Advent Reader 2013

2013

CANADIAN BAPTIST

advent reader

CANADIAN BAPTIST

advent reader 24 meditations on the Christmas story by members of our Canadian Baptist family

CONVENTION OF ATLANTIC BAPTIST CHURCHES CANADIAN BAPTISTS OF ONTARIO AND QUEBEC CANADIAN BAPTISTS OF WESTERN CANADA L’UNION D’ÉGLISES BAPTISTES FRANCOPHONES DU CANADA CANADIAN BAPTIST MINISTRIES

© 2013

introduction One of the supreme delights and frustrations of Scripture is its episodic nature. It is not packaged as a tidy systematic theology, nor an encyclopedia of world history, nor a lofty treatise of abstract ideals. It was not penned in gold and found in a cave, ready for distribution. Instead, Holy Scripture was written by a broad community of people over thousands of years in a staggering array of literary styles: specific writers inspired to write into specific circumstances.

The book in your hands or on your screen is not Holy Writ.

But the episodic nature of its genesis is similar. Advent 2013 is upon us, a time of expectant waiting for the Child. At the same time, the pace of life for many of us is blistering. In the middle of this cacophony, we’ve asked two dozen Canadian writers, pastors and artists to convey the meaning of this season into our circumstances, here and now.

What I find most remarkable about this Reader is the way individual reflections cluster around specific themes. While we suggested topics, authors were free to choose their own, and many wrote on strikingly similar ones. Nearly a half-dozen writers explored the person of Mary, several lingered over Herod, others extolled God’s capacity to mend brokenness. Shepherds and angels are barely noticed. Rather than minimize this overlap, we’ve heightened it by grouping similar articles together. These themes may be precisely the ones God wants us to pay attention to this year.

C.S. Lewis once observed, “How monotonously alike all the great tyrants and conquerors have been: how gloriously different are the saints.” You will see that glorious diversity in what you are about to read—from a 9-year-old girl in Nova Scotia, to a theologian in Quebec City; from a pastor in Winnipeg to a family living among refugees in Nairobi, Kenya. This year’s Advent Reader is the first national publication Canadian Baptists have created in many years, and represents a vibrant display of church unity across a geographically and culturally scattered country.

Special thanks go those who helped coordinate this effort: Andrew Myers, Celia McLean, Jennifer Lau and David Rowley who identified capable writers across our country; Annalese Racheter and Kelsey Martin who carefully edited and reviewed the text; Tim McCoy who gave birth to this vision two years ago.

This December, stores are unfurling their sale banners, travel plans are being made and churches are ramping up for ‘busy season.’ Somewhere in the middle of it all is the small cry of an infant poked by straw in a feeding trough. May this Advent Reader enliven your preparations for Christmas, provoke you to prayer, and dare you to respond to that small cry.

Jacob Buurma Advent Reader Editor Victoria, British Columbia

people who walked in darkness As I sat very still in the examining chair, the nurse removed the bandages from my eye, and held up her fingers. It was an electric moment—the stuff of movies. You expect to shriek with excitement: “I can see!” The nurse asked, “How many fingers do you see?” I peered with expectant intensity, but only saw a dull fog. I whispered, “I can’t see anything.” The alarm bells which had been droning in the background rose wildly in intensity and volume.

The day before, the ophthalmologist had hurried me to the operating theatre at the Ivey Eye Institute in London, Ontario, to repair a detached retina. A dark impenetrable curtain had descended upon my left eye. Without the operation, he had said, I would be permanently blind in that eye. There are many who live with blindness, with seriously impaired vision, or with only one eye. Sometimes we may lose something vital as it is eroded by age or crushed by an accident. And these losses are so much a part of our human experience. Where does faith come to play in these difficult moments?

There is an old and debated saying, “There are no atheists in foxholes.” Is it true? Do people suddenly become believers when life and limb are threatened? Could it be that in moments of sheer panic, even unbelievers turn to the Living God (or any god) to assuage their fear? Is that at the root of faith?

DECEMBER 1 At that moment, theory and speculation did not matter. I knew that God was not a heavenly bell-boy who would come running to answer my petulant demands. I was unsure of the outcome of this sudden blindness, but I prayed, pensively perhaps like the dying thief on the cross, “Here I am Lord, once again in the need of prayer…. Do not forget me.” And in the very act of my praying, there was a regnant peace that this is still God’s world, and he is a God of love and grace.

In my darkness, a new light dawned. And this became a comfort that outstripped my fears and uncertainty.

So often in our darkness God finds us, or perhaps just as true, it is in the darkness we are most open to his presence.

Is it any wonder that Isaiah proclaims with conviction, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined” (Isaiah 9:2). Those who dwell in the shadows would be open to the flicker of God’s coming in ways that others would dismiss: in the birth of a child.

In the end, my operation was a success and the fog of blindness has receded. This too is God’s gift of light in my darkness.

Gracious God, in the midst of my darkness, however deep, help me to experience the brilliance and warmth of your presence. Amen.

Das Sydney Highland Baptist Church Kitchener, Ontario

advent equilibrium When I was a teenager I couldn’t wait to attend the “Exhibition” (a giant fair) in late August. My friends and I would arrive with pockets full of “blueberry picking” money.

One of the favourite rides was the “Tilt-A-Whirl.” Those old enough might remember it. A group of friends squeezed into a seat and the attendant snapped the protective bar in front of you. Next, you would fly around the track spinning and whirling going up and down at such a speed that your body was glued to the back of the seat. My strategy was to hang on for the ride and hope that the cotton candy and candy apples I had eaten remained in the appropriate place! For a lot of us life is like the “Tilt-A-Whirl”: we are hanging on for the ride hoping against hope we can keep it all together.

Life is going at warp speed. Many people are overwhelmed!

It is almost impossible to keep up with the societal and technological change, let alone what is happening in our personal lives. At a time like this it is possible to feel powerless and very insignificant. During the season of Advent there is potential to miss the presence of Jesus in the harried pace of life. Advent is about making room for Jesus “in the middle of ” our living.

Advent is about Christ’s coming, not just his coming long ago or his future second Coming. Advent is about Christ breaking into our stress-filled existence and giving us a centre point from which we can face what life brings us. We need to stop and welcome Christ and allow him to take his

DECEMBER 2 rightful place in our lives. He longs to grace our lives with forgiveness, peace and perspective. I am slowly learning that he doesn’t necessarily take away all of the confusion or the struggles of life. Yet, we can be sure that if Jesus was willing to come as a tiny helpless babe born in a cave in Bethlehem he certainly wants to be involved in our lives right now.

Frederick Buechner said it well: “Once they have seen him in a stable, they can never be sure where he will appear or to what lengths he will go or to what ludicrous depths of self-humiliation he will descend in his wild pursuit of man.”

I honestly believe that Jesus continues his wild pursuit of us. He came to shine his light in our darkness. The prophet said, “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light” (Isaiah 9:2). Instead of wallowing in the darkness and confusion of a fear-filled world, my hope and prayer is that each of us will stop and make space in our lives for the Advent of the one who is able to help us keep our equilibrium on this “Tilt-A-Whirl” ride.

Peter Reid Convention of Atlantic Baptist Churches

eucatastrophe As I stare into the church’s nursery mural, the large door of Noah’s ark opens up to let pairs of animals descend upon the dry land. Overarching the pastel painting is a great rainbow that holds the promise God established with all creatures on the earth: “Never again will there be a flood to destroy the earth.”

The world-covering flood recorded in Genesis 9 is the greatest natural catastrophe in Biblical history. After the flood, humankind became fruitful and grew in great numbers. Yet the wickedness of humanity also swelled in proportion. No amount of warning or enforcement of the Ten Commandments stemmed the tide, and our plight spiraled from bad to worse. The prophets pleaded for repentance.

But by the first century, an air of hopelessness filled Israel as kingdom after kingdom ruled over their beloved land.

Catastrophe reached a new highmark in Herod the Great.

