Showing posts with label Christmas Eve. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas Eve. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 24, 2024

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).

 

Sunday, December 24, 2023

Christmas Eve: Peace Like a River

Today is Christmas Eve, but it is also the fourth Sunday of Advent. Today we light the candle of Jesus as our Prince of Peace.

When children are little, we often introduce them to a simple Sunday School chorus with hand motions: “I’ve got peace like a river.” This truth comes from passages like Isaiah 66:12 in which God promises His people,

“For thus says the LORD: “Behold, I will extend peace to her like a river, and the glory of the nations like an overflowing stream; and you shall nurse, you shall be carried upon her hip, and bounced upon her knees.”

This is a promise that suggests an abundant and free-flowing peace, as well as peace resembling the nurturing comfort of a parent.

But if you look at a river, it rarely ever demonstrates the calmness we equate with peace. Instead, a river rushes head-strong over rocks and logs, waterfalls and anything in its path. It is relentless. It finds a way. It keeps on going.

In John 16, Jesus is talking to His disciples about how their grief will turn to joy. He finishes the chapter in verse 33 by saying,
“I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”

Peace and overcoming. At first a contradiction of words. But they get at Jesus’ definition of peace.

As the Prince of Peace, the peace Jesus’ birth, life, death, and resurrection unveiled a turning point in history. Much like a river that divides and shifts; ebbs and flows, Jesus inaugurated a peace marked by change and healing. Like Aslan the Lion in the Chronicles of Narnia, Jesus the Prince of Peace is “on the move.” At His birth, all the characters in the story were moving towards Him. But when the time came for Him to begin His earthly work, Jesus distinctly stepped towards the ones He chose as followers.

When John the Baptist baptized his cousin Jesus in the Jordan river, he was doing more than preparing Jesus for His earthly ministry. Standing in the historic river that bridged the gap between captivity and return, John was showing the world that “the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” was the One who stood eternally between exile and promise, between sin and redemption.

Born as a baby, the Prince of Peace shed His heavenly garments for swaddling clothes. He traded a divine throne for a rough-hewn feeding trough. Fully God, yet fully man, Jesus came to both show and make a way. In this world there will be suffering, there will be obstacles and challenges of every type, but take heart, His peace is as strong and wide as a rushing river that knows no bounds.

Monday, December 24, 2018

A Savior, Swaddled and Victorious


I have an image I’ve wanted to use all Advent. It’s a pile of cloths, waiting to be used for some mundane purpose. But as we look at the image of Jesus Christ as a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, the purpose of such pieces of fabric seems far from ordinary.

I gathered more inspiration from an article on Christianity Today’s website entitled My Swaddled Savior. In it, pastor Jeff Peabody, wrestling with his own mental illness and the idea of being bound with the captive fetters of his mind’s disorder, says,

“The simple image of Jesus, God’s gift to us, being wrapped up in cloths comforts me with the powerful truth: He understands the bindings on my mind and soul as only someone who has a shared experience can. The concept of Immanuel, God with us, takes on a new and profound clarity.”

At first, one wonders what it must have been like for the world of God-incarnate to be reduced and tightened so severely. Were the swaddling clothes constraining or consoling? After all, Jesus needed no use of hands and limbs to pull humanity towards Himself. What was mere strips of cloth to the maker of the universe?

Indeed, it was an act of humility. A boundedness that He entered according to the will of the Father. As we let this sink in, no longer do we see the sweet cooing baby in the folds of a clean blanket. We see God Almighty “contained in unnaturally small dimensions,” experiencing unfathomable limitations for our behalf.

Jesus entered the world in wrappings, spiritual and humble. At the end, we see them again. He was bound during His trials. Nails hammered into his wrists and ankles took the place of chains. Yet we know it was not wood and iron that held Him there. Jesus was immobilized again for our behalf, held captive to His sacrifice by His great love. The final wrappings came in the form of burial shroud, wrapped lovingly with spices and ointments.

