I have a love/hate relationship with this day.

I love redemption from sin, freedom from the penalty of my sin, and liberation from the power of sin. On this Friday when we remember Jesus’ death, I think of being a continual follower of Him. Jesus’ followers during His ministry before the cross who get the most attention are usually the males. Even though I am a male, quite frankly I identify most, at least on this day with the person known as Mary Magdalene. 

We don’t know as much about this Mary from Magdala as we think. Much comes from religious tradition—what we might now call “urban legend.” Dan Brown and his revisionist history (Da Vinci Code, et al) do not help with this problem. Ask most people, they will say that Mary Magdalene was a prostitute. That is nowhere to be found in Scripture. We do know that when she encountered Jesus she was demon-possessed. Against tradition again, nowhere can I find that the demon-possessed Jesus encountered were wicked sinners. Why do I say this? Because Jesus delivered them, the Scripture does not say He forgave them. I am not saying they were not sinners. Romans 3:23 makes clear that we were/are all sinners. The demon-possessed were, however, people who suffered under the bondage of evil forces that took over their lives and inflicted all kinds of physical and psychological harm on them. 

The gospels tell us seven demons possessed Mary until Jesus drove them out of her. The number seven in Scripture signifies completion and shows in Mary the completeness of the afflicting evil powers’ domination of her. She lost all self-possession and was driven by evil forces. To those who knew her previously she was “out of her mind” because Mary was not behaving like Mary. When the demons left her it must have been like having her own resurrection and walking out of a grave into a new life. The kingdom of God arrived in Mary’s life, and everything changed.

What was it like for Mary on what we call “Good” Friday? The darkness is back. Gloom has replaced hope. On the place of the skull, the One she had lived for is lost to her. The One who defeated evil in her life is now defeated by evil. The One who freed her from the violence she suffered is now suffering violence himself. This is not just a return to her darkness. This is entering into the darkness of Jesus—the darkness of the whole world. This is the devastation of hopes. There is no light—just darkness. But she stays. She listens to the jeers and taunts and watches the suffering. She does not run. She remains in the darkness. She put all her hopes in Jesus so where else is there to go? And, because she recognized that she had nowhere else to go, she stayed through the darkness—all the way through the night, the next day and until Easter morning where she was the very first person to meet the risen Savior.

Maybe you have already been set free in your life and have a relationship of dependence on Jesus. Yet something has happened. The darkness, the violence, the evil that Mary lived through were real. Your darkness, your hopelessness, your torment may be real. You may feel like Jesus has disappeared and will never come back. But because Jesus endured real darkness himself—because He endured forsakenness as He cried out “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” If you feel the darkness, the isolation, the despair, the forsakenness at this moment, realize that you share what Jesus and Mary shared.

Faithfulness in darkness, without hope or consolation in the middle of desolation and despair is exactly what was required of Jesus, and in turn, Mary Magdalene. It is also required at times from me and you. Remain faithful this Good Friday no matter what you are going through. Jesus defeated darkness not by speaking a word or waving his hand. He defeated darkness by entering it, and He has entered yours as well. He died the death of the forsaken and abandoned so that even the most forsaken and abandoned could share in the light of His resurrection. In the oft repeated words of Tony Campolo: “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming!”

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.” Romans 15:13

Of all the days of in the Christian calendar, Ash Wednesday may be the most disconcerting.  It marks the beginning of the Lenten season, but it is often preceded, at least in the U.S.A., with great debauchery (i.e. Fat Tuesday and Mardi Gras). Ash Wednesday is all about repentance, but so many miss that point as they hurry to get in as much drunken revelry as possible before they show up at church on Ash Wednesday to “repent.” We come in from a party and leave as if we were going to a funeral.

Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the forty days of repentance before Resurrection Sunday is marked with the grim symbol of ashes used in the liturgy of Roman, Eastern, and many mainline Protestant denominations. Ashes as a sign of repentance is not new though, it is at least as old as ancient Jews who would tear their garments and put throw ashes on themselves as a sign of horrific grief. 

