Light in the Darkness — There She Flows

It seems like a strange thing to say at Christmas, but I can’t stop thinking about Jesus.

Maybe it’s not such a strange thing to say. The normal chaos that surrounds Christmas is intentional in its fervor to distract us from the wonder of incarnation. The past two years of unexpected pandemic panic has served as an irritating and overpowering megaphone to the already intense annual seasonal pandemonium.

I believe this is why my mind keeps wandering to the night Jesus was born. Everything surrounding his arrival is, in my human eyes, the opposite of how the King of Glory, the one who would overcome sin and death, should come. Royal births should scream opulence and creature comforts. There should be adoration, royal robes, symbols of authority, and admiration and honor for the royal parents. Instead, a teenage girl and her husband who risked his reputation due to her condition, were forced to come to Bethlehem. I have read some scholars believe their journey was during the rainy season. A ride on a donkey in the mud while being close to being full term pregnant had to be…well…nothing short of awful. And to top it off, Bethlehem was filled with exhausted people, ordered to participate in a census by a cruel military leader that would ultimately lead to more taxes, more poverty. Traffic on 495 in the DC area is packed with irritated people, and I avoid it at all costs.. Shopping on December 23rd makes me anxious as last minute shoppers converge. I cannot imagine a city full of smelly donkeys, 9 months pregnant, nowhere to sleep, about to give birth to a baby, the result of immaculate conception: Jesus, the son of God. I cannot wrap my mind around it.

And the Jewish people…how desperately they needed a rescue. How they longed for deliverance from oppression. They were in fact, under Roman military rule, crushed by the puppet king, Herod. So many questions must have burdened them. Where was he? Where was the one who would overthrow these greedy and hated tyrants who taxed them into oblivion and suppressed their freedom? 400 years of silence from the prophets had passed. There had to be desperation in the air, for the prayers and the cries to heaven to be answered. Anything. A sentence, a phrase, a sign of hope of the surely mighty ruler to come, and then they would have their recompense.

And they were right. That restitution would come. But it would come as a teen mom gave birth without a hospital, nurses, or an epidural. With mayhem all around, a Savior was born. The lamb of God who came to bear the sins of all humanity, was wrapped in cloth like a baby lamb, and he was placed in what historians and scholars believe was not a wood manger, but a manger made from the material surrounding the city: stone. Many years later he would be laid in a stone tomb when He gave his life for us. The angels announced the birth of our Good Shepherd to shepherds first. Peace on earth. Good will to men. God’s people wanted a revolution. God gave us a helpless baby, born in unremarkable yet extraordinary circumstances. Heaven has a way of shattering our expectations and taking our breath away with the unfurling of the scrolls of hope. Perhaps heavenly revolution turns our human ideals of revolution on its head. Power in meekness. Strength in humility. Restoration in obedience.

Am I listening? Are we?

Here, standing a bit disheveled at the tail end of a year I want to unceremoniously kick out the door, I feel the shaking of the world around me. Who is sick? Who is well? What can the government do? What can they not do? Fingers are pointing, tongues are wagging, and making assumptions and judgements about others seems to have become one of humanity's favorite pastimes. There is a gathering of ideals at this pivotal time and humans have been forced to face losing freedoms to a Caesar that travels in viral form. At times, the lack of answers suffocates the ability to ask questions. And we want the answer to be big: a cure, a charismatic, unifying leader, a massive global kumbaya moment, or maybe a modern big bang to rattle us out of this mess. So we conduct our search for “why” exhausted, and like the shepherds, maybe we are tired, exposed to the elements, and completely unaware of the miracle that is about to happen. Perhaps we stand like Elijah at the entrance to the cave, worn out, scared, and desperate to hear from God. There is wind and noise, but maybe God isn’t in all of that. He’s in the whisper of the truth of his love and power, he’s in the field with tired and isolated people offering shouts of good news that He is here to bring peace on earth. He’s in a stable called rejection with those who have nothing left but a stone cold, empty feeding trough for the birth of hopes and dreams. And it’s just not enough. It’s more than enough. It’s miraculous. As Jesus’ newborn cries pierced the air, those 400 years of silence came to an end out of the lungs of a newborn babe. And now, as the world is shaking in the unknown and grasping in the dark, we listen for heaven’s sound once more, we look for light. We do not have to look far. He has come. Isaiah 9:2 says, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone.” It has shone and it has not stopped shining. Augustine said, “He was created of a mother whom He created. He was carried by hands that He formed. He cried in the manger in wordless infancy, He is the Word, without whom all human eloquence is mute.” The Word made flesh, the one born to be made sacrifice, without whom our words and all of our endless worldwide chatter is useless, has come.

We need not be afraid of the dark.

Jesus, open our eyes to your light, manifest in the earth, shining ever brighter because of the darkness. Open our ears to the sound of your voice, like roaring waters, bathing us in your love and victory.