When the Romans appointed Herod King of the Jews, he imposed order with a sword, and clamped his iron fist around the nation through severe taxation. Tolerating no rivals, he ordered the execution of a generation of male Jewish children, simply based on a rumour about a newborn king.

Babies were snatched from protective arms of their mothers.

The unthinkable happened. The line of David seemed to be broken forever.

In the midst of this desolation, God heard his children’s cries for help. Divine intervention had already arrived, yet God’s children had grown weary and desperate for immediate

DECEMBER 3 results. Out of their frustration, doubt took hold: “Where are you, God?” “Have you forsaken us?” “Will you deliver us from the hands of evil?” “God, where are you?”

“Patience,” he whispered through the prophets. “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him ‘God with us’.” One had escaped Rachel’s weeping. The fullness of God had come as a helpless babe in the arms of teenage parents. He would not be clothed in a velvet robe or appointed with a golden crown. No, this sinless babe would bear humankind’s sins on his shoulders and wear a thorn crown of righteousness. He would grow and walk among us to reveal God’s love and deliver us from the punishment of death.

J.R.R. Tolkien coined the term ‘eucatastrophe’ to refer to a sudden turn of events at the end of a story that ensures that some terrible, impending, and very plausible doom does not come to pass. In other words, it’s a ‘good-catastrophe’.

In the grand narrative of human history, Jesus Christ is our great eucatastrophe. Calamity threatened, but just as the ark rescued Noah’s family, Jesus rescues us from the rising waters of sin and death. Christmas celebrates this surprise ending, this eucatastrophe, and reminds us that the doors of the ark are still open wide to us.

Karen Wong Montreal City West Baptist Church St.Laurent, Quebec

a genealogy of grace Every Advent, I read out loud the first seventeen verses of Matthew as I work my way through the historical life-on-earth beginning of the story of Jesus. I love the mystery of the lives of the people behind the Matthew 1 names; some stories I know and some are merely genealogical footnotes in the Bible.

There is a rhythm that develops when these verses are read: Abraham was the father of Isaac, Isaac the father of Jacob; the phrase “the father of ”, linking the names I know and those that are barely pronounceable, to Jesus and his integral connection with the Davidic kingship. There are four notable exceptions in the list. The cadence is disturbed four times with these unusual words, “whose mother was Tamar”, “whose mother was Rahab”, “whose mother was Ruth”, and “whose mother had been Uriah’s wife”.

We always include Mary in the story of Jesus’ birth. Of course!

We rarely forget Elizabeth, John’s mother, as well as Anna, the prophet who lived in the temple and is there when Joseph and Mary bring Jesus to be presented. But Tamar, Rahab, Ruth and Bathsheba are unusually included in a genealogy list that normally was male-only tracing families from father to son.

And such women! I understand including Mary and Elizabeth and Anna in Jesus’ story, but to include these four women in this list of Jesus’ family tree is shocking.

Few people would readily want to openly acknowledge a connection to Tamar, Rahab, Ruth and Bathsheba. The reasons are numerous; only one of the women, Bathsheba, was a Jew, all the rest are Gentiles. Tamar, Rahab and Bathsheba were all involved in sexual immorality of some sort. Ruth was from Moab, a nation hated by the Jews. Rahab was from Canaan,

DECEMBER 4 another hated enemy of Israel. Lies and cover-ups and greed and deception swirl around these women as well as many of the men who are named in Matthew 1. Why are they here? Why include these women?

God’s grace is the real rhythm of Matthew 1.

The stories of these four women remarkably interspersed in this genealogy of Jesus, (as well as of the men), are stories of the grace of God permeating the lives of flawed people, people God chooses to be part of his family tree. Why? Because God’s grace is evident in brokenness, in dysfunction, in pain, in being outside, in ‘having a past’, in knowing you’re undeserving.

Jesus’ family tree looks like mine—and yours—filled with disreputable and embarrassing relatives. In the stories of these Matthew 1 names we see the rich display of God’s grace.

When I trace my line back to Jesus this Advent, when I look at my story, what will I see? It cannot be just the flaws—though they are numerous and glaring. Will I see what the holy grace of God has done and is doing creating an everlasting heritage in my life?

You and I, we can be a part of God’s cosmic genealogy of grace: women and men, all flawed and broken, liars and cheats, pious and self-righteous; but loved, always loved, everlastingly and gloriously loved and saved through Jesus—this baby—this man—this Savior—this coming King.

Wendy Jones Convention of Atlantic Baptist Churches

a closetful of skeletons God works through our brokenness, amidst the dust and despair of the everyday. Without justifying it, he enters in and rights the results of our wrongdoing, softens our stubbornness, untangles our failures, mistakes and willful sins. His grace is supreme; it stands “greater than all our sins.” “Where sin abounded, there did grace much more abound” (Rom 5:20).

Jesus is the “Friend of Sinners.” But I wonder sometimes if we’ve not tried to make and pattern our churches into the image of the Pharisees rather than into the image of God, who brings us back once more as true, whole and rightful bearers of the imago Dei. Beyond the pharisaical, condemning attitudes of some, Jesus is to be known as the “friend of sinners”.

Christmas reminds us that our Savior had a very earthy pedigree.

You know, of course, that there were skeletons in his closet? You can read of them in the otherwise lengthy, boring genealogy that begins Matthew’s Gospel. You will remember the stories of four unlikely women in the Old Testament. Tamar seduced her own father-in-law, Rahab was a career harlot, Ruth was a foreigner, and Bathsheba became King David’s fetish. All of them were unclean or unwelcome in some way, by the clear Old Testament standards for God’s people. And it’s not that the women were exclusively to blame, for the men involved in these stories generally played their own mad, stupid role in the infamy of their circumstances.

Think of it: even in Jesus’ earthly history, he who was without sin, descended (“according to the flesh”) through the impure line and humanity that we share. To be kept sinless, the Lamb, in a miracle of God’s work through the human vessel that was Mary’s young life, is preserved perfectly spotless.

There was dust in the manger, perhaps dankness too in the dark cave of Bethlehem’s night. And the place where oxen lay and cattle

DECEMBER 5 fed (the word “manger” comes from the French “to eat”) is the place where God entered human history, making possible his saving and sustaining entrance into our lives. “God contracted in a span” is one thing; the Holy One lying in unsterile swaddling bands, breathing right straw-y air, is quite another.

Luther used to say “Sin boldly!” not because he wanted to encourage people to sin, but to encourage them to get up out of bed each morning and get on with their day, not fearing that they might make some mistake bigger than our gracious God’s ability to forgive. Luther longed for believers to trust Jesus’ unchallenged capacity to fix broken situations and make all things new. Where he wills and where we confess and try to make right, he brings the snowballing effect of sin to a dead stop.

Any one person, any couple, any family can inaugurate a godly dynasty, becoming the first in their lineage to love and serve the Lord. And where we fail to do that, God is not stymied but starts (maybe precisely then and there) to protect and change for the best the otherwise damning affects of the Fall.

Skeletons in your closet? Me too. Dirt, dust, despair? Brokenness, bent-ness, bitterness? But, as Corrie Ten Boom used to say, “There is no pit so deep that God’s love is not deeper still.”

O God who knows the worst about us but loves us still, help us to see that there is nothing that can separate us from your love. You understand our frail humanity, having entered into it in Christ, and you can bring new starts, cleansing and release through the One who has shared all there is to know about us, yet was without sin. Amen.

Laurie Barber Canadian Baptists of Ontario and Quebec

the journey of incarnation In his letter to the Philippians, the apostle Paul quotes the poetic words of an early Christian hymn (Phil 2:6-11). It describes a remarkable downward journey, in which Christ relinquishes whatever benefits and privileges belong to him, so that he may enter the world of our ordinary human lives.

The journey involves both servanthood and obedience. Jesus commences life in his mother’s womb. He is born among animals in a stable. He grows through childhood. He enters the awkwardness of adolescence. He becomes an itinerant Jewish rabbi, dependent on the hospitality of others.

The journey, for Jesus, is one of self-emptying (kenosis). He leaves his place in heavenly glory so that he may fully embrace the life of humanity and fully identify with us.