Peabody writes about Christ's final confrontation with His wrappings:

“This time, the story ends with the image of the cloths being left behind in the tomb, set aside by the risen Christ. The gift is now fully ours, the wrappings discarded. He broke the power of the bindings that had held him in a death grip and emerged into complete and total freedom. . .”

He offers us freedom from our own tight bound swaddlings too. These swaddlings come in all shapes and sizes—tightnesses and pressures, locked lives and chained souls—but only He can pull the release.

Tomorrow we celebrate Christmas. We read the Nativity story. We wonder at the beauty of God’s plan. Like Mary, we cherish all these things in our hearts. But don't let it end there. Arise from the end-of-celebration stupor and embrace the King. He came to open hearts and minds; to set the bound free. And He promises to come again. Can we prepare Him room?


Monday, December 25, 2017

Love is the Key



This post is a day late. Let’s pretend it’s still December 24.

A few months ago, I heard a sermon in which the pastor quoted a passage by author and preacher, Donald Barnhouse. It was in response to the Fruits of the Spirit passage in Galatians (5:22-23). He said, 
“Love is the key.
Joy is love singing.

Peace is love resting.

Patience is love enduring.

Kindness is love's truth.

Goodness is love's character.

Faithfulness is love's habit.

Gentleness is love's self-forgetfulness.

Self-control is love holding the reins."
I had never heard such a simple, and yet profound way of describing the fruits of the Spirit. Today, as we light the fourth Advent candle, the candle of fulfillment and love, it is all the more appropriate.
We can see each of these played out in the Christmas story:.

Love sang through the angel chorus.
Love rested on Mary’s lap.
Love endured since the time of the Garden.
Love brought truth when the Word became flesh.
Love showed its full character through sacrifice and meekness.
Love’s habit wove the threads of Christ’s story throughout generations.
Love’s self-forgetfullness emptied himself and took the form of a man.
Love came down to forever hold the reins against sin and darkness.

And we love because He first loved us (1 John 4:19).

God knew full well what He was sending Jesus into. To quote the sermon I heard yesterday morning, “He knows we are all a mix of mess and beauty.” But His response is what makes all the difference. Instead of distancing Himself further from our sin, He took a giant step towards us in gracious love.

But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. (Galatians 4:4-5)

Love is the key. Christ has come.


Thursday, December 24, 2015

On Our Way to Bethlehem



My parents have a lot of Advent books full of poems, stories, and devotionals. While looking through them this afternoon, I rediscovered Ann Weem’s Kneeling in Bethlehem. Here are two of her poems as we quickly approach Christmas morning.

Unexpected 

Even now we simply do not expect
            to find a deity in a stable.
Somehow the setting is all wrong:
            the swaddling clothes too plain,
            the manger too common for the like of a Savior
            the straw inelegant,
            the animals, reeking and noisy,
            the whole scene too ordinary for our taste.
And the cast of characters is no better.
With the possible exception of the kings,
                 who among them is fit for this night?
            the shepherds? certainly too crude,
            the carpenter too rough,
            the girl too young.
And the baby!
Whoever expected a baby?
Whoever expected the advent of God in a helpless child?
Had the Messiah arrived in the blazing light of the glory
                 of a legion of angels wielding golden swords,
the whole world could have been conquered for Christ
                 right then and there
            and we in the church—to say nothing of the world!—
                 wouldn’t have so much trouble today.
Even now we simply do not expect
                 to face he world armed with love.


Sitting on the Hillsides

Most of us who gather in Bethlehem on this night
    Are not the star seekers.
We’ve not traveled our dreams
     month after month and year after year,
            poring over predictions and promises.
Most of us sit on our hillsides
     tending our sheep,
            business as usual.
Oh, we’ve heard rumors of stars,
     But we don’t really give ourselves to seeking.
After all, there’s more than enough to do
     in the daily tending.
We’re simply not on the lookout for stars,
     Nor expecting any light in our darkness.
I suppose the important thing is,
     in the light of the glory of the Lord,
        to recognize the voice of an angel
           and to get up
              and in spite of our sheep
                 to go even unto Bethlehem
                     to see this thing that has happened.