Once Upon a Christmas Eve

Merry Christmas to all! 

This little Christmas story is my gift to you. It is based on the old legend that the animals can speak on Christmas Eve, in honour of their witnessing Jesus' birth. 

The photos were taken just the other morning in the woods around our house. 

ONCE upon a Christmas Eve, the woodland creatures began to stir. The forest was dark, save for the patches of light the full moon tossed down through the branches. It seemed quiet enough, but the whispers were growing.
             It began with the mice, drawn into a little clearing by the moon’s glow. One small mouse looked up and sniffed the air. She twitched her nose, and a shiver ran from her whiskers down to the tip of her tail.    

            “It’s here,” she spoke at last.

            “It’s here, it’s here!” A chorus of whispers swept through the clearing. A dozen pairs of tiny eyes shone with the light of this understanding. From the perch of a towering pine, an owl hooted. And the funny thing was, the mice didn’t run for cover. They kept staring skyward, front paws raised in welcome.

            Then the first mouse made a sudden leap in the air and pirouetted into the center of the gathering. The others crept close, trembling with the energy of midnight.

            “It is Christmas Eve,” she said, and a cheer went up from the mice. “This is the one night of the year we are given a voice. This is the one night of the year we may gather without fear, and in unity with all God’s creatures. For we have a story to tell. Just like our voices, this story has been given to us. We cannot help but speak, and we cannot help but tell. For this is a wonder greater than us all.”

            As the mouse spoke, her voice strengthened and rang out like a silver bell in the silent night. As the mouse spoke, the gathering began to grow. The rabbits’ noses appeared first, and one by one they lopped into view. Voles, squirrels and chipmunks followed. Then came the gentle twittering of birds awakening and alighting on the branches of birch and spruce. A pair of skunks flashed into sight, then mink, muskrat and masked raccoon. Two white-tailed deer stepped quietly out of the shadows. They did not so much as blink when the red coat of fox slid past them toward the center of the clearing.

            “Are we all here?” mouse asked, her ears perked and eager. Creatures murmured, turning and looking around them. Where the shadowy branches marked the edge of the moonlight, a silver wolf and sleek black bear took their places. Once again the owl hooted to signal the treetops were filled from raven to wren. The mouse nimbly ascended a moss covered stump. She lifted her paw, and all the creatures fell silent.

            “This is the wonder we gather to remember,” she began. “That on this eve, an age ago, some of our humble kindred witnessed the birth of a miracle. In far Bethlehem, forests away and across the great sea, a boy child was born. He was a creature, like us, and yet he was not a creature. He came by way of the back door, the way the lowliest among us moved, and took up a bed where the animals fed.

            “My own forefathers beheld this child from the nooks and crannies where they hid. And yet they were not hidden from him. In his eyes they recognized the glint of the sun, the glimmer of water, and the gaze of their Maker. The fear that ties our tongues was loosed, and they burst out in a song that seemed to rumble through the whole earth, tumbling out of their mouths and rising to the heavens. Our tamer cousins, ox and donkey, were soon to join their praise, and it wasn’t long before the hillside pastures rippled with worship.

            “That glorious night, we were given a gift. The glimpse of a world made new, of the meeting of heaven and nature, and a taste of the promise that the lion would one day lie down with the lamb. This was the child who would lead them.

            “The Creator has come! This is our story.

            Creation is saved! This is our song.”

            The little mouse’s voice was soon drowned out in a great hoopla of fur and feather as the hushed gathering turned into one prancing, pawing chorus of “Glory to God in the highest!” Even the trees clapped their boughs for joy and the nearby river leapt out of its winter bed in shimmering delight. Overhead, northern lights twirled and crackled, lighting the black sky with streams of brilliant red and green.

            When the voices faded, tears were glistening on the mouse’s whiskers.

            “The Lord is come,” she said at last with great solemnity. “Let earth receive her king. Let all of nature sing. This gift is ours, for one holy night. The story is ours, to spread abroad in field and forest, hill and plain, beneath the ground and beyond the treetops. Let it be told in every burrow and den, every stable and pasture, every attic and secret shelter, and in every nook and cranny. For he came for both great and small.”

            The mouse looked to the bear, who nodded his velvety nose and bowed.

