The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.
“O Little Town of Bethlehem” by Phillips Brooks, 1868
There could be no greater hope for a world trembling in darkness than that the great Light of World would rise from his throne from which he governs the universe, dress himself in flesh, take on a nature like our own, and enter our world with the goal of breaching the mile-thick wall that mankind built to keep God out of our kingdom of shadows.
But there was more than merely hope that lay in an animal trough in a small town called Bethlehem that night the angels appeared to startled shepherds and announced the birth of a Savior, their Messiah and Lord. Something capable of instilling a fear deeper and wider than hell itself lay swaddled on top of the straw too. He came to save, yes. But ultimately his salvation would come through utter conquest. As the King of the kingdom of God, Jesus’s entrance onto the stage of history was a declaration of war. His appearance was the announcement that God was about to take back what rightfully belonged to him and to those to whom he’d made his great and precious promises. It was an invasion—an invasion of love personified, yes—but an invasion no less. And to those who love the darkness—those sworn enemies of the kingdom of light—the purity of the love of the Son of God is both detestable and terrifying.
But not only did he come to conquer his enemies. He also came to conquer his dearly beloved people. They, too, stood as guilty rebels, co-conspirators in the plot against the true sovereign over all things. They would only be saved by the utter surrender of their pride and self-reliance and boasting. You come to the King with your hand over your mouth in awe at the depths of your sin and at the even more profound depths of the forgiveness of God, broken by guilt yet in the same moment fused back together by radiant love, utterly brought low yet simultaneously lifted higher than your wildest imagination, or you don’t come at all. God will have you as his son or daughter, but he’ll do so only after he’s retaken his seat on the throne of your heart.
And for those of us who like sitting in the seat that belongs to God alone, the coming into the world of a rival King is a very fearful thing indeed. So while we celebrate the hope that stepped into our world some 2,000 years ago—and may we celebrate that hope with more joy than ever before!—may we also allow ourselves the blessing of feeling how fearful it is when a righteous and holy God draws near to sinful man. And may our trembling be matched with confidence that it is precisely because of his radiant holiness that he drew near in the first place: He came as a man precisely so that as a man he could carry the sin of man and die beneath the fiery wrath of God.
So we tremble and rejoice at the sight of baby Jesus in the manger. He is the embodiment of the hope of all mankind, and he is the embodiment of the fears of all mankind. Whether that draws you to him or causes you to scream out to the mountains to fall on you—well, your willingness to bow the knee and worship will decide.
So along with another Christmas hymn, I, too, invite you to “come! Let us adore him, Christ, the Lord!”
Eric!
You and your words passed through my thoughts this morning and I realized how long it’s been since we’d connected. One sad sense switched to joy! I’m not sure why I haven’t been seeing your posts but here you are! The work you and your wife are doing is nothing short of exquisite! I’m so glad to have reconnected. I could stop right there but also want to share that it was just yesterday I was googling the lyrics to the verses of O Little Town of Bethlehem. Now I realize I may need to go back and reflect on what I wrote in my journal. God never leaves us to work alone, does He. Such a reassurance you have given me this morning. Along with your profound words and message. I’m so glad you continue to be inspired to create amd capture God’s glorious moments and messages and beauty. Continued blessings to you my friend.
Deb
Dear Deb,
It is always a joy to hear from you! I think one reason you haven’t been seeing our posts here is because things have been a little quiet on the ol’ blog for a lot of this year. It wasn’t exactly because of the pandemic, but it sure coincided with it. With such a shake up in our daily rhythms of life, regular posting to the blog got shifted to the back burner. God has continued to condescend and whisper words to this weary writer, but it seems like so few of them lately have made it out my fingertips and onto my computer screen. Perhaps so many of those words have been just for me, and boy, have I needed them. Perhaps lessons learned over this past year will work their way into other writing on into the future. All I can say is that as I look back over these very unusual months and consider how good God has been to me, I am nearly beside myself.
And thank you so much for your encouraging words. To the extent that my scrawl and Laura’s snapshots act as channels through which God’s good grace flows into the lives of others, we will consider all the keystrokes and all the shutter clicks a success. I could be paid no higher compliment.
It is great to be able to keep in touch, Deb.
Grace and peace to you,
Eric
Merry Christmas! The revolution continues. What was common sense is now uncommon sense.
I appreciate your writing and hope you have a blessed New Year.
Thank you, Gregory, for your kind words. Grace and peace to you as we stand on the brink of a new year–another chance, renewed hope–and consider what God might have in store for all of us in 2021. Whatever it is, may you experience the rock-solid hope that Jesus remains faithful to his promises!