Peace along the Paths

On Sunday we lit the second Advent candle: Peace.
 
More than any other theme in Advent, I think I have the hardest time connecting Peace with the Advent narrative.
 
Peace: a state of tranquility, quiet, security, or order.
But there was no peace in Israel, in the small places of Nazareth or Bethlehem. The only order was one enforced by Rome, and it was far from tranquil. Even the quiet hillsides scattered with shepherds and sheep was devoid of safety and security.
 
Yet into this picture, Jesus, the Prince of Peace, was born.
 
I was thinking about different images we equate with peace when I ran across Jan Richardson’s Advent reflection and blessing:

“I always live with the awareness that I am traveling without a map, that I am making the path as I go, with all the wonders and challenges this brings. Yet Advent calls me to remember that even as I move across what seems like uncharted territory, there is a way that lies beneath the way I am going. Others have traveled here ahead of me, providing pieces I can use. The pieces come through words, images, prayers, stories; fragments that help me to find my way and perhaps to smooth the path a bit for someone else. So on this Advent day, I am tucking this blessing into your hand, for wherever you are traveling.
 
BLESSING THE WAY
With every step
you take,
this blessing rises up
to meet you.
It has been waiting
long ages for you.
Look close
and you can see
the layers of it,
how it has been fashioned
by those who walked
this road before you,
how it has been created
of nothing but
their determination
and their dreaming,
how it has taken
its form
from an ancient hope
that drew them forward
and made a way for them
when no way could be
seen.
Look closer
and you will see
this blessing
is not finished,
that you are part
of the path
it is preparing,
that you are how
this blessing means
to be a voice
within the wilderness
and a welcome
for the way.”
 
—Jan Richardson
from Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons

 “…There is a way that lies beneath the way I am going. Others have traveled here ahead of me.” There is a sense of peace in that knowledge, that others have tread this path too.
 
Richardson speaks of a road, but I wonder if we channel our early Sunday School selves and recollect that the song goes: “I’ve got peace like a river.”
 
The course of a river is often calm, evoking peace and pleasantness. But I think the “peace-ness” of a river also has to do with the way it flows. Each drop of water is part of the whole, fully connected and secure in its identity. Though a splash may escape the banks from its impact with a rock or fallen log, it is rare for even an ounce of water to sway from its intended course. The path the water flows is ordered and chosen, it is precise. And it is peaceful.
 
The people of God living their first century days under the thumb of Rome could never be a depiction of peace. Yet, there is a peace and assurance in re-telling the story we know so many saints have traveled before.
 
In our waiting and despair, the peace of Advent rises up to meet us. A “welcome for the way.”
Christ has come. And Christ will come again.

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.

Hindered on the Road to Bethlehem

Christmas is a time when many of us travel home. Today I'm traveling to be with my family in Wisconsin. I woke up to a city notification on my phone about dense fog all through the county. And it made me think about that in traveling for Christmas, we are all on the road to Bethlehem. But like this fog, what is hindering us from getting there?

For thousands of years Jesus' ancestors living in Bethlehem traveled from here to there, and back again. Mary and Joseph were not going on vacation to Joseph’s home town, they were called there by a decree to be counted in a Roman census. The shepherds probably didn't want to come into the city, so full of swarming people. It was calmer out in the fields with their sheep, despite the heavenly chorus of angels. And the wise men (we know that they came later) had to travel the farthest distance, following a star across deserts and mountains and valleys.

Today through our foggy roads we have GPS, we have maps, you have cell phones to help us make the way safely.

We are all on the road to Bethlehem. What is hindering our journey? We have the prophecies of the Old testament, we can read about the yearning hearts of ancient Israel, we know the story. We can probably recite the Nativity narrative without opening our Bibles.  So what hinders us on our journey? I’m not going to tell you an answer. It is different for each of us.

I heard a short devotional on this week that speaks to this. Brian Trent is a pastor in South Carolina who shares ah-ha moments about life and Scripture on Instagram. His family was reading the Luke 2 narrative and began to wonder, when the shepherds ran off to Bethlehem to see Jesus, what happened to the sheep? Nativity scenes will have us believe a few sheep came too, but a band of shepherds had hundreds of sheep to care for. There is no way they could have joined the shepherds in the busy streets of Bethlehem. Maybe a few shepherds stayed behind. Maybe the angels stayed and watched the sheep. Trent then points us to the parable Jesus told his disciples about the Lost Sheep:

“If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off? And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off. In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should perish."
(Matthew 18:12-14)

I wonder if Jesus was thinking about his own origin story when he told this parable. For the shepherds responding to the angel’s announcement did just the opposite. They left the 99 in order to find the One all of Israel had been waiting for.