It is tempting on this day to follow the tried and true American practice of toning down the depressing parts, and emphasizing only the positive parts of the redemption of man. If it were up to many pastors and churches, many American congregations would be treated to a triumph and Resurrection (Easter) without even recognizing the fact that Jesus was despised, rejected, abandoned, condemned and put to death like a common criminal on what we call “Good Friday.”

I love Palm Sunday and Resurrection Sunday as much as anyone. I love to celebrate too. But, at the beginning of this Lenten season, it is important to remember—to start out remembering—that the crucifixion of Jesus, the Christ, the Son of God and God himself is the pivot point of the history of the universe. Years ago, it was reported that inhumane prisons were found in Guinea, kept secret from the world by a leader much like the recent fallen leader of Ukraine and other despots through the centuries. In one of the dungeon cells, a prisoner used his own blood to write a prayer: “God save me.”

As the world we live in and the country many of us love seems to spiral toward greater depravity and hopelessness, one is tempted to ask “what hope is there for humanity?” What do we do as believers and what do churches do when things seem to just get worse and worse? We can do what Ash Wednesday is all about. We can quit pretending everything is okay and repent. We can take comfort in the fact that as the writer of Hebrews said that we do not have a Savior that is untouched by the feelings of our infirmities. We can quit the faux celebrations like Fat Tuesday. And we can begin to find hope in the fact that redemption is “drawing nigh” because of what Jesus did 2,000 years ago. That is not false hope. That is not hollow or fake celebration. That is real hope. May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.

Exactly two weeks ago I was in Chicago. Coming in on the Eisenhower Expressway, the Chicago skyline is impressive. There are different ways of seeing a city. Some people look at the city and have visions of wonderful possibilities for industry, artistic events, or career opportunities. A person riding in on a bus or train every day to do some menial job at low pay sees the city as a prison of sorts, hemming them in on all sides—it is a place from which to escape. I was there to visit someone at a drug rehabilitation facility located in a rough neighborhood. As a matter of fact, that Saturday afternoon while there for the visit, in broad daylight, gunshots were fired outside the building and those outside the entrance came scurrying inside—quickly ending their smoke break.

And when he drew near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, “Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace! (Luke chapter 19:41-42)

When we see the city from all these different vantage points, are we seeing the city as it truly is—whether it be Chicago, L.A., Charlotte or Dallas? Great authors, songwriters, and philosophers have written their thoughts about great cities. But when Jesus came over the crest of the Mount of Olives and looked across the Kidron Valley at Jerusalem what made him weep? Do you think any other of the thousands of pilgrims who were entering the city on that Palm Sunday stopped and wept as they looked at it? Some greeted the sight of the city as welcome to their eyes after a long and dusty trek from a faraway land or village. Some greeted the sight of Jerusalem with pride and a sense of nationalism. Jerusalem! This is the holy city where the temple is located! A few verses previous record the crowd as cheering the entry of whom they believed would be their salvation from the tyranny of Rome. With all the various thoughts and viewpoints of people entering Jerusalem’s gates, only one is recorded as stopping to weep.

Have we ever looked with Jesus at our city? Have we ever come over the crest of the hill and seen our city with the eyes of Jesus? There are those who choose never to look at their city in the way that Jesus does. It would require some kind of action. It would disturb their sense of peace and tranquility. When Jesus looked at Jerusalem what brought the tears to his eyes? First, he saw the soon to be future of Jerusalem—not glory but destruction. He saw the pride of Israel and their identity as a nation—the temple—flattened. While the Palm Sunday crowd saw possibilities of hope, Jesus saw the reality of destruction. While they cheered and celebrated like they were dancing at a wedding feast, Jesus saw a funeral march.

While the architect looks at the city and dreams of possible new buildings, and the entrepreneur looks at the city and sees new business possibilities, and each person looks at the city as the means to an end-- as the way to provide a living—whether an exciting or mundane living—it is still about self. It is still about self-provided security. Jesus saw the blindness of human striving for meaning and security. Jesus saw men trying men to build their own Eden. He saw the Scribes and Pharisees trying to find security in the letter of the law. He saw the Priests and Sanhedrin trying to find security in holding on to power when the Great High Priest stood at the gate ready to make their jobs obsolete. It reminds me of both Psalm 24 and Revelation 3.