            “This holy night, we have been given peace on earth, and a voice to proclaim it. Tonight, we are all his messengers. Let the story be told!”

            “Let the story be told!” the creatures echoed, and before you could be sure they were even there, they disappeared into the dappled shadows of the woods.

            Where ears were open, the whispers could be heard that night. The ancient story was remembered, and the future foretold. And for the favoured ones, mostly children, the legend came alive and was welcomed with wonder.

* * *

            As the dawn of Christmas Day broke over the frosty forest, a bear slept soundly in his rocky den, an owl dozed in the thick cover of an evergreen, and a little mouse curled her tail over her nose in the warm corner of an old shed. 

          But if you listen very, very closely, perhaps you may still hear the whisper that danced through the woods once upon a Christmas Eve.

~lg

The Very Best Christmas Surprise

T'is the season for secrets, and this poem by George MacDonald got me thinking today about the very holiest of surprises.

"That Holy Thing"

They all were looking for a king
To slay their foes and lift them high:
Thou cam’st, a little baby thing
That made a woman cry.

O Son of Man, to right my lot
Naught but Thy presence can avail;
Yet on the road Thy wheels are not,
Nor on the sea Thy sail!

My how or when Thou wilt not heed,
But come down Thine own secret stair,
That Thou mayst answer all my need—
Yea, every bygone prayer.

* * *

To live in anticipation of a creaking stair, a door opening, a sudden appearance of a familiar face - this is the joy of a "secret stair." 

It was one of the things that attracted me to this old house when we bought it. A secondary staircase, leading from the old kitchen upstairs into what is now a bathroom. A narrow passageway accessed by a painted wooden door, tucked away in the corner. The stairs here are steeper, and there is no railing. This is not the grand ascension promised by our front hall staircase, with its pillars and swirling banister. This is not the guest's welcome. This is the hidden way for those accustomed to our home. We've always called it "the secret stairway." 

It can provide a quick escape to the upstairs rooms. It's a handy way to transport laundry. It is a perennial favourite in the children's games of hide-and-seek. And they delight to sneak down and surprise me in the dining room, throwing the door open to reveal their uncontainable laughter. 

It is this aspect of mystery, surprise, and intimacy that endears me to the crooked passage. It whispers of Irene's tower and Lucy's wardrobe, and I half expect to see a silver haired grandmother or prancing faun peeking down. 

So too does MacDonald's "secret stair" speak of the divine encounter. The way in is not always through the front door. Ladders from heaven drop unawares where only angels know the path. And sometimes we find that first step when we're not even looking, indeed, we may stumble over it in our haste. We look up from our stubbed toe and hear the whisper, "Come up here." And then there are times we are altogether astonished by laughter, because God has tumbled down into our dining room yelling, "Surprise!"

Oh, the doors are everywhere, and to live with such possibility is one of the sweetest delights of our sacred trust, and the opening to our hearts desire. 

Yes Lord, "come down Thine own secret stair." 

~lg

Christmas Lights

We drove to North Rustico to look at the lights, and ended up out on the point, past the lighthouse and up the dirt track, with the water on our right and darkened summer cottages on our left. Up to where the dunes parted for the boat launch and the row of rocks stretched out into the sea. We put the windows down and turned the engine off. The kids put their heads out the windows, and so did I. There it was – the sound of the waves.

Sometimes I forget that sound in winter. We don’t think to go to the beach in December. But tonight I’m glad we did. The old roving light illuminated the rocks in its steady sequence from somewhere behind us. We could just make out the white of the breaking water on the sand, and from there out all was dark and the sea and thy sky seemed one dark mystery save for a few stars overhead. Where are the boundaries between heaven and earth anyway?

There are nights when the veil is thin. Holy nights kissed by the salty air. Hushed nights when we turn our revving, striving, sputtering engines off and look out to sea.

We sat eclipsed for just a few minutes, silence peppered with the questions and exclamations of small children out past bedtime. Transcendence can creep up on you when you least expect it. Before we rolled the windows up, the kids called a goodbye to the ocean. “See you in the summer,” they said, and Arden blew a kiss into the night – “I love you.”  

~lg

New Article: At the Heart of Christmas

Click on over here to read my latest article in Testimony Magazine.