This downward movement seems quite strange to us. We learn from an early age to reach and grasp, acquire and accumulate. We honour those who have climbed their way from rags to riches. Yet here is one who left unfathomable riches in order to come and be among us.

The journey culminates with Jesus’ humiliating rejection: he dies upon a cross. Here, the journey seems to grind to a halt. We are left to ponder just how far Christ dares to go to convey God’s love and grace.

Artists have sometimes portrayed the cradle of Jesus’ birth in the shadow of a cross. This is where the miracle of the incarnation leads. Jesus empties himself of divine privilege to become one with us in every way, including our experience of poverty, vulnerability, loneliness, suffering and even death.

DECEMBER 6 Jesus reveals a God who is not content to remain distant, immovable and aloof. Here is God with us in joy and in sorrow; in the wonder of birth, in the final breath of life, and everywhere in between.

Wherever you are this day—whether reading comfortably in your home with a cup of coffee by your side, or holding a loved one’s hand in a hospital emergency room, or shivering in the cold, seeking shelter—know that Christ has embarked on this journey of incarnation to be with you.

It is a journey motivated by love. The unfathomable love that resides in the heart of God has set out to find a home in the hearts of God’s people here on earth.

Yet the journey does not end with death, as this Christian hymn declares. Because of Jesus’ obedience, God raised and exalted him and gave him “the name that is above every name,” so that “at the name of Jesus, every knee should bend” and “every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”

So the downward journey actually leads to a reverse trajectory. The way of humility ultimately (and paradoxically) becomes the way to heavenly glory. In the second century, St. Irenaeus wrote, “our Lord Jesus Christ, through His transcendent love, became what we are, that He might bring us to be even what He is Himself.”

When we follow Jesus on his journey of love, relinquishing our rights and privileges, and entering the depths of life with others, we too discover the reality of eternal life with God. Paul Matheson First Baptist Church Saskatoon, Saskatchewan

guilt-free gifts As our celebrations of the birth of Christ draw near, the stores are filled with toys and books, gadgets and bright lights, ribbons and bows. We are bombarded with messages to “buy more” and “buy now” because we’ve convinced ourselves that happiness comes gift-wrapped. The more, the merrier.

Among Christians, it has become commonplace to bemoan the tidal wave of Christmas commercialism and contrast this with the spiritual significance of Jesus’ birth in poverty and frailty.

We remind ourselves that Christmas is about celebrating God’s unfathomable love for us in giving us his only son, Jesus. But try as we might, consumer pressure makes it difficult to give more than a Sunday morning nod to the true meaning of Christmas before we head back to the mall—at times gleefully, and at times guiltily.

Let’s toss out the guilt over giving gifts at Christmas. Gift giving is an important part of the Christmas tradition. In fact, Christmas only has meaning because of a gift: God freely gave us the gift of Jesus Christ, our Redeemer and Messiah. Heralded by trumpets and angelic throngs, Jesus arrived as the greatest gift in history. Magi spent months and even years searching for the newborn king in order to bequeath their cherished gold, frankincense and myrrh. Their gift-giving was a joyful act of adoration. To impoverished villagers like Joseph and Mary, their royal gifts must have seemed inordinately lavish and overthe-top, until they were understood as an act of worship—rich material gifts that acknowledge a richer spiritual truth.

For us, too, giving gifts can be an act of worship. James writes, “every good gift comes from above.” The abundance we possess

DECEMBER 7 comes from heaven, and we can express gratitude to the Divine Giver through loving gifts to others. Jesus also reminds us that, “as we do to others, we do unto him.” When we give to our friends, family and strangers, we are also giving to Christ.

But there is more. The inner dispositions of love, mercy, overflowing generosity, and considering the needs of others reflect God’s character and give him glory. After all, generosity is one of the fruits of the Spirit, so gift-giving itself can be inspired by God. Can these attributes be exercised without an exchange of material gifts? Certainly! Intangible gifts like spending time together, serving at a local food bank, and writing a heart-felt letter are of inexpressible worth. But tangible gifts can also deeply express our love and care. Our motivations can become warped so that material gifts reflect more about ourselves—our pride, our wealth, our expectations of reciprocity—than the recipient. But if we are motivated to give as an act of worship and out of our desire to be kind and selfless, the actual gift doesn’t matter. The heart and soul behind a gift is what matters, not the substance of it.

This week, as you head into the stores, I pray that the Spirit of Jesus would help you reframe the shopping experience as an act of worship. Whatever and however you give, may you do it abundantly, joyfully, creatively and selflessly, because this is how Jesus has given gifts to us.

Ceal McLean Canadian Baptists of Western Canada

moving heaven and earth “In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.)

And everyone went to their own town to register.” Luke 2:1-3 We have heard these words read aloud each December and seen them enacted countless times as a little boy leads a little girl across the stage, pillow bulging underneath her choir robe, a donkey-shaped broomstick clutched tightly in both hands. The contextual detail of an empire-wide census seems to be little more than a historical footnote in a story that is all about a man, a woman and a baby boy. But to overlook this event would be to miss the work of the main character of the Christmas story—God himself.

According to the prophetic words of Micah 5, the Jewish Messiah would come from Bethlehem, and this was certainly the expectation of the religious leaders that King Herod consulted. The problem, of course, was that Jesus was growing in his mother’s womb in Nazareth, not Bethlehem.

For the prophecy to be fulfilled, Joseph and Mary would have to make a four-day journey to the City of David. And as the pregnancy progressed, I’m sure their readiness to travel declined.

God could have accomplished this movement in various ways, but his chosen method reminds us how sovereign he is. God’s option is a plan in the heart of Caesar Augustus, surely the most powerful man of his day and possibly all human history to that point. To demonstrate his greatness,

DECEMBER 8 Caesar decides to count all the people of his empire. It seems innocent enough, but consider the staggering implications: God steers the world’s most powerful man to enact a massive empire-wide plan simply to get one pregnant mother and her husband from point A to point B. Could this be God’s way of telling us that all the towering power structures of our world are subject to God’s direct guidance (even if they don’t know it), not for their own sake but for the sake of God’s little people? God wields the plans of an entire empire to bless his people. As the author of the Proverbs avers, “In the Lord’s hand the king’s heart is a stream of water that he channels toward all who please him” (Prov 21:1).

What a comfort this truth is to us when circumstances look like they are out of control. We can still trust that God Almighty is in complete control and is using his power for the good of his people. We may not comprehend it in the moment, just as Joseph and a Mary were not expecting extended travel as she neared full-term. But we can find peace knowing that all power and authority in heaven and earth belongs to our God, and he exercises it to bless those he calls sons and daughters.

This Christmas may you be freshly aware that God is the main character of the story, just as he is the main character of your story.

Rusty Hildebrand Immanuel Baptist Church Blind River, Ontario

Rachel weeping for her children During the Christmas season we remember, with real relief, the great wave of mercy which was released over the world with the arrival of the Christ Child. Our liturgical calendar encourages us to pause and wonder that God should extend himself into our lives and reclaim us, when we are too worn and weak to save ourselves. How strange then, that this moment of great joy should be wed to a moment of grim suffering. Though many Protestant churches do not mark the occasion, a few days after Christmas our Orthodox, Catholic, Lutheran, and Episcopalian brothers and sisters remember the “Slaughter of the Innocents.” And so for many Christians in the world, the joy of new birth is mingled with the grief of great loss.

The Christmas story, as it is recorded in Matthew 1 and 2, concludes with an account of a mass killing: “When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi.” True, Jesus was safe. Joseph responded to God’s warning and escaped with his young family into Egypt. But most of the young families in Bethlehem were either not warned or do not heed the warning, and so “A voice is heard in Ramah, / weeping and great mourning, / Rachel weeping for her children / and refusing to be comforted, / because they are no more.” How can we reconcile the terrible disparity between these two events?