Lift up your heads, O gates!
And be lifted up, O ancient doors,
that the King of glory may come in. (Psalm 24:7)

Behold, I stand at the door and knock.
If anyone hears my voice and opens the door,
I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me. (Rev. 3:20)

Certainly the mistake will not be repeated at Christmas 2013! Surely we will not make the same mistake that those in Jerusalem made 2000 years ago by rejecting the offer of Jesus to come in and have fellowship? Once again we have the opportunity to enthrone the king. Once again, many people will go to candlelight services or gather around a fireplace or tree and hear the Christmas story. The picture I cannot shake is not Santa Claus with a sleigh surveying the cities of this world from the air. The picture I cannot shake from my mind’s eye is Jesus standing at the entry place to my city and weeping because we don’t know that this year will be someone’s last. This year may be my last chance to do whatever it is God called me to do or to say. I dare not leave Jesus outside in the cold so to speak.

Jesus cried over Jerusalem because he knew they were rejecting their moment of opportunity. If we look out over our city with Jesus by our side, what do we see?  People tend to procrastinate and say next year, but next year is not promised. I cannot help but think of my favorite Leonard Ravenhill quote: “The opportunity of a lifetime must be seized within the lifetime of the opportunity.”

Beware the Ides of December. Actually there is no such thing as the Ides of December. I am just taking poetic license with Shakespeare’s line for the soothsayer in Julius Caesar. What I want to beware of today is actually something another British literary great—Charles Dickens—had his character Scrooge say: “Bah, Humbug!”

I woke up this morning with a bad attitude. I wish I could say at this point in my life I woke up every morning saying “Good morning Lord!” The reality is that some days like today—although I don’t say the exact words—my attitude says “Good Lord, it’s morning!” And for some reason, these foul-mood mornings disproportionately land on Sundays. I don’t know about you, but I think I have more untoward thoughts and make more immature, petty comments on the Lord’s day than the other six days of the week.

Unfortunately, I didn’t recognize my foul mood right away. It wasn’t until I had a brief conversation at church where I unloaded my snarky attitude on someone just before they got up to be part of the worship team that I realized my mouth had gotten me into a pickle once again. I left the church right after I made the comment … not because I was mad, but because I was convicted. I did not want my lousy attitude to poison the atmosphere. So I started the half-hour plus drive home and began a running conversation with the Lord. It was very one-sided. I talked a lot—first venting, then repenting for about 20 minutes. The rest of the ride there was silence. About five minutes from home I had this really strong impression—you know, one of those that people more spiritual than I characterize as “the Lord told me…”

The urgent impression I got was to pull over next to a church on the side street I take to my house, and is in fact only a few blocks from my home. It was exactly 10:10 a.m. and the sign by the church said service would start at 10:15 a.m. The moment I followed through and obeyed the impression, my attitude got better. It was like the Grinch’s heart starting to appear. Then, as I made my way up the stairs and opened the door to this little church, I felt peace. I made my way in and by the time the service started, all 15-20 people made their way to me to extend a hand of greeting. The Grinch/Scrooge who was Hum-Bugging along on the Lord’s day, had something wonderful happen. My heart grew about 3 sizes today. And it was just because the Lord knew I needed to see some people who loved Him and had a good attitude in spite of whatever side of the bed they woke up on this morning. Now I don’t know if I’ll ever go back to that church or not, but I thank God for giving me an attitude adjustment today. Like Hebrews 12:10-11 says, the Lord’s discipline may not seem pleasant and the time, but it does two things. It moves us toward righteousness if we’ll let it and it proves we are His child. Hopefully I will think twice the next time I want to be a Hum-Bug.

In 1996 I was able to visit the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. Bethlehem is an odd place in the tour stops of Israel’s sites in that it is part of Palestinian territory but is only a few miles from Jerusalem. Back then, the wall that separated Bethlehem from Israeli territory had not been completed but we still had to go through checkpoints with heavily armed soldiers coming in and going out of the town.