"The mystery of the Incarnation hovers over Christmas, whispering through the twinkling lights and beckoning in the silent nights. That “God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God; begotten, not made”  should come down from heaven and put on our tattered flesh—here is awe and wonder! Here is joy to the world and all the true magic of Christmas. Immanuel has come: “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory …” (John 1:14).

But what a home we gave Him then. “No room at the inn,” the story goes. Bethlehem hospitality fell short that night in what could only be described as an epic fail. Now, eager to make amends, we sing, O come to my heart, Lord Jesus, There is room in my heart for Thee. We want to clear a space, sweep away the dung and stale hay, and prepare a proper bed for baby Jesus. If God is choosing to make His home in us, then we feel we need to have things just right on Christmas Day.

Yet, almost inevitably, the turkey burns or the cat throws up under the tree. Tensions surface between family members or we are stuffing our mess into a hall closet two minutes before company is due to arrive. It’s so hard to get it just right, so hard to make space in our cluttered souls. How many times do we lie awake the night before Christmas whispering, “I’m not ready”?

  

But what if Christmas is not so much about making room in our hearts for God as it is God making room in His heart for us?"

Read more here...


~lg

In defense of feasting

O holy, riotous joy that wakes with Christmas morn, the blazing sun of a world made new, the Word made flesh! All of this waiting rewarded with the cry of a babe, the shout of the heavenly armies, the farmers turned heralds and drudges turned dancers! 

Strike up the band, strike the matches and light up the world with leagues of torches, and bring one yourself, come quickly and run! Christ is born - tell the folk of the village! The Light of the World has come!

O for a thousand tongues to sing this joy, a thousand bells to ring this birth announcement, a thousand jigs and reels to play our winged feet to the manger! 

Prepare the feast and break the fast! Empty the pantry and fill up the tables! The hunger is over, the famine banished, and now to revel in the lavish spread prepared! 

Let heaven and nature sing, all creatures great and small, let everything with breath bring praise,  and crown Him Lord of all! 

~lg

The first of this coming

And the first we felt of you was not the strong healer’s arm or even the babe in arms – but here, a flutter of feet within. Yes, we held you hidden before we beheld your glory. First, first, a kick from inside, and we wondered, could that be you? And then it came again, and we smiled full. For we had the inclination, the hope of your being there, but now the evidence of the thing unseen!

You begin your descent as the smallest of seeds, emerging from a holy shadow. The immaculate whisper of conception before the joyful shout of arrival. Your coming to us is from the inside out. We do not need to be merely decorated with the divine. All the glitter of heaven could not light up our blackened hearts. But the Most High became the most low, the Light of the world implanted, incarnate in the dark womb of the soul.

And we feel you turning, twisting, growing till there is no denying your presence, and the only way to see you is our own turning inside out – for we are changed most by birth – and when all hope of containing you is futile, then and here is your coming.

~lg

The Coming Again

This is miracle – that he comes again.

Now, even while I am running, he comes out of the warm house,
door flung open, running after me,
bare feet, short sleeves in the cold night.
He is smiling, white teeth flashing in the dark, eyes sparkling,
lit up with a strange joy,
all the more shocking when I realize it is joy to see me.

But how can this be?
How can he come again even when the No has just escaped my lips, and I am still escaping him?
How can he be standing here on the icy ground with that grin, stopping me in my tracks with that light in his eyes?
How can grace be so ridiculous?

His feet must be freezing. And the cold squeezing my chest begins to melt.
He is here – no matter where I run, he just keeps running too.
He just keeps coming.
Here, to me, with me.

This is the miracle of Christmas. That he comes again and again.


~lg

The beginning of giving

No, I’m not against giving to the needy. But I struggle with my own motivations for giving at Christmas.

I know I’m selfish right to the core. I know that selfishness strips me of wealth in the end, till I am wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I know the only way out is to open my hands, to release even the little I am hoarding because I feel it is barely enough for me. Because held too close, gold turns to ashes and fine clothes to rags.

And sometimes Christmas is the thing that pries a few fingers open and lets in some light.

And sometimes Boxing Day is only the return to clenched fists for another year.