The birth of Jesus in Bethlehem would seem to say that God is determined to intervene, to break into this world, and to give us all a chance to be redeemed. The slaughter of the other baby boys in Bethlehem would seem to say that God cannot intervene, that he does not interfere to change the world, and that not all will have a chance to find his comfort.

DECEMBER 9 The juxtaposition is hard to bear, but in this stark contrast lie some of the deepest truths underpinning the Christmas miracle. This account reminds us that Herod is free to behave like a monster.

Like men and women for millennia before and millennia after, he puts his own desires ahead of the needs of others and God does not block his terror. How can He? He made us free to step toward or away from his presence. He will not remove, even from one as horrific as Herod, the free will that makes him, and us, uniquely human. He loves his children, including Herod, too much to make us puppets. So what then is he to do? Since God will not contain us, he gives of himself to let us make a new choice. He comes as baby—a totally different kind of King—in order to draw people to himself by his compassion and love, instead of driving them by fear and terror.

Not that this explanation is sufficient. Why were the other families in Bethlehem not warned? Or if they were warned, why did only Joseph act on the dream he received? What poor comfort would it be to the wailing mothers, if they knew that a savior had come for their nation, when their own sons were already slain? I have no answers to these problems. Similarly, I have no sufficient comfort to offer my own friends, whose children have died suddenly.

But I have learned that I am profoundly wrong if I think that these mothers, these suffering parents, are alone in their agony.

Another weeps with them. Another stays beside them and feels their grief in all its intensity, for he is also grieving the loss of his children. God knows the deep suffering of his world. That is why he decided to come, at last, to try and turn us, free but broken, back toward him.

David Creelman Kennebecasis Baptist Church Rothesay, New Brunswick

he moved into the neighbourhood “Won’t you be my neighbour?”

This isn’t a question we often ask these days, much less sing. Fred Rogers’ iconic theme song is not only quaint but would perhaps even be unwelcome today.

Why? Neighbourhoods are changing. Once defined by the person who lived next door or across the hall in the apartment building, families now cocoon—they keep to themselves. Some are even suspicious of neighbours; our post-9/11 world is less innocent than it used to be. Furthermore, an increasing number of people find community outside of their geographic neighbourhood.

Relationships no longer depend on postal codes. Thanks to social media, social proximity has new meaning.

This makes loving our neighbour more challenging than ever. Yet this is precisely what the church is called to do. Despite the changes neighbourhoods are facing, we are first and foremost called to love the neighbour we chat with while taking the trash to the curb.

Love is, in one respect, irreducibly local. Love is here, now.

We know love is local because God, who is love, also became local. At the centre of our Christmas celebrations lies the mystery of the incarnation, the astonishing reality that God himself, in the person of Jesus of Nazareth, took on flesh, blood, and bone.

He became one of us. God and man, divinity and humanity. Put simply, as Eugene Peterson says in The Message,“he moved into the neighbourhood.” He had an address. He became tired after a hard day’s work. He knew hunger and thirst. Jesus was here.

DECEMBER 10 Jesus is a neighbour to our tears, to our joys, to our troubles, and to our triumphs. And he became our neighbour to reveal what God is like. Astonishingly, when we pay attention to Jesus, we are seeing God in bodily form. Without question, this is beyond our comprehension: the creator of the cosmos lying in a feeding trough, surrounded by livestock. He couldn’t have come closer.

If we want the people on our street to experience Jesus as their neighbour, it will have to begin with us, with those of us who already share Jesus’ presence with one another. If the neighbourhood in which we live lacks neighbourliness, perhaps it’s up to us, the community of Jesus, to create a sense of community. If we want people to welcome Jesus into their lives, perhaps we have to welcome them into ours. The church, after all, is the body of Christ. Though he is no longer physically present in this world, we are his hands, his feet, his eyes and ears. By our witness we demonstrate that Jesus came to bring light into darkness, to bring hope to those who despair, and to bring peace to those in conflict.

As Bill Hybels once said, “The local church is the hope of the world.”

We celebrate Advent in many ways. We light Advent candles. We follow Advent calendars. We have special Advent services and devotions. As we celebrate, may we also invite our neighbours to join us in anticipating the coming of Emmanuel, God with us.

Won’t you be my neighbour? Jesus has already said yes. If want others to know and embrace the swaddled Saviour, may we say likewise.

Derek Melanson Nerepis Baptist Church Nerepis, New Brunswick

Emmanuel, God with us Mention of the name “Emmanuel” at once brings Matthew’s Gospel to mind, with its powerful declaration—repeated three times so that we cannot miss the message—that Jesus is “God with us.” He is, first, the final manifestation of a sign, once promised to a fearful King Ahaz, of how God will save those who call on his name. When regional politics and military defeat threaten God’s chosen people, Isaiah promises the gift of a child whose name means “God is with us” (Isa 7:14). Matthew reminds us that even if this is not the name that Joseph and Mary actually give their son, it nonetheless captures the deepest implications of his birth (Matt 1:23).

Equally familiar is the way in which Matthew concludes his account with Jesus’ promise, “Behold, I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matt 28:20). This assurance is what inspires and sustains the disciples in the mission to all nations that stretches out before them. And it is what makes the community of believers—however small or insignificant— so different from the world around it. “For where two or three are gathered in my name,” Jesus tells us, “there am I in the midst of them” (Matt 18:20).

So just as God promised to be present with his people in the wilderness, and especially in the Temple at Jerusalem, so now God causes his name and his holiness to dwell with us in the person of his risen Son. All that is familiar enough, the subject of a thousand sermons. But we sometimes overlook the fact that this good news is also anchored by another, very specific promise of God’s presence. Jesus’ own story begins with a bride-to-be named Mary, a girl barely out of childhood whose only distinguishing characteristic is a mystical encounter with an angel named Gabriel. “The angel came to her and said,

DECEMBER 11 ‘Greetings, favoured one, the Lord is with you’” (Luke 1:28).

Might not Mary have been frightened simply by the appearance of God’s messenger, especially so as she seems to have been alone at the time? On the contrary, says Luke, Mary is troubled not by the sudden appearance of an angel, but by his words: “‘The Lord is with you.’” Gabriel declares that she has found favour with God, and that God’s favour takes the form of his presence. Just how present God plans to be with her will soon be obvious for all to see, although some (including Joseph) are likely to prefer a less mysterious explanation. Accepting God’s presence puts everything she has at risk. Yet it is a risk she accepts for the sake of his promise.

In one sense, of course, we already know how the story ends: true to what Gabriel has said, the son she bears is called “Son of the Most High,” and the Lord God bestows on him the throne of his ancestor David. But for us, the story is not yet over.

Every Advent we again celebrate the coming of our Lord; every Advent we remember Mary’s trusting courage; every Advent we receive anew the promise of God’s presence in the person of the incarnate Son. He is Emmanuel, “God with us,” not just for Mary, for Matthew and the first disciples, but for us in our day as well. The last line of the well-known Christmas hymn, “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” is the first line of our own journey of faith, a prayer that what proved true in their lives will be our experience as well: “O come to us, abide with us, our Lord Emmanuel!”

Michael P. Knowles McMaster Divinity College Hamilton, Ontario

december loneliness Much has been written about consumerism at Christmas, about how we’ve lost our way as Christians in commemorating Christmas properly. Rodney Clapp makes the point that we should let society carry on with Christmas, and as Christians we ought to commemorate Easter as the central Christian holiday. Thankfully, one of the ways in which we can recapture the true meaning of Christmas is to be diligent about observing Advent, that season in the church year which provides a time of preparation for the coming of Christ.

Often, during the seasons of Advent and Christmas, people work harder at connecting with family and friends and joining in the spirit of joy. Yet we all know that in the seasons where heightened effort is given to connecting with others, there are still people who remain desperately lonely. In fact, studies show that loneliness has doubled since the 1980s. Consider the mother in a care home who wants nothing more than to connect with family; consider the Facebook user who has plenty of “friends” on Facebook but has been lulled into what Shane Hipps calls anonymous intimacy. This anonymous intimacy provides just enough connection to keep us from pursuing real intimacy.