The Church of the Nativity itself is not what I expected either—especially that day. The church is administered and fully used by the Greek Orthodox Church. The day we visited, after we had examined the sanctuary and the altar area, our group was asked to move quietly move to the side of the church sanctuary and stand in silence. We all wondered what could possibly be about to take place. Almost immediately after taking our place in the shadows against the outside wall (it is a very dark church mainly lit by candles), a procession of Greek Orthodox priests clad in black robes and clerical garb along with altar workers moved from the back door of the church toward the altar with incense censors swinging and smoke billowing toward the ceiling. It was a funeral march and I have never seen such a solemn procession. When they reached the altar area with the coffin, a ceremony of about 15 minutes ensued where priests spoke prayers and blessings in Greek and the small group of mourners following the casket genuflected at a couple of points and recited prayers in Greek as well. One got the feeling that this was not a funeral for a local person. This was a combination funeral and pilgrimage. When the service ended our group made our way outdoors and proceeded with the tour.

We moved toward a place underneath the church known as the grotto. It is a small cave area adorned with candle holders on chains and a jeweled star inlaid in the floor. The rest is unspectacular—except for what the star means. Tradition holds that this is the place where the birth of Jesus took place. Despite the colored cloth and candles, it was dark, dank and frankly a bit depressing. What an unspectacular place for the Son of God to make His entrance into this world. This, if not the exact place, was certainly close to the place that the One who made the world, entered the world He created. No royal trumpet flourishes sounded—just the snorting of animals. No royal purple robes awaited—just strips of cloth. No king bed with fine linens—just a feeding trough. No opulent palace—just a hole in the side of a hill—a cave used as a stable.  An ordinary birth in less than kingly surroundings—but oh be careful to understand and heed the warning of scripture not to despise small beginnings. This birth, this event changed human history and the history of the universe. This was the dawn of a new creation.

As I knelt in that cave 17 years ago, I had goose-bumps because the funeral procession we just witnessed a few feet above where I knelt, actually celebrated the beginning of the end of death’s hold for those who believe that the infant born in that cave—the “grotto”—was more than an ordinary baby. That baby was the one who would defeat death, hell and the grave.

This devotional will be brief. In a few minutes we will celebrate the birth of a son. Notice I didn’t capitalize son. It is not the birth of Jesus we will be celebrating. As far as I know, Red Velvet cake is not Jesus’ favorite food. It is, however, the favorite food of Miles MacGregor Glenn born 12/12/1997. Yes, my youngest is 16 today and will be getting his driver’s license next week—assuming he passes his test.

This day makes me think of Fathers and Sons and the amazing love there is between them. As we celebrate this Advent season, I cannot imagine the other-centered, self-giving love of Father God as He sent His Son into the world to save it. Abraham and Isaac gave us a glimpse of that kind of sacrifice that was halted at the last moment because “God will provide a lamb.” Centuries later, on what some scholars believe is the same exact mountain that Abraham went with Isaac to worship at—Moriah—Father God’s only begotten was sacrificed on what is now called Calvary. That is amazing, supernatural love that I cannot wrap my mind around. Honestly, I would not give up Miles for a world that for the most part would reject him. But then, I am not God. That’s good news for everybody. Happy 16th Miles and may you have many more as you serve the King.

To me, Mary is the most fascinating of all the characters in the Advent story. Despite artists’ renderings of her with a halo and movies that portray her as a blonde, blue-eyed girl with porcelain skin, she was a Jewish peasant girl who likely had very dark hair and eyes and olive-dark skin. She was what most of us would call a child, yet she demonstrated great faith. Actually, there are many young people in the Bible used to do mighty things for the Lord. Joseph went through trials and tribulations in his youth to prepare him to be the second most powerful leader on earth and save his family/fledgling-nation from famine. Jeremiah was barely a teen when he was to speak for YHWH. The Lord used Daniel and his compatriots to do great exploits for Babylonian and Persian kings. Most scholars believe the disciples were all teenagers with the possible exception of Peter. And we know Apostle Paul’s admonition to young Timothy not to let others look down on him as a pastor just because of his young age. These are just a few of the many examples in scripture, yet Mary is special. Some have taken this uniqueness and the accompanying blessing to an extreme. This is not about worshiping Mary. Only the Triune God is worthy of worship.