As we reflect on what is keeping is from Bethlehem, maybe it’s the 99. All the distractions, the good and worthy people, things, and places that ultimately hold a dim candle to the One who is God with Us.

This morning I delayed my travels to make sure the fog has lifted. May we take the time to lift our eyes to the Who, not the where, what, when (although these are all fascinating, important things to wonder about).

We are on the road to Bethlehem to meet the One, who is Christ our Lord.

Called to be a Shepherd

The shepherds are some of my favorite characters in the Advent story, mostly because they show so clearly that God often uses the lowly and despised among us to demonstrate His power and righteousness.

Paul explains in 1 Corinthians: 

“For consider your calling, brothers: not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God.” (1 Corinthians 1:26-29)

The night of Jesus’ birth is described in songs as quiet and peaceful. I can’t imagine Bethlehem was actually calm with so many people milling about the town for the census. Maybe the countryside was quiet. But Kelly Nikondeha warns us about interpreting the “silent and holy night” as calm. She explains,

“It is a signature of privilege to associate peace with a quiet night. For those who live on the edges of the empire, nightfall increases the possibility of danger. Snapping branches, unexpected pops, unidentified rumbling of poachers and natural predators you cannot see through the darkness make for uneasy nights. Trouble can come from any direction. Silence for shepherds is always thick with jeopardy. They know what can be lost before the dawn” (p. 90).

We talk so much about the shepherd’s humble status and their astonishing arrival as Jesus’ first guests—but I often wonder at their occupation. It was lowly work. The work of sons for a father. When a grown man was a shepherd, he worked as a hired hand. It is clear that shepherding was not a calling.

And yet, God called (and prepared) these particular laborers to be the first to hear the news of Jesus’ birth.

We cannot confuse lowly with easy, however. A shepherd had to always be on high alert, almost becoming one with their sheep to better observe any changes or dangers in their midst. Nikondeha describes it this way: “These shepherds, who never made the mistake of equating quiet with peace, minded the sheep and the dark with equal vigilance” (p. 91).

What about being a shepherd was preparing them for what would happen next?

We know from Luke’s account in chapter 2 that the shepherds were terrified when the angels appeared (as anyone would be!). But I wonder if they were relieved and thankful for the obvious light and noise. This was no revelation sulking in the shadows. It was bold and glorious. And it provided something new.

We know Jesus called Peter, Andrew, James, and John to be His disciples after watching them fish. He declared they would no longer fish for fish, but that they would be fishers of men.

I wonder if God was preparing these shepherds to become shepherds of people.

Luke 2:16-18, and 20 reads:

“So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. . . The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.”

We don’t know anything about the shepherds after this—whether they remained shepherds in the fields, or whether God’s revelation transformed their work. But we do know this: Nothing in God’s story is insignificant. He prepared each one of the shepherds for their role and their participation that day. And because of that, their lives were forever changed.

Intrusions of Glory

R.C. Sproul had a well-known teaching series through the Bible called From Dust to Glory. Paraphrased, he says, “God’s glory is set above the heavens and displays His majesty, but then when He comes to this world, He sets aside His glory and takes the role of a servant.” The natural progression is from humility to exaltation. But in the supernatural event of the Incarnation, the trajectory is reversed. Jesus set aside His glory. And yet the glory of God is all around the story of Christ’s birth.

In his sermon on the Transfiguration of Christ—I know that’s a later story, but follow me here—Sproul describes the event as a “intrusion of glory.” But he names another, found earlier in Luke chapter 2: The angels’ appearance to the shepherds.

Let’s back up for a second and take a look at the Transfiguration.

Now about eight days after these sayings he took with him Peter and John and James and went up on the mountain to pray. And as he was praying, the appearance of his face was altered, and his clothing became dazzling white. And behold, two men were talking with him, Moses and Elijah, who appeared in glory and spoke of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and those who were with him were heavy with sleep, but when they became fully awake they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. And as the men were parting from him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good that we are here. Let us make three tents, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah”—not knowing what he said. As he was saying these things, a cloud came and overshadowed them, and they were afraid as they entered the cloud. And a voice came out of the cloud, saying, “This is my Son, my Chosen One; listen to him!”
(Luke 9:28-35)

Jesus in dazzling white light. The ones who wrote the law and the prophets arrive from history past to meet with the One who would fulfill it all. Clearly an intrusion of glory. But Jesus’ glory is not just a reflected glory. He is Himself the source of the Light, it is coming from His very being. Sproul calls this, “Jesus’ divine nature breaking through the veil.”