Why am I willing to give away Christmas cookies but not make my life bread for others year round? I don’t want to be a hypocrite.

I want to grasp the nature of a servant, the humility of the Incarnation.

I need to remember that I have been the one to say “no room,” to say “no womb,” to God.

But still he comes to closed doors, closed hearts, closed hands and offers himself.

I must be like Mary. How can this be? I do not have the capacity to give. But my yes to this mystery makes a space within, a space for a seed that will grow into a harvest that will become bread to be broken and given away.

So I say, “Behold, the handmaid of the Lord.” Christmas is only the beginning, and who knows how this life within will stretch and overtake me.

“Be it unto me according to Thy Word.”


~lg

Bah Humbug? Challenging Christmas

Is it just me, or does Christmas seem to be mostly about spending money?

Gifts, parties, decorations, feasts, cards, fancy clothes, photo shoots, more gifts – it all costs money. It’s what we’ve become accustomed to. We anticipate the December stress of stretching our budgets and paying off the excess in January, or February. Consumerism is all around us this time of year, and we all buy into it. There are things you just need in order to have Christmas. Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without _______________ (fill in the blank). And the price tag ends up being ___________ (fill in the blank).

Many Christians have become uncomfortable with the hijacking of Christmas by consumerism. And so we try to do something different. Instead of Christmas being all about us and what we get, we want to share some joy with others. This is truly a noble intention. After all, Christmas is about God giving Himself to us, so we want to give something to others.

But what are we giving?

We see others in need at Christmas. The obvious disparity between our lavish celebrations and their lack of means makes us feel especially conflicted, so we want to do something. We want to be better people, we really do.

But it seems to me that we are just giving the “needy” the same consumerist Christmas we ourselves are trying to escape. Now, instead of buying gifts for family and friends already overloaded with stuff, we give the needy stuff. Isn’t it too bad that they don’t have a mountain of toys under their tree? No problem, we’ll supply the mountain of toys. Because that’s what Christmas is all about, right? We can’t have Christmas without the turkey and presents and lights and chocolate and singing, dancing Hallmark toys, and neither can they.

So we’ve traded in one form of spending for another. Instead of spending on our family, we have to give to charities that will spend money for other people. You want to escape your selfish consumerism this year? Easy, just spend more money on _______ noble cause. But it’s still about the money.

I know, I’m sounding Scrooge-like. It sounds like I’m making up excuses for why I don’t want to open my wallet to others. But I honestly feel exhausted thinking about all the money I should be spending on charity to show that I know what Christmas is really all about.

It’s not that giving is bad. It’s not that these charities are bad. But what are we giving and why do we feel the need to give in this way at Christmas in the first place?

I read posts like this by a good friend, and I am truly challenged. Greed, stinginess, selfishness, hoarding – these are all markers of our society, things which should not mark the people of God. This is not what marked the Gift at the manger.

So what is Christmas about anyway? Why do we give gifts in the first place?

We can trace it back to good people like Saint Nicholas, who gave to the poor at this time of year. Of course, our Western Santa and his bulging sack is one bloated mutation. And we say we give to others in honor of God’s gift to us. But maybe sometimes His gift gets a little obscured beneath all the others…

To be honest, I really like giving and receiving gifts. But I’ve never really challenged the practice before in my own life. It’s tradition. It’s a wonderful way to make a connection with family far away and the ones around the tree; it’s one of those ways to show love. And you can get some really cool stuff! But is it necessary to Christmas?

Is gift giving essential to the celebration?

Because celebrate we should. God incarnate come to dwell with us? That’s worth celebrating!

So the question becomes, how do we celebrate this coming of God? How do we celebrate in a way that is fitting to the event we mark?

Is it fitting to plunge ourselves into a pit of spending and consumption and not come out until we are at least 5 pounds heavier and several hundred dollars in debt? Is this the best we can do?

We get many of our ways of celebrating from various traditions all over the world, many of them adapted from pagan and cultural practices surrounding the winter solstice. This is why we have lights and bring various evergreens into our homes. Do I have a problem with that? No, actually. I don’t think culture is something that is thrown away when Christ arrives. Christ redeems culture. Instead of tossing the Christmas tree as a pagan object, the symbolism of the tree is fully realized in Christ, and we can transform this tradition into one which points to Christ as the one who ever lives in the midst of our winters.