Yet, Mary exhibits qualities that are worthy of example for each of us 2,000 years later. Luke recorded Mary’s song of praise in Luke 1:46-55. The opening line of the song labeled centuries ago as the Magnificat (Latin: My soul magnifies) is what I would like to look at today: Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord…”

The setting for Mary’s praise song is her visit to another pregnant woman whose story is much different. Elizabeth, was likely a senior citizen, at least by the standards of that culture—and she was well into her pregnancy which had broken the barrenness she had suffered her entire life before finally becoming pregnant. Mary, on the other hand, was a very young lady and had just conceived by the Holy Spirit while remaining a virgin. The only thing they had in common before becoming pregnant was being part of the same family—as cousins.

Mary thought the meeting was important though, because she undertook a perilous journey of almost 100 miles through very rough terrain to visit her old cousin. Now, they had something more in common than being cousins or even being pregnant. This was a God thing for both of them. They were both expecting children of promise. Elizabeth would eventually give birth to John the Baptist—the one Scriptures predicted would prepare the people for the coming of Messiah. Mary would eventually give birth to Jesus-the Messiah.

Luke gives the account of Elizabeth, or should I say John the Baptist in her womb, being the very first to recognize the Messiah. Luke tells us that when Mary greeted Elizabeth, the baby in her womb leaped inside her and that Elizabeth gave a spontaneous utterance of blessing because she was so full of the Holy Spirit. Then, in verse 43 Elizabeth recognizes the Lord as well and calls him such. This was pure, unbridled joy from women that shared a special bond.

But John and Elizabeth were not the only ones filled with joy at the prospect of the Messiah inside Mary’s body. Mary rejoiced by breaking into song. Some scholars suggest that the teenager Mary could not have possibly come up with a masterpiece like the Magnificat. This leaves no room for the Spirit’s inspiration however. This was a song that came from Mary’s heart—her “soul” magnified the Lord. This is the Spirit’s work through all individuals that make room for Jesus in their lives—their souls magnify the Lord through the inspiration of the Spirit.

There is a lesson in Mary’s worship. In her magnification of the Lord, she talks about Him. She mentions herself, but does not dwell on herself. She is smitten with the wonderful works of God and His goodness. As she worships in this poem/song, she mentions God’s holiness, might, great works, mercy, strength, provision of good and justice—by scattering the proud and raising up the humble. This is the worship we should enter. Instead of only coming to the Lord today in prayer with a list of thing we thing we need, I want to join in Mary’s song and magnify YHWH just for being I Am.

Today I heard some very sad news. A young man that brightened a lot of lives passed away at way too early an age. I had the privilege of being his pastor for a few short years when I was a young man myself. Every time Christmas rolled around and I would see or hear something of Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” character Tiny Tim, I would think of this boy. Early in his life he faced challenges that no one his age should have to face. Even with hospitalizations and heart surgeries, I never personally--nor heard anyone else witness any negativity from him. Eventually, he lost his leg and went through rehab with that same grace. Today, after a long road of health problems, I heard that he is with Jesus.

I’ve been fighting back the tears all day. Even though he died as a man, all I can pull up in my memory is a little blond-headed boy with a smile that would light up any room ... and a father, much like Dickens’ character Bob Cratchit, who loved his son dearly no matter what he was going through. When I was young I had heroes that were superhuman. Now, my heroes are people like this young man and his father. I don’t mention their names because I don’t have permission, but I have to say that my heart is heavier today than it has been in a long time and across the hundreds of miles my prayers are with the siblings and parents.

When I think about God sending His beloved Son to redeem a world that would reject Him, betray Him, deny Him, beat Him, mock Him, and eventually murder Him, I cannot wrap my mind around that kind of selfless love. The writer of Hebrews talks about the Son’s love in that He went to the cross and endured the suffering and shame “for the joy set before Him.” (Heb. 12:2). Over the years many have speculated about what the future joy was that got Jesus through the suffering of the crucifixion. Today, I choose to believe that at least in part, it was the joy of defeating every death, disease, injustice and every other thing in this present world that is not in line with the will of God. Today, I choose to believe that at least part of the joy set before Jesus that kept Him motivated to finish the work was this young man who is now in His presence and completely whole. Though my heart is sad today, thank you Lord for  paying the price to turn our present sorrows to future joy.