And when the disciples see all this, God’s glory—Jesus’ glory—they are ready to act. They are called to action, though misguided in the moment. The three have no need for first century tents. Moses and Elijah know about God in a tent, and that way of securing the Lord’s presence is no longer needed. The King needs no tent, for He is the exact imprint of the Father, chosen and perfect in light.

How does this compare to the New Testament’s first “intrusion of glory”?

And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with great fear. And the angel said to them, “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. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!”

When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us.”
(Luke 2:8-15)

The angels dazzling in the Lord’s glory light. Proclaiming the fulfillment of the prophecies, the salvation promised to the Patriarchs.

And here we have the same turning point. Once the shepherds saw the glory of God, they were ready to act. To find the Chosen One, that the Lord made known to them.

Both times, the glory is revealed to the laborer—the fisherman and the shepherds. Jesus had other work for the fishermen, Peter, James, and John. And their vocations changed. I wonder if the shepherds continued their careers caring for sheep. If we know anything from the Gospels, it’s that the glory of God transforms. Either way, the shepherds would never be the same again.

Humble Flocks, Strong Shepherd

Marshal your troops now, city of troops,
    for a siege is laid against us.
They will strike Israel’s ruler
    on the cheek with a rod.

“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.”

 Therefore Israel will be abandoned
    until the time when she who is in labor bears a son,
and the rest of his brothers return
    to join the Israelites.

 He will stand and shepherd his flock
    in the strength of the LORD,
    in the majesty of the name of the LORD his God.
And they will live securely, for then his greatness
    will reach to the ends of the earth.

(Micah 5:1-4)

I used to wonder at God’s choice to first vocally announce Jesus’ birth to a group of shepherds. But the longer I return to the Christmas story, the more I see the deep theology in His choosing lowly sheepherders.

Micah’s prophecy helps us unwrap these truths. Up until now, Micah’s message has been about the future and promised restoration of Israel. Now, in chapter five, he speaks of the One who will do the restoring.

When our strength fails, when we are humbled and humiliated, brought low and ashamed. That is when the Redeemer will come. He sees us in our weaknesses. And that is when He acts. That is where He meets us.

All of this is describing Israel, waiting for the Messiah, weak and dejected.

But is also a picture of the shepherds, living out in the Bethlehem fields.

Being a shepherd was not an esteemed career. It was dirty, smelly, and exhausting. The hours are non-stop. A warm, clean home with loved ones was but a distant memory. And all for what? A few sheep that will die of cold, be eaten by a wild animals, be killed for food, or be sacrificed at the temple. Job security wasn’t implied. A humiliating existence, really.

And it is for these that Jesus came.
It is to these that Jesus’ birth was first revealed.

As John Piper has said, “God is not constrained by human worth, achievement, or dignity.” Though He came as a baby, weak by anatomical standards, verse four says, the One to come will “stand and shepherd His flocks in the strength of the LORD.” Later in the Gospels, we hear Jesus called the Good Shepherd. He does not leave us to our own devices, unprotected from peril or death. These were terms they, and any rural dweller, would understand. In addition to being humiliating work, shepherds had to be quick, and strong, brave, and compassionate towards their sheep.

“And they will live securely, for then his greatness
    will reach to the ends of the earth.”

I no longer wonder at God’s choice to use the shepherds. It could have been no one else. A Shepherd announced to shepherds.

Like the shepherds, we all live humble and humiliated. Yet, as God chose them to be messengers that night, He chooses us to spread this Good News.

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. 

(Luke 2:15-18)

 

(Inspired by Edgewater Baptist Church sermon, March 1, 2020)

 

"Great Joy" and the Angel's Upside Down Announcement

Advent has been speeding by this year. And yet, as I look at my social media feeds, I don’t see as many articles and stories about the Christmas season as in years past. I wonder why that is. Maybe they think everything’s already been said. It probably has. But if the last post is true, we need those yearly Advent reminders.

The church year calendar is there to keep us on track. Not for some checklist of holy tasks, but in sync with the rhythm of our need and God’s provision.

The 3^rd Sunday of Advent is traditionally called Gaudete Sunday. It comes from the Latin word, gaudete, meaning rejoice. Today we light the candle of Joy. What better way to reflect on that theme than with Kate DiCamillo’s Christmas tale, Great Joy.