There are countless other beautiful traditions and expressions of the season, many meaningful ways to celebrate, to mark this holy day. I'm not saying strip your house bare and sit in silence.

But I think our main approach to Christmas should be found in the pages of the Christmas story itself.

Here’s what I see.

Worship. Proclamation.

Worship – this is our gift to God.

This is the Spirit leaping within us because God is near. This is my soul magnifying the Lord, rejoicing in God my Saviour. This is the music we sing to the Mighty One for His mercy. This is a holy multitude, filling up the horizon, shouting “Glory in the highest!”

This is the outburst of exceeding great joy that comes after seeing His light. We direct our pilgrimage, our finest gifts, our worship to him.

And it can only come after we behold His glory, after we see Him filling up the manger with grace and truth. Worship is the fitting response to what God has done for us in Jesus Christ.

Proclamation – after we have seen, how can we not spread it abroad?

If this is truly wonder-full news, how can we hold it back? The coming of God means the Spirit speaks again through the Word, and through our words. It is the loosing of tongues to proclaim good news of great joy to all people.

It is the telling of the ancient story and its fulfillment. It is giving thanks and speaking of Him to all who are looking for redemption.

It is not a script, it’s a testimony. Proclamation is the fitting response to what God has done for us in Jesus Christ.


This is how we celebrate.


We don’t arrange our stuff to make a magazine spread fit for a king. He must come first, come in His way, the only way.

He comes to the humble. He fills the hungry with good things and sends the rich away empty handed. (Have you ever laid down at the end of it all and felt empty handed?)

His coming is the substance of it all, and out of that our celebrations take on fitting form. Celebration is response, not preparation.

And He can come where there is no feast, no fanfare, no money for presents. He must be able to come there, if at all. Could He come to you this year without ________________?


So I am left thinking of Him. Thinking that worship and proclamation don’t cost anything, at least not in our market economy. That without worship and proclamation we are all bankrupt, and all our celebrations tainted. All our giving tainted.

If even our charitable giving does not come out of our free response to Christ, it is not love. It is only making ourselves feel less guilty on Christmas morning. So you see, we can still give. But if the only giving you ever do is to pass on consumerism to the needy at Christmas, you have not learned from God’s gift. If your Christmas giving is not an extension of your way of life year round, you might as well just buy yourself another luxury, because you have not truly opened your heart. The poor don’t need a nice Christmas with all the trimmings like the rest of us. They need Christ. And they need Him year round. They need the people who get upset over “Merry Xmas” to know that Christ doesn’t live in a neon sign over a store display. You take the Christ out of Christmas all year when you ignore the hungry. So give, but not because it’s Christmas. Give because you are Christ’s.

And celebrate! Celebrate with worship and proclamation and soon the gift that God has placed in your humble heart will pump its life into all you do.

If you have the means, feast! And remember who Jesus invited to His feasts.
If you have the money, give! And let it be out of love not obligation.
If you don’t have the money, give! There are other currencies far more valuable.
You don’t need a thousand LEDs. If you have a single candle, that’s enough to welcome the Light of the world. If you don’t even have that, He will still be your Light.
Above all, rejoice and proclaim Christ.
Make all your celebration fitting to the One we celebrate.


We don’t need to spend money to welcome Christ. And if we can’t imagine how that can be true, maybe it’s time we tried it.


~lg

The fifth candle

We awake to pure, white light. It streams in through the windows yet seems also to shine from somewhere within the house. Is it morning? Is midnight? All the candles are burning brightly – the beckoning flicker of hope, love’s steady flame, joy’s merry blaze and the comforting glow of peace. Their flames surround us, holding us in their circle, but they pale in comparison to this fifth candle. We see now it is the source of their light.

Is it a candle or is it the sun? We rise in wonder to behold this glory. Truly, we have never seen light till this moment. This is true Light, the Light that gives life to all. The Dayspring from on high has visited us, and our eyes are open for the first time to the infinite spectrum of grace.

We search for the centre of this light, but at every turn it is just as bright. And then we are aware of a pulsing warmth, and it is radiating out of us. We look down at our chests and see that our hearts are on fire. It is the Christ-candle.