Atheists often ridicule theists to for ignoring the problem of pain, suffering, and injustice in this world. That is a false claim. Terence Penelhum says “Theists do not see fewer evils in the world than atheists; they see more. For the theist, in believing in God, believes both that God created the world and that much that is in the world is deeply deficient in the light of the very standards God himself embodies."

C.S. Lewis used the allegorical character Aslan the lion to represent the compassionate Christ in the Chronicles of Narnia children’s books. In one book in that series, The Magician’s Nephew, Lewis has the young man Digory facing a dilemma  that eventually leads him to plead with the powerful Aslan for his mother’s healing: "But please, please–won’t you—can’t you give more something that will cure Mother?” Up till then he had been looking on the Lion’s great feet and the huge claws on them; now, in his despair, he looked up at its face. What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonder of wonders) such great shining tears stood in the Lion’s eyes. They were such big, bright tears compared with Digory’s own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his Mother than he was himself.

In the account of Lazarus’ death in John 11:32-35, The Message reads Mary came to where Jesus was waiting and fell at his feet, saying, “Master, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her sobbing and the Jews with her sobbing, a deep anger welled up within him. He said, “Where did you put him?” “Master, come and see,” they said. Now Jesus wept.

We have a loving,  God who knows what pain feels like and is “touched by the feelings of our infirmities, comforts all that mourn, and binds up the brokenhearted. It makes me want to echo the words of Tiny Tim, “God bless us every one.”

Around Christmas each year two passages from Isaiah are trotted out and sung or spoken in programs and cantatas and then seem to go back into mothballs until the next year. In Isaiah 7:14 two thoughts are seized upon—the virgin birth and Immanuel—God with us. Isaiah 9:6 lists four names that Isaiah prophesied would characterize the Messiah, the last of which is Prince of Peace. Immanuel and Prince of Peace seem to always be talked about in such comforting terms. What could be more comforting than having the Prince of Peace as God with us? Well, it depends on where you stand.

Immanuel is actually a term of judgment in its usages in scripture—including this one. Prince of Peace, although speaking of peace is a warrior’s term. When combined the idea is “God is with us to bring peace” and that means judgment. With all the warm and fuzzy thoughts of Christmas and goodness and mercy of God on display in that God came to be human in the person of Jesus, we must not forget that although God came to redeem, He also came to set judgment in motion. As was the case with Herod, Pilate, the Sanhedrin, Caiaphas, Judas, and all the people who rejected Jesus as the true King, their judgment was sealed by their pronouncements concerning Jesus as He was God with us and they rejected Him as God.

The thing is, God never stopped being Immanuel. He is still with us. In John’s gospel, Jesus promised that the Holy Spirit would come after Him: “Nevertheless, I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Helper will not come to you. But if I go, I will send him to you. And when he comes, he will convict the world concerning sin and righteousness and judgment: concerning sin, because they do not believe in me; concerning righteousness, because I go to the Father, and you will see me no longer; concerning judgment, because the ruler of this world is judged.” (John 16:7-11)

Jesus said that He would send the Holy Spirit who would convict the world of sin, righteousness and judgment. God is still with us in the person of the Holy Spirit and testifies to us that Jesus really is God who came to redeem us. The problem is, if we reject the offer—if we reject the deliverance He offers—we stand condemned already. Immanuel and Prince of Peace are only comforting terms for those who acknowledge who Jesus is and what He has already done for us. He is Immanuel—God with us. He is the Prince of Peace—the defeater of evil who brings judgment against the ruler of this world and all those who do his work. When the Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace became Immanuel—evil didn’t have a chance; nor did or do those who land on the side of evil.

