blessings, Zechariah the priest, a figure head of righteousness in his community, was missing out on one of the biggest blessing of all: children. Kelley Nikondeha’s second chapter of The First Advent in Palestine helps shape the context of Zechariah’s predicament:

“This dissonance is deafening. Righteous and barren. The advent narrative of Luke begins here, with a paradox.” (p. 28)

As a priest, Zechariah could expect a certain standing within the social structure maintained by the Romans in Judea. However, Zechariah was not of the priestly elite, but an ordinary community priest. On this particular day, he was chosen to fulfill his twice-annual duty in the inner holy areas of the temple.  

“Now while he was serving as priest before God when his division was on duty, according to the custom of the priesthood, he was chosen by lot to enter the temple of the Lord and burn incense. And the whole multitude of the people were praying outside at the hour of incense” (Luke 1:8-9).

Part of Zechariah’s duty included praying for the people as the incense was lit. The very people represented by those standing outside the temple—fellow Judeans living oppressed lives under Caesar’s Pax Romana and under the puppet king, Herod.

Nikondeha observes: 

“As an ordinary priest he stood in a unique position in Judaean society, able to see the economic inequity and just feel its pressure. Perhaps these paradoxes were the heaviness he carried into the temple as he stood in front of the altar of incense. . . Zechariah entered the holy space yoked with barrenness: unfruitful land, sterile futures caused by Caesar’s so-called peace, and the absence of future generations in his own priestly line. He carried the ache with him as he went inside to the altar. The first whiff of holy smoke escaped and ascended like a prayer.” (p. 29-30)

Zechariah was there to intercede for his community and that of the holy city of Jerusalem, but we all know from experience how hard it is to compartmentalize a worry. It seeps into our thoughts, unbidden, at the least opportune times. But this was a house of prayer. . . God had been hearing Elizabeth and Zechariah’s prayers for as long as they had been praying them, but this was the time and place He chose to enact the next phase of His plan to change the course of history.

“And there appeared to him an angel of the Lord standing on the right side of the altar of incense.  And Zechariah was troubled when he saw him, and fear fell upon him. But the angel said to him, ‘Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard, and your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you shall call his name John. And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great before the Lord. And he must not drink wine or strong drink, and he will be filled with the Holy Spirit, even from his mother's womb.  And he will turn many of the children of Israel to the Lord their God, and he will go before him in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the just, to make ready for the Lord a people prepared.’

And Zechariah said to the angel, ‘How shall I know this? For I am an old man, and my wife is advanced in years.’ And the angel answered him, ‘I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I was sent to speak to you and to bring you this good news. And behold, you will be silent and unable to speak until the day that these things take place, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time.’” (Luke 1:11-20).

You can imagine the chaos that ensued as Zechariah exited the temple. Maybe earnest onlookers were hoping to hear a prophetic word from Zechariah’s the deep sanctums of the temple, or to receive the Aaronic Blessing from the priest as a benediction. But Zechariah could do neither. He must have had a thousand things he wanted to say, but God had taken away his voice.

I’ve never stopped to wonder about those silent days as Zechariah finished his bi-annual course of service at the temple. He must have had time remaining in his duties. Was he given special compensation due to his inability to pray out loud? And what about Zechariah’s second priestly course, six months after the first? He would have still been speechless.

Speechless. But still a learned man. I wonder how he spent his days. Did he dig deep into the Scriptures to learn more about what the angel had said? How much more attentive must he have been to Elizabeth and the growing child in her womb. And when cousin Mary arrived with a miraculous pregnancy story of her own, Zechariah could only sit in dumbfounded wonder as the women vocalized prayers and praises not regularly heard from women at that time. Had anything he’d learned about God prepared him for this?

But one thing was true: Zechariah and Elizabeth were no longer just waiting. The Lord had blessed them with a miraculous promise—a promise they would see fulfilled in a short nine month, and a larger promise that would start to take root with the help of their son. Anticipation and hope—feelings not felt in Judea for quite some time. In this first chapter of Luke’s gospel, things were already beginning to change.

Welcome to Advent

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

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

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

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

Last year I did something unique and focused on one all-encompassing word: Immanuel. I explored the theme of “God with us” as it was perceived by the prophets and those who lived during the Old Testament, announced to the key players of the Nativity story, demonstrated by the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem, and remains a firm truth for us today. This year I want to return to the more traditionally themed weeks, but again, with a twist. Recently, as I was beginning to gather materials to inspire this year’s writings, I came across Jessica Herberger’s interpretation of the four candles: Wait, Anticipate, Prepare, and Celebrate. So, this year they will be our guides.

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

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