We have been led to this place, not merely to find a refuge from the weather, but so that God might make his home in us. This overwhelming dawn will be with us always. We need not fear the cold. As we step out into a world of dazzling white, we carry the Light with us.


And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.


~lg

The Wexford Carol

birth

“Be born in us today,” we sing

What is birth?
love and risk and pain
demands my body and soul
turns me inside out till there is nothing left hidden

This is birth
love made flesh
and in a miracle of creation
incarnation
I am reborn


~lg

C.S. Lewis on the Incarnation

Here is a passage from C.S. Lewis' Miracles. The stunning imagery of this, the grand miracle, has stuck with me over the years and is fitting for our Advent consideration.

"In the Christian story God descends to re-ascend. He comes down; down from the heights of absolute being into time and space, down into humanity; down further still, if embryologists are right, to recapitulate in the womb ancient and pre-human phases of life; down to the very roots and sea-bed of the Nature he has created. But He goes down to come up again and bring the whole ruined world up with Him. One has the picture of a strong man stooping lower and lower to get himself underneath some great complicated burden. He must stoop in order to lift, he must almost disappear under the load before he incredibly straightens his back and marches off with the whole mass swaying on his shoulders. Or one may think of a diver, first reducing himself to nakedness, then glancing in mid-air, then gone with a splash, vanished, rushing down through green and warm water into black and cold water, down through increasing pressure into the death-like region of ooze and slime and old decay; then up again, back to colour and light, his lungs almost bursting, till suddenly he breaks surface again, holding in his hand the dripping, precious thing that he went down to recover. He and it are both coloured now that they have come up into the light: down below, where it lay colourless in the dark, he lost his colour too."


~lg

Sing Till Sundown

~Eileen Spinelli

Sing till sundown, hum your joy
dress in starlight, girl and boy.
Man and woman climb the hill,
warmed beyond December's chill,
reeling, clapping, touch the air,
is that fragrant music there?
Come the glory, gone the gloom:
in a wondrous huddled room.
Christ the Word we've longed to know
calls us dancing through the snow.

Gladness deepens into grace,
weaves its light on every face.
Let us wake the sleeping earth,
celebrate the sweetest birth,
pierce the night with festive cry,
bloom in colours of the sky.
Bring the flute, the tambourine,
wave the branch of evergreen.
Lost we were a grief ago,
now we're dancing through the snow.

~

Considering Mary at Christmas

This is a paper I wrote for a Barth class at Wycliffe in December 2006. As Christmas approaches, I find my thoughts turned again to Mary and the miracle of Christ's birth.


Considering Mary at Christmas: a Generous Reading of Barth

When considering Karl Barth’s treatment of Mary in Church Dogmatics 1/2, one is likely to think of his excursus against Mariology, which Barth denounces as a “diseased construct of theological thought” (§ 15.2, 139-146). He rejects it as a falsification of Christian truth in that it propagates “the principle, type and essence of the human creature co-operating servantlike (ministerialiter) in its own redemption” (143). For the Roman Catholic Church, the problem of creaturely cooperation is manifested in its doctrine of Mariology, and this heresy explains all the rest. For Barth, Mary must rightly be rejected as having any kind of mediatory or even relatively independent role in salvation. She must not become a subject in the divine redemptive activity. This would be an attack on the miraculous nature of revelation.

Of this, Barth is adamant, and gives the following evangelical response:

There can be no thought of any reciprocity or mutual efficacy even with the most careful precautions. Faith in particular is not an act of reciprocity, but the act of renouncing all reciprocity, the act of acknowledging the one Mediator, beside whom there is no other. Revelation and reconciliation are irreversibly, indivisibly and exclusively God’s work. (146)

The human creature must not be confused with God. This is the thrust of much of Barth’s writing. To be sure, Mariology is a later innovation and perversion, and does not represent either the Scripture or the early Church in their presentation of the mother of God. Barth necessarily puts Mariology in its place, but where does that leave Mary herself?

Though she can seem overshadowed by discussions of the doctrine named after her, a generous reading of Barth may find Mary pointing readers in a worthy direction. In the midst of his polemic, Barth does cast a positive light upon Mary. We may even find he presents in Mary a model of the right and proper response of the human to revelation.