Or consider the pastor who is always with people, yet yearns for those close relationships where depth and closeness have been allowed to take root. Finally, consider the teenager who, at Christmas break, receives no text messages from classmates.

Loneliness is often obvious, often disguised.

Perhaps the way forward is for us to be deliberate in connecting with lonely people however we can over the seasons of Advent and Christmas. This may undoubtedly cause us to go out of our comfort zones and spend time with people with whom

DECEMBER 12 we might not normally associate. So let’s pay attention to people, observing those who may well be dreading the seasons of Advent and Christmas because they only serve to intensify their feelings of loneliness. I would suggest that hospitality would serve us well as we attempt to connect with lonely people. Opening our homes to those that we know may not have family in the area, such as newcomers or people in our churches, neighbourhoods, or work places, helps us add joy to people’s lives. On the other hand, literally going from our homes to other places such as a care home will also help us add joy to other people’s lives. Organizing 10 people to sing Christmas carols at a seniors’ home may not seem like much to us, but may well have profound impact on a lonely person.

These suggestions may feel inauthentic to you. That’s okay. I understand that we don’t always feel like visiting a relative in a care home, or neighbour who doesn’t have any family in town over the holidays. In fact, the dominant culture would have us “be true to ourselves,” and so if we authentically don’t want to do something, we shouldn’t. If you don’t feel like visiting a loved one in a nursing home, you should stay at home and keep your integrity and authenticity intact rather than visit out of obligation. I’m suggesting, with Philip Kenneson, that especially over the seasons of Advent and Christmas we place less value on this sort of integrity and authenticity. Instead, let’s be subversive and give obligation a try. Who knows, we just might spread some joy and cheer in the process.

Mark Doerksen Willowlake Baptist Church Winnipeg, Manitoba

D E CE M B E R 1 3 Dan Steeves, With Fresh and Desperate Urgency, 2000, 44.6 x 60.3cm, intaglio etching www.dansteeves.com Middle Sackville Baptist, Sackville, New Brunswick

Jay McIntyre, photograph jmphotographyonline.ca Spring Garden Baptist Church, Toronto, Ontario

Rose-Marie Goodwin, UNVEILED, 48”x 36”, acrylic on canvas www.rose-marie-paintings.com First Baptist Church, Vancouver, British Columbia

there’s something about Mary In art, Mary is usually depicted as a young beauty draped in blue. Her head is modestly bent and her glowing face holds a demure smile. We see her like this often, so we picture her as such: so serene; so blessed; so easy to brush her off as another quiet figurine in the Christmas story. God’s saccharine-sweet vessel to earth. But, what if Mary is more than the quiet saint on our stained-glass windows? What if Christ invites us to make room in our Advent preparations for his Mom? Can you imagine the girl that the angel visited? She’s twelve years old, or maybe thirteen. She is living the life of a young Jewish girl of her time. She is pledged to be married to Joseph. And she is understandably scared out of her mind to see an other-worldly creature in front of her. As the angel speaks, she finds herself to be pregnant and understands that this will bring disgrace upon herself and Joseph.

Her world has been turned upside-down.

How often do we crumble when the ground under our feet shifts? How often do we keep ourselves up at night with fear and anxiety, wondering where to turn for deliverance? How often do we lose our patience in the face of minor trials?

How often do we run ourselves ragged trying to control everything? How often do we trust ourselves too much and our God too little?

So what does Mary do? What does that scared little girl do when her world has been turned upside-down? She listens.

She accepts. She consents. She makes room for God to bless her. “Behold the maidservant of the Lord! Let it be to me

DECEMBER 14 according to your word” (Luke 1:38). Mary’s response is powerful and world-altering. She chose to listen to the words the angel spoke as he blessed her with comfort and favour (Luke 1:28). She accepted the role that God extended to her.

She consented to God’s will manifesting itself in her day-today life, and she made space in her life—and in her womb —for God to enter.

The Christmas story is dependent on Mary’s reaction to fear and uncertainty. It is dependent on her grace under adversity.

It is dependent on her labour pains. It is dependent on her dedication to mother a little boy into adulthood.

Advent calls upon real life people. It calls upon people who are scared and overwhelmed and uncertain. It calls upon us to focus on his calling and listen for God’s words of love and encouragement. It invites us to make room for God. God doesn’t require us to prepare ourselves so that we may enter into Advent. We will never be able to prepare ourselves alone. He asks us to come as we are as he presents himself to us. He wants us to prepare room for the babe in swaddling cloths. How will you choose to react to him?

There’s something about Mary—something we shouldn’t miss as we prepare our hearts for the coming King.

Laura O’Rourke West End Baptist Church Halifax, Nova Scotia

from anticipating a wedding to anticipating the birth of God As I enter into the final week before my wedding, my thoughts are easily distracted by the seismic life change I am about to make. The whole season of engagement has been particularly thought-consuming: Where will we live? How will we integrate our lives together? Or the less profound: pink or yellow flowers? This week seems so full - like there is nothing else that can possibly fit into it.

I can’t help but wonder how the young bride-to-be, Mary, would have felt leading up to her wedding to Joseph. Surely she must have been wrestling with a myriad of preoccupations as she anticipated her big day, perhaps all the more because money was tight. Surely, her mind must have been full.

But then God interjects a major twist in her plotline that the rest of us can hardly imagine. No longer could Mary merely anticipate being a bride, she had to face a much bigger expectancy: birthing the Son of God from her virgin body.

I can get flustered by having to amend a seating chart, but Mary wasn’t “too full” to have her whole life re-directed by God. The news of this unexpected pregnancy shook her, but did not elicit rejection. In the end, Scripture tells us that she “treasured these things in her heart” (Luke 2:19).

Meanwhile, it’s quite extraordinary to imagine Joseph, “a righteous man” expecting union with his virgin bride, suddenly finding out that his fiancée was with child. Joseph displays comparable faith by allowing his expectations to be

DECEMBER 15

re-oriented, obediently taking the pregnant Mary home as his wife despite a severe cultural taboo.

We don’t know what twists and turns God is going to interject into our own stories, but we can remain confident that he knows the plans he has for us, and they are good.

Through his faithful, flexible servants Mary and Joseph he sent the Saviour of the world to dwell among us.

How much more calm and unfretful would we be if, like Mary and Joseph, we lived our lives with awareness of God’s great plan at work over our little stories? Would I really worry about the weather on my wedding day, or would my focus shift to becoming a radiant servant for my Lord?

Mary understood that her preparations for being the bride of Joseph paled in comparison to her preparations for being the bride of Christ.

This Advent, let us remember to glorify and rejoice in our Saviour, no matter how life-altering or overwhelming the twists in our personal stories. May we never allow our lives to become “too full” for him. Instead, let us respond as Mary did, “I am the Lord’s servant… may it be to me as you have said” (Luke 1:38).

Kelsey Martin Canadian Baptists of Ontario and Quebec

Mary was greatly troubled at his words In the story of the Annunciation, Mary’s faithful reply, “Let it be unto me, according to your word,” has long been heralded as the epitome of trusting God. Without any real understanding of what the Lord is asking of her, Mary nevertheless gives unequivocal consent to God’s action in her life. But it is good to keep in mind that this wasn’t her first response. Before she was able to find such faith within herself, Mary, like all of us, first had to work through her initial fears.

DECEMBER 16 Mary was not only troubled by what she didn’t understand, but “greatly troubled,” as Luke expresses it (Luke 1:29).

Her body language, so lyrically expressed in Alessandro Botticelli’s 15th century painting (left), reflects something of the apprehension Mary likely felt. There was too much coming at her and she wanted nothing more than to stand back from it all, to hold it at bay.

We too can recognize similar times in our lives—times when we can’t control what is about to happen. We just want everything to stop. Like a child who is attempting to go down a very high slide for the first time, we brace ourselves against the sides, unsure if we really want to let ourselves go.

Like any of us in such fearful situations, Mary’s first instinct was to put the brakes on life.