I didn’t think I’d be using many non-Nativity stories for this year’s reflections, but I knew I could trust DiCamillo to have the right spirit in her story. If you haven’t read any of her other books, I highly recommend them. She’s written everything from beginning readers to early chapter books and middle grade novels. And she is a gem of an author.

Today’s story is about a little girl named Frances and a poor organ grinder with a pet monkey who plays music out on the street. It’s a week before Christmas and very cold outside. Frances wonders if the organ grinder is going to be ok. “Where do they go at night?” she asks her mother. But mother seems to have other things on her mind. The Christmas pageant is quickly approaching, after all, and there is still a lot to prepare.

When it is time to leave for the church, Frances sees the organ grinder, still out on the corner. “You can come,” she tells him. “The play is at the church. It’s just down the street. You can both come.” He smiles back. But she could tell he was sad.

Back stage at the church, everyone is bustling around, getting ready for their scene. When it is Frances’ turn to play the angel, she stands frozen on the stage, unable to say a word. All she could think about was the organ grinder, outside, alone on the snowy street.

The world was quiet. Everyone waited. Then, at the back of the sanctuary, a door opened. Frances smiled.

"Behold!” she shouted. “I bring you tidings of Great Joy!”

And because the words felt so right, Frances said them again, "Great Joy!”

DiCamillo’s story is unassuming, yet packs a hard punch as the “world quietly waits” to see what will happen. There isn’t a clear analogy here, but a demonstration of God’s great compassion for each of us, from the very lowest to the richest king.

The angels could have performed in Jerusalem for the court of King Herod, yet as Mary exalts in her Magnificat, “God has brought down the mighty from their thrones and exalted those of humble estate” (Luke 1:52). He chose the lowly shepherds to be the first ones to hear the Good News. It was not because the rulers of the land needed to hear the message any less, but because declaring this flipped-on-its-head Gospel to the shepherds “felt so right.”

A humbled savior, announced to honored laborers.

And the angel said to them, “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.

- Luke 2:10-11

"God is Not Dead, Nor Does He Sleep"

Today is the third Sunday of Advent, traditionally called Gaudete Sunday. It comes from the Latin word, gaudete, meaning rejoice. Today we light the candle of Joy.

We also acknowledge the shepherds. Those lowly laborers in the cold, dark fields, watching over stubborn and bleating sheep. God chose such as these to hear the first joyful announcement of Christ’s birth. Today it would be like toll-collectors, stuck along the lonely, desolate highways, having a front row seat to a jumbo-tron style birth announcement of a famous celebrity. How absurd.

But the real wonder was not the angels’ chorus, but the person they would go see.

Canadian theologian J.I. Packer once said, “Nothing in fiction is so fantastic as is this truth of the incarnation.” (from Knowing God Devotional Journal)

Reflecting on Packer’s words, and those of his own Advent hymn, musician and author Bob Kauflin tries to describe what the shepherds must have felt:

“The shepherds were understandably rattled by what they heard and saw the night Jesus was born — “sore afraid,” as the King James puts it (Luke 2:9 KJV). It would be the first and last time they’d see angels singing in the star-filled sky. But the glory of that sight would soon be surpassed by seeing the Son of God “wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger” (Luke 2:12). . .  In the midst of barn animals, the noxious filth of a stable, and a world unaware that hope had burst the bonds of our despair (Psalm 107:14), the Savior of the world had come.”

In the King James, Luke 2:13-14 reads,

“And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”

Many years later, American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow would write similar lines. Reeling from the injury and paralysis of his oldest son during the Civil War, the widower with six children penned what would become the carol, “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” It was a guttural reaction of his heart, an attempt to capture the dissonance of joy and pain.

"I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,

and wild and sweet

The words repeat

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along

The unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,

A voice, a chime,

A chant sublime

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,

And with the sound

The carols drowned

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,

And made forlorn

The households born

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;

“For hate is strong,

And mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The Wrong shall fail,

The Right prevail,

With peace on earth, good-will to men.”

The lyrics are narrative in nature, even drawing on the events of the war between the states. But, like Horatio Spafford who wrote “It is Well With My Soul” almost a decade later, Longfellow’s last stanza stands out as a ringing hope. It is as if the shepherds are seeing the Christ child for the first time, all over again.

God is not dead, nor does He sleep.

Those who are lonely on the hillside with the endless mundane, take heart! This message of joy is especially for you. The incarnation is the story that will set you free.