This thought should rattle the church first because as Peter wrote “For it is time for judgment to begin at the household of God; and if it begins with us, what will be the outcome for those who do not obey the gospel of God?” (I Pet. 4:17). Which, when coupled with another passage in Isaiah should make all of us take inventory and repent: “What to me is the multitude of your sacrifices? says the Lord; I have had enough of burnt offerings of rams and the fat of well-fed beasts; I do not delight in the blood of bulls, or of lambs, or of goats. “When you come to appear before me, who has required of you this trampling of my courts? Bring no more vain offerings; incense is an abomination to me. New moon and Sabbath and the calling of convocations—I cannot endure iniquity and solemn assembly. Your new moons and your appointed feasts my soul hates; they have become a burden to me; I am weary of bearing them. When you spread out your hands, I will hide my eyes from you; even though you make many prayers, I will not listen; your hands are full of blood. Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean; remove the evil of your deeds from before my eyes; cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, plead the widow’s cause. “Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool. If you are willing and obedient, you shall eat the good of the land; but if you refuse and rebel, you shall be eaten by the sword; for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”

It’s easy to get all warm and fuzzy about Immanuel and long for the Prince of Peace to be in our midst. But I wonder if Jesus showed up in our church would we hear His words of approval for being a loving, justice-seeking church that corrects oppression, brings justice to the fatherless and pleads the widow’s cause? Or, would we hear words of judgment for wearying Him and being a burden to Him for praying/talking a lot but doing nothing. If the latter is the case the offer still stands that “though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.” That is my prayer as I evaluate my shortcomings and look out my window at the snow falling. That’s what I want. I want to be have my sins covered like the fresh blanket of snow is covering the ground outside right now.

Today is the day that FDR stated was a day that would “live in infamy.” He was right—at least for members of what Tom Brokaw dubbed the “Greatest Generation” as well as history students for years to come. December 7, 1941 the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor and the United States of America was suddenly thrust into WWII whether it wanted to be or not.

The incarnation was also an invasion. But it was not a day that lives in infamy. Rather, it is a day that is celebrated by millions of people over two millennia. Why? Because this invasion was, as John’s gospel says—an invasion of light into darkness. C. S. Lewis said the Incarnation was the “grand miracle” over and above all other miracles. It is about the turning of the tide. It is an act of violence. Fellow “Inkling” J. R. R. Tolkien employs a bit of analogy in “Morgoth’s Ring,” specifically in the "Debate of Finrod and Andreth." In the debate, Andreth, a “wisewoman” talks about the natures of the races of elves and men. In speaking of man’s “fall” Andreth says hopefully that Ilúvatar, the creator—“the One will himself enter into Arda, and heal men and all the marring from the beginning to the end.” In response to Andreth, Finrond the elf, wonders how the author of creation—a creation that is “other” than Ilúvatar the creator, can enter what he created without causing a catastrophe by tearing it to pieces. He finally resolves, “I cannot conceive how else this healing could be achieved.”

The New Creation breaks forth in the Incarnation. “It relates not a series of disconnected raids on Nature but the various steps of a strategically coherent invasion – an invasion which intends complete conquest and ‘occupation.’” This invasion is not by an impersonal force, “It is Christ Himself.” Tolkien touches on this theme in a lecture entitled "On Fairy Stories." In the lecture, he sketches the shape of the classic fairytale and introduces a concept that many believe was original to Tolkien – even to the point of coining the word itself – eucatastrophe. In the afterword to his lecture, Tolkien says that the Gospels contain this element of a fairy story––or a story of a larger kind which embraces all the essences of fairy stories. Among the marvels of the story is the greatest conceivable eucatastrophe––the birth of Christ. The Incarnation is the eucatastrophe of man's history. The story begins and ends in joy. Tolkien, a devout Catholic was not saying that the Bible is a fairy story. He was saying that fairy stories get their way of telling a story of a great turnaround of events—what Lewis called a “turning of the tide” and what Tolkien called a eucatastrophe—a reversal of fortune—from the Bible.

Just as Pearl Harbor was the beginning of the turning of the tide in WWII and eventually led to the eventually VJ and VE days, so the Incarnation was the turning of the tide that led to the victory of the Cross and Resurrection and the defeat of death, hell and the grave.




[2]C. S. Lewis, “To Mrs. Ashton” November 8, 1952, in Letters of C. S. Lewis, rev. and enl. Ed., ed. Walter Hooper (San Diego: Harcourt Brace, 1993), 248.