Seeing her obvious apprehension, the angel assures Mary, “Do not be afraid,” and then announces that she will soon give birth to a child who will be called the Son of the Most High.

This might not have been the most consoling information to add, but it did allow Mary time to compose herself.

Mary’s next response is familiar to us in how we too deal with our fears—she wants to reason with God. She asks, “How will this be, since I am a virgin?” It’s a fair question and one that we could see ourselves asking as well. “Help me understand so that I can believe.” But unfortunately, faith works the other way around—it is only through believing that we come to understand. We can learn all we want about the faithfulness of God, but it is only by putting that theory to the test that

Mary was greatly troubled at his words we will ever experience just how faithful God really is.

The angel goes on to shed some more light for Mary. He speaks to her not only of her own destiny but also that of her cousin Elizabeth, who, though barren, has conceived a child.

At this point, Mary is more reconciled to the idea of trusting God. She has moved from a troubled spirit, to reasoning with God, and finally to a more faith-filled acceptance of God’s word. “I am the Lord’s servant,” she answers, “Let it be unto me, according to your word.” In other words, “I accept that You know better than I do what You are asking of me.

And I am prepared to trust Your judgment more than my own fears.” Isn’t this all God is asking from any of us?

The rest, as they say, is history. God honours Mary as blessed among women simply because Mary has honoured God with her unequivocal trust. This, it would seem, is what the Lord looks for in us as well. And if we don’t get stuck at either the fear or the reasoning stage of things, this is the type of faith that we too can hope to end up with.

Mary’s words, “Let it be unto me, according to your word” do express something of a perfect posture of faith. But let us also remember that even Mary, the mother of Jesus, had to first work through her initial fears before she could get to that place of unequivocally trusting God’s ways with her.

Rob Des Cotes Imago Dei Community www.imagodeicommunity.ca Vancouver, British Columbia

Lord Jesus Christ, Your first disciples heard, saw, and touched you. They concluded that you are the very life—the essence—of God. You are eternal life. Yet they never forgot this crucial fact: you are also flesh and blood.

Too easily we lose touch with this reality. Too easily you become a pious name, an abstract idea, a theological term.

Too often we talk about you as if you are not present with us. (But though we cannot see you with our eyes, you are near.) Lord, have mercy on us, sinners.

Grant us, Lord Jesus, during this Advent season, the grace to contemplate you as the Incarnate One. In you, there is no darkness, no sin, no loneliness. You are light.

As we contemplate you, O God-made-flesh, form in us that same integrity. Amen.

Alvin S. B. Ung

the incarnation of irony irony noun \ˈī-rə-nē also ˈī(-ə)r-nē\ 1. a situation that is strange or funny because things happen in a way that seems to be the opposite of what you expected 2. incongruity between the actual result of a sequence of events and the normal or expected result Irony is the great tool of the storyteller and a pattern of speech regularly used by Jesus. In the telling of the story of Jesus’ birth, Luke uses irony to drive home the point that God is in the habit of fashioning circumstances that are not only unexpected, but both improbable and impossible. The improbability that a woman beyond the years of fertility becomes pregnant is thus, by circumstance, knitted into the story of a virgin, impossibly found to be with child. The irony is that two women unexpected to be are suddenly expecting.

Perhaps it was because of the news that Elizabeth, against all probability, was pregnant that Mary, pregnant against all possibility, went to visit, indeed stay three months with her cousin. More than an escape from the shame, it may be that Mary sought out Elizabeth for the sympathy and acceptance she would find in one who, like her, was caught up in a joyfully mysterious irony. But what is most remarkable about their common ironic circumstance is the mutual humility that is found in each other’s expression of awe at the grace of God’s choice of them.

Elizabeth: “This is what the Lord has done for me when he looked favourably on me and took away the disgrace I have endured among my people” (Luke 1:25).

DECEMBER 17 Mary: “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour, for he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant” (Luke 1:47-48).

Another irony: pregnancy for Elizabeth in her old age removed the disgrace she had endured in her community while pregnancy for Mary, most likely a young teenager, would, in all probability, result in disgrace within her own community.

The whole story of Jesus’ birth in both Luke’s and Matthew’s writing of it is chock full of irony. God, in both stories, pulls off many miraculous feats. But if it wasn’t obvious to us before, it should be evident to us now that irony is central to the very concept of miracle: “a situation that is strange or humourous because things happen in a way that seems opposite to the way one would expect.”

These ironic events of Mary’s and Elizabeth’s pregnancies, as a preamble to the main event, should tip us off to the fact that being a follower of Jesus will mean not only that we recognize the irony that often defines our life experiences, but will require us to expect the unexpected. Jesus would often admonish his followers with the words, “Why did you not have faith?” But perhaps what he was really saying was, “Why do you find it so hard to expect the unexpected?” Would that the irony found in the detail in this story of Jesus’ birth, make us followers who expect the unexpected —the improbable and the impossible in the experience of our daily lives.

Tim Colborne Broadmoor Baptist Church Richmond, British Columbia

nativity scenes You won’t find many icons or statues in our home, but we do have a soft spot for nativity scenes from cultures around the world.

Regardless of their country of origin, nativity scenes are surprisingly similar. The shepherds, wise men and parents are always there, the baby front and centre, the animals and angels less conspicuous. The variety of figures is robust, yet they are united, gathered around the Child.

In the biblical accounts, only Matthew mentions the Magi while only Luke discusses the shepherds. Based on Herod’s horrendous homicidal edict, there may have been a two-year gap between their respective arrivals before the young Jesus.

So, it is unlikely that all these characters shared the same stage in history as they do in living rooms, churches, front lawns, and greeting cards today. But this is one instance where I don’t mind biblical inaccuracy, because it communicates (perhaps unintentionally) something very remarkably true: Jesus came for all and unites all.

Even Simeon in the temple—the most Jewish of Jewish places—knew that Messiah’s mercy would extend beyond Israel’s borders. In Luke 2:32, he heralds Jesus as “a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.”

So, if there’s something a bit wrong with traditional nativity scenes there’s also something strikingly right: they’re inclusive.

In the end, everyone converges before the Christ: simple, smelly Semitic shepherds next to proud Persian princes, domestic creatures with divine cherubs, the natural with the supernatural, the poor with the rich, Jews with Gentiles,

DECEMBER 18 heaven with earth, the most human with the Most High, the made with the Unmade. All crowd round, comfortable with one another, caught up with Jesus.

What about our ongoing nativity scenes—our gatherings to celebrate Christ’s coming this season? If we believe Jesus dissolves distinctions, if he has brought everything in the cosmos back to God and back together, if before his cradle and cross we are one, then let’s try to make our nativity scenes as gloriously diverse as the first one.

Before we make New Year’s resolutions, let’s make a last one for 2013. Before the year ends, let’s pray and purpose to host and be hosted by people who are totally different from ourselves (other than our in-laws!). Let’s consider people who are economically, religiously, generationally, ethnically, culturally, mentally, physically, morally different. Let’s remember those who are alone, especially newcomers.

For many, Christmas can be the loneliest time of year. How tragic! Let’s take a small step to thaw the isolation so many people experience in December. May our dinners be colourful and diverse. May we treasure those we meet with this month as much as we treasure the characters in that first Christmas scene. Most of all, I pray that he will be present again, perhaps silently in the centre of our nativity gatherings, but no less miraculously in our midst.

Paul Carline Convention of Atlantic Baptist Churches

life beyond the routine After everything Joseph and Mary had been through to get to the temple and present their infant son, God had even more in store for them. There had already been miracles, strange dreams, angelic visitations and heavenly choirs along the way, just as there had also been public shame, rejection, mystery, doubt and confusion and the pain of childbirth without anesthetics.

It had been an arrival unlike any other in history. And just one month later, the holy family made their way to Jerusalem to offer the customary purification sacrifice. Bethlehem was behind them now and they dreamed of a quiet, country life in Nazareth. The baby ate, slept and pooped like any other infant, whimpered when he was tired, and wailed furiously at his circumcision. The dramatic visions of the previous months were fading as step by step, they made their way toward a new normal.