To begin, he reminds us of Mary’s primary place in dogmatics when he states, “Mary is spoken of partly for the sake of Christ’s true humanity, partly for the sake of His true divinity, but not for her own sake” (140). In Luke Barth finds there is “not a single statement that does not point away from Mary to Christ” (140). He agrees with Luther that the greatness of Mary is in her directing interest away from herself to her Lord, evidenced in the Magnificat. What is the object of special consideration concerning her? It is not her worthiness as a cooperator with the divine, but rather in her lowly estate and in “the glory of God which encounters her” (140). There is nothing meritorious in her person. She is simply the one “to whom the miracle of revelation happens” (140). Barth portrays her as standing at the crossroads of the Old and New Testaments representing all of humanity in their reception of the sovereign gift of revelation. This is a significant role, not because of Mary’s action, but God’s.

She is the first to receive Christ, in a space that was created by God and not of her own capacity. This is how any man must receive Christ. Barth goes on to say later in § 15 that man is involved in the form of Mary, but, “only in the form of non-willing, non-achieving, non-creative, non-sovereign man, only in the form of man who can merely receive, merely be ready, merely let something be done to and with him” (191). Some might seize upon this in isolation and conclude that Barth really has no place for true human participation in revelation. If Mary is not a cooperator, then she is simply a receptacle to be taken over and used by God, forced upon by the Holy Spirit. Yet we know that Barth considers the human to be an active participant, with a free and truly human agency. Mary’s humanity is not eclipsed by revelation, rather, it becomes active. Our “yes” to God matters, as did Mary’s “be it unto me according to Thy word.” Indeed it was according to the Word himself. Yet her role remains as recipient; her “yes” was a response and not a precursor of God’s activity. We follow Mary ever mindful of the primacy of God’s revelation.

Finally, we find a less guarded picture of Mary a few pages prior to Barth’s defensive polemic. It is in this picture that we are joined by a few other characters with whom Barth was wont to associate generously. It is the picture of the Isenheim Altarpiece. Barth is well known to have considered his vocation as one similar to the Baptist of Grunewald’s central panel, ever pointing a finger toward the Crucified Christ. Here Barth describes another panel of the Altarpiece (125). It is the picture of the incarnation, and it is here Barth ponders Mary’s role. The angels are welcoming the child Jesus with a musical chorus, and perhaps in Barth’s mind they are playing Mozart. Mary is pictured twice. She is the mother who holds the child and indirectly beholds the light of the Father in the infant’s face. She also appears as the recipient of grace, representing all who come before and after her, leading the Church in adoration of Christ. In the end, Barth leaves Mary standing with John the Baptist, and this is where the Church must stand as well. We stand facing a mystery, a mystery which has come and dwelt with us by divine freedom and grace. We are not cooperators, neither are we spectators. There are things we can and must do in light of the glory in the face of Christ which has encountered us. With the Baptist, we point to the mystery, and with Mary too, we point to this glory with praise on our lips.

As Christmas approaches, it is fitting even for Protestants to ponder this picture of Mary. In her we are reminded of the greatest miracle of Christmas – not the virgin birth, but what it signifies, that in Christ God became man and is still willing to enter into our humanity. It is this mystery we proclaim with Mary at Christmas. Through her, Barth reminds us that we are first of all recipients, but that our response matters. Hers was the first “yes” to Christ, and we echo her acceptance. Hers was the first hymn of praise to the Word become Flesh, and we join in adoration. Hers was the first pointing away from empty humanity to the fullness of God’s revelation in Christ. Barth invites us to stand with her, with the Baptist, and with the heavenly orchestra, giving our only fitting response as those blessed of God:

“For the Mighty One has done great things for me;
And holy is His name.”


~lg

Mary, Mary, ordinary

Mary, Mary, ordinary
How does your baby grow?
Your virgin womb is now in bloom
But how can this be so?