Part of that normal was dedicating their first-born son to God in the temple with what meager means they had. They could afford a couple of pigeons or doves—a humble offering compared to an unblemished lamb. But after all, this child would grow up as a lowly carpenter’s son with no special treatment. Two birds would suffice. But the unseen irony was that in this precise moment, God had indeed provided the spotless lamb in the temple, and not merely for a child’s purification but for the purification of the whole world.

DECEMBER 19 Two people in the temple that day were given insight to see much more than a normal family fulfilling a Jewish custom.

God stirred Anna and Simeon to remind and confirm the call upon Joseph and Mary’s life to be family to the Son of God. The insight of these long-suffering saints became a divine gift for Mary and to Joseph at the very time their life was returning to the mundane. The burden of responsibility did not rest upon Mary and Joseph’s shoulders alone, but others anointed by God’s spirit would recognize this infant Messiah and declare his identity. In the years that followed, they might wonder how this boy playing in the sawdust by Joseph’s feet could be anything more than their son, but God would continue to remind them of his origin and destiny.

Jesus would never be theirs alone, but would be “a light for the Gentiles and the redemption of Israel” (Luke 2:32). The journey would not be easy but God would walk with them and send people like Simeon and Anna to support them and celebrate what God would do through his son.

God has placed a calling on each one of us, but sometimes we lose sight of our journey under the drudgery and routine of everyday life. Stay alert! Watch for the people God sends who remind you of your unique gifts and the purpose to which you have been called. And in all things, give thanks for the community of faith Jesus has given us that offers support and encouragement as we walk out the calling we have received—even when life threatens to become routine.

Faye Reynolds Canadian Baptists of Western Canada

the cosmic battle As you begin this reflection, I invite you to start by reading Revelation 12, the most forgotten Christmas passage in Scripture.

Mary, Joseph, the shepherds and the magi were not the only ones to witness the newborn King. A dragon also saw him coming. He has seven heads—a symbol of completeness and authority. He also has ten horns—a reference to immense strength. As Martin Luther wrote, “on earth is not his equal.”

The dragon recognizes the eternal significance of Christmas and directs his fierce strength to thwart the child’s birth. But he is not successful. His attempt to execute the child through Herod is cut short. The baby is born safely and “caught up to God and to his throne” (Rev 12:5). John moves right from incarnation to ascension. This child is born to be the King of the world.

In the next moment, we see war breaking out in heaven (12:7).

It’s a cosmic struggle between the dragon and the archangel Michael. In the end, the great war of the universe is a victory for God’s people—but how was it won? That is the whole point of the vision of Revelation 12!

The great war is won, surprisingly, on Christmas Day. A child shivers in the cold air of a Bethlehem night, and Satan shudders in defeat. Because the child was born, “the accuser of our brothers and sisters has been thrown down” (12:10). In this chapter, John speaks of the dragon being “thrown down” on six separate occasions; he seems to relish announcing the good news. The dragon has been vanquished because the woman gave birth to the child.

DECEMBER 20 Then why are things so bad? This is the pastoral reason for this vision. Things are bad because the dragon is “ticked.” He is angry because he has been thrown down never to return to heaven. He knows that the time is short. It is why he is so active; he is going to get as much dirty work done as he can.

The suffering of the church in the world is not a sign of Satan’s victory. It is a sign of the realization of his defeat. If he cannot kill the child, he goes after what is dearest to the child. He goes after the woman (12:13) and he also goes after the people of God—those who “keep the commandments of God and hold to the testimony of Jesus” (12:17).

In Revelation 12, we learn that the dragon in his rage goes after God’s people in three ways. First, John calls the dragon “the accuser of the brothers and sisters.” The Hebrew word “Satan” means “accuser.” The dragon hassles God’s people through the constant engendering of guilt. He slanders them before God and before others, saying they are not worthy of God’s love because of their sin. This warns me about getting caught up in accusation—it’s playing into the dragon’s game.

Second, John says the dragon “deceives the whole world” (12:9). It is a character issue for the dragon; he is fundamentally deceived and deceiving. He is deceived about his place in the universe and he tries to deceive us by tempting us to be God. He constantly plays games with the truth. This warns me about getting caught up in any deception, however small.

Third, the dragon seeks to kill. That is why he is red, the colour of blood. The dragon intimidates with the threat of death. He

the cosmic battle whispers: “If you obey Jesus you are going to suffer; if you obey Jesus you are going to die.” Because of the fear of death we are tempted to back off and compromise our convictions.

The torrent of lies and threats streaming from the dragon’s mouth is a counter-image to the ‘river of life’ flowing from the throne of God. But how do we stand against the dragon’s flood? The loud voice in heaven instructs us: “They overcame him because of the blood of the Lamb” (12:11).

You see, the dragon is right: we are sinners. But he is also wrong: that is not the whole story. There is a Savior who deals with sin.

When the enemy whispers accusations to us, we overcome him by confessing our sin: “You are right. I have sinned.” And then by preaching the gospel to him and to ourselves, “But Jesus Christ has died for me.” So dragon, get out of here!

As Eugene Peterson observes, Revelation 12 is not the Christmas story we grew up with, but it is the nativity story all the same. Because the dragon has been defeated, the peace, hope and love we sing about during this season are not merely faint aspirations, but a concrete reality of cosmic proportions.

Darrell Johnson First Baptist Church Vancouver, British Columbia

And though this world, with devils filled, Should threaten to undo us, We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us.

The prince of darkness grim, We tremble not for him; His rage we can endure, For lo, his doom is sure: One little word shall fell him.

Martin Luther

the holy refugees I treasure the Christmas cards we receive each year from friends and family. But the images on these greeting cards fail to convey the chaos that actually surrounds Jesus’ birth, where a despot’s violent rule sets off a chain of events that forced the flight of the holy family to Egypt.

Matthew 2 opens with the arrival of Magi. The identity of these wise men from the east is enigmatic and mysterious. We surmise that they were astrologers who shared the common belief that a new star signaled the birth of an important leader.

They followed the star’s leading across the border of the Roman Empire to the kingdom of Judea. Once there, they concluded that the future leader had been born in Herod’s palace in Jerusalem. Where else would a prince be found?

Herod the Great was an erratic and abusive dictator. He eliminated opponents and competitors. Several wives and sons had been included on his death list. Word from the Magi of another king on his turf was deeply troubling, so he called a meeting of religious leaders to probe for clues from messianic prophecies. Then he faked piety in an attempt to gain the collaboration of his foreign guests.

As we know, the Magi eventually arrive in Bethlehem and impart their royal gifts, but the story moves quickly past their adoration. We are soon shocked by the flight of Joseph and his family across the desert to Egypt. The anger of Herod results in a brutal massacre of children under the age of two in the area of Bethlehem. Consider the suffering of Mary, Joseph and the infant Jesus through this sudden displacement, and their grief over the infanticide in Judea. The anguish of the parents

DECEMBER 21 and desire for justice is also part of the Christmas story. After the death of Herod the Great, the holy family finally attempts to return home. However, they are warned not to settle in Bethlehem. Judea is not safe under the rule of Herod’s son Archelaus.

The whole narrative is bathed in elements of mystery, grace, duplicity, state terrorism and painful suffering. But the scripture passage asserts that God does not abandon the world because of its evil. This is made clear through the recurring theme of the fulfillment of prophecy and the dreams that provide direction in key moments. God is active to bring salvation to his people.

No human power, however evil, will thwart the intentions of his love.

I teach a course in Winnipeg on Jesus and the kingdom of God. The students are all refugees from Africa. We discussed the gospel account of the wise men and the flight to Egypt in one of our classes. They compared the experience of Jesus with their own stories of fear, violence, night journeys, trauma, and suffering. They also bore witness to God’s providential care and protection in times of danger and deprivation.

Allow me to suggest that you share an Advent meal with a refugee family this year. Honor your guests by allowing them to tell their story. Then celebrate together the birth and life of the child who was named Emmanuel—God with us, no matter how chaotic life becomes.