Mary, Mary, ordinary
How does your baby grow?
God Most High has whispered nigh
His favour now I know

Mary, Mary, ordinary
How does your baby grow?
The seed of God in human sod
The Spirit has bestowed

Mary, Mary, ordinary
How does your baby grow?
Emmanuel is pleased to dwell
In flesh, his face to show

~lg

Elizabeth

She shares my middle name, but not much else. She was the daughter of priests and the wife of one. Most of her life's years were behind her, though she had no child to take care of her and her aging husband Zacharias. The first thing you know after being introduced to her is that she is righteous in the sight of God, a blameless keeper of all the commands and requirements of the Lord. So it wasn't her sin that kept her barren, though that's what most of the market women said. What a shock to have your husband come home from work unable to speak, and then a few weeks later to realize the impossible had happened - pregnancy! But Elizabeth did not question, as Zacharias had, paying for his doubt with silence. She did not laugh, as Sarah had, hiding behind the tent folds. She simply knew he had seen a vision there in the temple. Something, or someone, had appeared in the clouds of incense, and now there was life bulging within her. Of course she could not help but think of the women of the Torah and Writings, women whose empty disgrace had been removed by a miracle. But there were few miracles from God in these days. What could be the occasion of such favour? For five months she kept the secret in seclusion. They were quiet months, anticipating months.

And then in her sixth month, when she could no longer hide the life within, she had a visitor. She had sent word to one of her young relatives that she was pregnant. Mary had always held a special place in her heart. Elizabeth had invited Mary to visit her in her seclusion, but Mary was busy with preparations for life as a married woman. Elizabeth remembered well the days of her own betrothal, sewing for her dowry and dreaming of a home full of children. But then she received a troubled message from Mary, saying her betrothed was threatening to divorce her. Strange things were happening in the family...

When Mary visited as a child, she would always call out a greeting from the gate below the house. This time, when Mary called out, Elizabeth felt a great and sudden movement in her womb, as if the child were leaping up to open the door for Mary. Elizabeth felt the rush of a breeze sweep past her, almost through her when Mary entered. Suddenly she felt like shouting, like dancing for joy. She ran to Mary, grasping her hands and then her flat belly. The words spilled out of her mouth as quickly as her husband's had been sealed - "Blessed are you among women! And blessed is the fruit of your womb! And how is it that I am so blessed that the mother of my Lord would come to me?"

And with these words, it is Elizabeth who becomes the first prophet of the New Testament, years before her son would prepare the way. It is Elizabeth who is doubly favoured and doubly filled, first with a child in her barrenness and then with the Holy Spirit. In her the first stirrings and kickings of prophecy are felt in Israel, after hundreds of years without the Word of the Lord. She is the first to confess Jesus as Lord, the first to recognize the divine Word in the fleshy womb of Mary. In the flurry of prophetic activity surrounding Jesus' birth, Elizabeth is singled out, not only as the mother of John the Baptist, but as a prophet in her own right.

Elizabeth. With faith and joy you accepted the work of God in your own life, and were the first to recognize it in others. There are days when my doubt silences me. When I am mute to the call of God at my own gate. I feel my own barrenness, but I fear it is of sin.

Holy Spirit, awaken my heart to the wonders of God's birth among us. May I be as quick to rejoice at the coming of my Lord.

prophets of Christmas

When you think of prophets at Christmastime, you likely remember those Old Testament sages, like Isaiah and Malachi, who foretold the birth of Christ hundreds of years before the angel's appearance to Mary. The prophecies are true! It is a miracle, we say, and rightly so. But the birth story has its own prophets, people who recognize and bear and declare the Word of the Lord to others. They are miraculous in their time, for they are women. Before John the Baptist prepares the way in the wilderness, his mother Elizabeth is the first to call Jesus Lord. Before the shepherds run to spread the good news in the towns, Mary gives a magnificent oracle of prophetic praise. Before Jesus preaches in Jerusalem, the old prophetess Anna tells all who are looking for Jerusalem's redemption that the Redeemer is here.

Luke gives us the names and stories of these unlikely prophets in his gospel. They are among the first to participate in the Spirit's work surrounding Christ. They are among the first to tell us who this Child is, and why He has come. They speak into the future, to all who open their hearts to the advent of Christ saying "Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to Thy word."

In the days leading up to Christmas, I plan to post glimpses of each of their stories. In all the noise and busyness of our Decembers, may we hear and receive again God's word to us in Christ.