Gordon King Canadian Baptist Ministries

torn strips of cloth “She gave birth to her first child, a son. She wrapped him snugly in strips of cloth and laid him in a manger, because there was no lodging available for them.” Luke 2:7 An Advent tradition of our family has been tearing rags for our Christmas tree. Years ago, we were struck by the image of Mary tearing strips of cloth to wrap her newborn baby. So we tore strips from a piece of old unbleached cotton and tied them like ribbon to our Christmas tree. Each year since, we continue to tie a few torn strips onto our tree as a reminder of the poverty and weakness within the story of Christmas. Long before the Magi arrived with their kingly gifts, there was a humble man walking beside his young bride riding on a donkey. Weary and tired, they prepared to receive the Son of God in a cold, harsh cave. All they had to clothe him in were rags. The God of the Universe was wrapped in rags.

Serving with Canadian Baptist Ministries in Africa, other aspects of the Gospel story have struck us more profoundly over the past seven years. Every day, we meet displaced families who are living in exile. Their stories are not unlike Joseph and Mary’s, who fled the threat of Herod to become refugees in Eygpt. What were those years like for them, struggling to survive in a land not their own?

This Christmas, life in the refugee community of Eastleigh, a suburb of Nairobi, Kenya, will carry on as any other day. Mothers will rise early to turn a few handfuls of flour into a breakfast of chapatti or anjera. Water will be gathered for washing. And before the sun has risen, men and women alike will kneel to the ground to pray. We often ask our Somali friends what they pray for and how we can pray for them. There are several repeated themes:

DECEMBER 22 “Everyday I pray for peace to come.”

“I pray for my children to go to school.”

“I pray that I will see my husband again.”

“I pray that my family will be healthy and safe.”

“I pray for a better life than this.”

“Sometimes, I cannot pray but only cry.”

We are reminded at Christmas that God’s heart is tender toward the poor and the oppressed. We worship a God who compassionately identifies himself with the poor.

Poverty takes on many faces in our world. In Eastleigh, poverty means not having official legal status; it means living in fear of harassment and abuse; it means not having a job; it means having to make a choice between food or medicine; it means seeing your family and neighbours turn to addictions to cope with despair; it means a parent having to decide which child gets to attend school and potentially find a way out of the slum, and by default which children will not have this hope.

It is a wonder how Jesus takes our rags upon himself and transforms them. The dark cattle stall becomes the nativity, a few dry loaves and fishes grow into a feast, and each of our broken lives shine as a picture of grace and mercy at work in the world. We pray that you would experience the joy and richness of Christ’s presence this Christmas, and that the whole world would be blessed as we receive Jesus and wrap the rags of our lives tightly around him.

Aaron and Erica Kenny Canadian Baptist Ministries, Kenya

a very special visitor My earliest memories of Christmas are of helping my mother set up our silver Christmas tree in the living room, installing a multicoloured light projector next to it, and seeing gifts of all sizes and shapes appear under the tree as “the Night” drew close. A nativity scene found its place in the centre of it all, reminding us of “the reason for the season”. But the adults, unfortunately, didn’t talk much about the Child under the tree, either between themselves or with us. But when I looked at the nativity set, I was curious about the attention each the figurines—Mary, Joseph, the Magi, even the animals—seemed to be giving to that Child.

It took me 22 years to fully grasp who this Child was: a Very Special Visitor. When his true identity finally did sink in, it deeply changed the course of my life. One of the early Church Fathers, Eusebius, a bishop of Caesarea in the 4th century, described the identity of this Visitor according to three key “offices”: prophet, priest and king.

Prophet. Moses informed Israel that God would send someone who would speak God’s words: “The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among your own brothers. You must listen to him” (Deut. 18.15). As prophet, Christ acted as God’s mouthpiece (Heb. 1:1-2). He was sent to “tell us all things” (John 4:35), and to reveal God himself, more fully than anybody had done before.

When I was 14, my paternal grandmother gave me a Bible as a Christmas gift. At the time, I didn’t quite appreciate that gift.

But I kept it, and six years later, I took it out of my bookshelf and started reading it. For the first time in my life, I gained a clear picture of who God truly was and why I was brought into this world. I discovered the Living Word in the written Word.

DECEMBER 23 The words of the prophet became real for the first time and they deeply transformed me. Is there anyone close to you who doesn’t have a copy of the Word of God? How about giving them one this Christmas?

Priest. It was revealed to King David that this Visitor would act as a priest: “You are a priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek” (Ps. 110:4). As priest, he would represent people before God. He would do it by propitiation (1 John 2:1-2) and intercession (John 17). Although I grew up in a Christian tradition where human priests played a critical role, I soon realised that this Child would be uniquely qualified to intercede perfectly for me before God, because he was the only one who was “able to save completely those who come to God through him, because he always lives to intercede for them” (Heb 7:25). His prayers are always granted.

King. Zechariah 6:13 reveals another side to this Special Visitor: “He will be clothed with majesty and will sit and rule on his throne. And he will be a priest on his throne. And there will be harmony between the two.” Because He reigns over all creation, because all authority in heaven and on earth has been given to him, and because he sustains everything by his powerful word (Heb 1:3), I need not fear anything or anyone at all. The peace of Christmas can be mine every day of the year… and till the end of days.

Welcome, Jesus!

Stéphane Couture Pastor, Église évangélique baptiste Renaissance, Quebec City Director of Human Resources, French Baptist Union

interview with a child This year, we interviewed a bright and joyful nine-year-old girl, T.B., about the meaning of Christmas. Here’s what she had to say in conversation with LeQuita H. Porter, Pastor at East Preston United Baptist Church in Nova Scotia.

Pastor Porter began by reading the Christmas story as told in Luke 2:1-15.

LHP: What do you think about that story?

TB: It reminds me about how God gave his only son to us at Christmas.

LHP: When you say “us”, who are you referring to?

TB: Everybody in the world!

LHP: And what does that mean to you?

TB: It means that God cared a lot, a lot, a lot, a whole lot for us!

LHP: When you think of Christmas, what else comes to mind?

TB: My Nanny [Grandmother] told me that when my Mom and my Uncle were kids they got chocolate calendars—but my uncle, once he got home, would open up all the chocolates and eat them all up in one day, but my Mommy would gently take out one chocolate a day from the calendar. And now my Nanny does the same for me.

DECEMBER 24 LHP: It sounds like for the whole month of December you are pretty excited about Christmas. Is that true?

TB: Yes! LHP: And what else do you think of when you think about the days leading up to Christmas?

TB: I’m thinking, “Oh my, what will I give to my family this year?” And I also think about why God would give his Son to us—and I think there’s only one reason—and that is because God really loves us.

LHP: Have you ever thought about what that would mean to God? TB: Yes…that would be hard to do. My Mommy would never give me away or my brother away. And whoever would want to take him [my brother] would have to come through me with a sword! (laughter) LHP: So what happens when Christmas day comes?

TB: Well my Nanny has this little manger with all of the animals set up and then on Christmas Day we put Jesus in the manger, because that is when he was born and he is not there before Christmas Day.

interview with a child …When I wake up on Christmas Day, I call, “Daddy! Daddy!” and I go to his room and say “Daddy!” Then I rush to the room where the presents are and I have to wait for him because he takes so long. And I make sure he has things in his stocking just like me!

LHP: Oh that’s nice. What kinds of gifts do you like the best?

TB: Homemade…that’s what I like the best. They need to put a lot of thought into things too.

LHP: So is the thought that goes into making a gift a part of the gift too?

TB: Yes, I think it is!

LHP: Ok, what about with Jesus…

TB interrupts: …God had to give a lot of thought into giving us Jesus. Because I think God has so many little hearts for each one of us, and then he has one great big heart that is for all of us. Each one of us fits into one of those little hearts (motions with her hands to show how it works). And then there is one big heart with every one of us in it. ...I think some people—at least 200 people, that’s my lowest number, and my highest is everybody in the world—I think most people should know the true meaning of Christmas, because God gave it to us.

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