A Trip to Jerusalem

Friends of mine, Bob and Michelle, recently returned from a trip to Israel. At the same time they were there, two pastors I know – Max and Scott – also were touring the Holy Land. I thoroughly enjoyed the trip these four pilgrims made because they posted many pictures of the sights they encountered. Every time I perused my Facebook news-feed, I saw photos of places I long had only imagined – the Mount of the Beatitudes, Jacob’s Well, the Garden of Gethsemane, the Via Dolorosa, the Garden Tomb and more. I had fun following the travels of these four friends across Israel to Jerusalem. But following their journey on a laptop from my La-Z-Boy recliner is no substitute for the powerful experience of visiting Jerusalem in person.

A View of Jerusalem - by Bob Irving

We soon will reach Holy Week, when we remember the most famous, and most world-changing trip to Jerusalem ever made. The Gospel of Luke says that “[w]hen the days drew near for him to be taken up, [Jesus] set his face to go to Jerusalem.”  Luke 9:51 (NRSV).  As my father once wrote:

Jesus knew what the end would be if he went, and yet he decided to go. He decided to take the trip to Jerusalem, to the upper room, to Gethsemane, to the trials, to the Via Dolorosa, to the cross. For ten chapters in Luke’s Gospel (from Chapter 9 to Chapter 19), Jesus is en route to Jerusalem, aware that his passion awaits him. It is not only a physical trip from one place to another, but also a spiritual trip – a movement toward final, irreversible commitment to his Father’s will, an acceptance of the cup of suffering and death for the sins of the world.

“This is a stupid trip,” said his disciples repeatedly. They knew what would happen if Jesus went to Jerusalem. Again and again they begged him to stay home in Galilee where he was safe and at peace among friends and relatives who would pat him on the back and tell him what a fine preacher he was. And again and again Jesus told them that his end was suffering and death, and that he must go, but they did not understand. They followed him to Jerusalem because they loved him, and perhaps too because they still hoped against hope that he might exert some earthly authority. They followed, but not because they understood the meaning of his trip.

In countless ways, I dare to suggest, we too say that this is a stupid trip. We say it by the way we live our own lives. We seek comfort; we avoid conflict; we disdain sacrifice. We claim to be followers of Jesus Christ, and yet this is one trip on which we do not want to follow him.

Actually, the decision of whether or not to take this trip with Jesus centers around these questions: What is the real world like, and what does God want me to do about it? Jesus discovered that the real world was not just happy times in Galilee with friends and neighbors and dying of old age. He discovered that there was a Roman Empire and a whole world ripe to receive the message of the cross – a whole world that needed his service and suffering. He discovered that he was God’s man to do the job. To fulfill his own truth, to accomplish the purpose for which God gave him life, he must make the trip. Jesus wasn't stupid or foolhardy. He recognized the dangers and the cost involved. But he also recognized that he would be less than he was meant to be if he stayed in Galilee.

The real world is bigger than my back yard. The real world has more needs than those that arise from my family and friends. We all have our own ways of drawing our world as small as possible. To one person I must say that the real world is more than a comfortable chair, a can of beer and a football game. To another I must say that reality extends far beyond your children. To still another I must appeal for him to recognize that one cause, no matter how worthy, is not enough. And to another that life is more than your job or your daily routine. You alone know what parts of the real world your self-imposed blinders shut out. But allow yourself to see it or not, the reality – and often the ugliness – of the real world is there, and you are called to go there, to make the trip from Galilee to Jerusalem, from your artificially contrived comfort within narrow boundaries to the whole, real world where God calls you to live and serve.

In your Jerusalem there are so many lonely and neglected people. There is gross injustice. There is hunger of body and spirit. There is illness and suffering. There is hatred and violence. There is crime and war. There is pollution and rape of the environment. There is a whole creation broken in bits by man’s sin, waiting like Humpty Dumpty to be put back together again. This is your real world. This is the destination of your trip – your Jerusalem. And if you think about it, you will know what it all means specifically for you.

Real life, human life in the highest sense of that term, cannot be lived in your closet. Real life cannot be lived where you have drawn your shades to hide the world’s ugliness from your eyes. Real life is in the shape of a cross – a willing acceptance that we will suffer if need be to put things right in this world in His name.

As Jesus travels to Jerusalem, am I traveling with him, or am I just watching on my laptop from my recliner? Will I follow Jesus to Jerusalem, or just follow him on Facebook?

From: "The Trip to Jerusalem"

Scripture: Luke 9:51; Luke 19

Rethinking Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday is a time for confession, so here’s one for you: I confess that Ash Wednesday has never been one of my favorite Christian holidays. After all, who wants to be reminded of his sin and mortality? The words that are usually spoken when the ashes are placed on a worshiper’s forehead sound so grim: “From dust (or ashes) you have been made, and to dust (or ashes) you shall return.” 

When I recently read my father’s last two Ash Wednesday meditations, though, I learned that he had a surprisingly upbeat take on the meaning of the day. Here’s what he had to say that is causing me re-think my dour view of Ash Wednesday:

“Over and over again we read in the scriptures about Godly men and women who ‘repent in sackcloth and ashes.’ This is a sign of humility, not humiliation. That is, we need to realize that a realistic assessment of our worth in human terms depends on the grace of God and not our own doing. It is not that we are not worth something. The modern adage is true: ‘God doesn't make junk.’ To put it in scriptural terms, ‘God saw all that he had made, and, behold, it was very good.’ However, it is necessary to point out the underlying fact that God made it. The goodness is all derived goodness. We live in the glow of God’s reflected glory. God is love, and all love comes from God.

It is sin that has spoiled God’s creation. Sin twists and mars and makes ugly.  That is why we symbolize it with ashes on Ash Wednesday. The message of Ash Wednesday is negative in a positive sort of way. It says that only by taking a realistic and not inflated assessment of ourselves can we really make, by God’s grace, something worthwhile out of our lives.

*          *          *

The answer that, hopefully, we will learn along this Lenten journey which is before us is that God saves us not by condemning us but by loving us. We listen to Jesus as he stands by the woman caught in the act of adultery. He says to her, ‘Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more.’ [See John 8:1-11] The effect of his words is not to push her further down into the dirt, but to lift her up and help her believe in herself and what the power of God working in her can make of her. This is God’s way with us.

Yes, we are dust, but it is Almighty God who made us out of dust and breathed his own breath, his own Spirit, into us. To negate a human being is to blaspheme God the Creator. The way to raise a creature of dust to a new and higher level is to affirm what God has done and is doing in that person. This opens the door even wider for more of God’s transforming activity in that life. Being negative and judgmental never works. It only begets negativity, hostility, and finally hopelessness. On the other hand, the positive approach, the affirming word, begets openness to you, openness to God, and a new attitude of hope.

What grabs me most, what changes me down to my core, is the realization that God loved me and valued me so highly that he sent his son to die for me. He did that all for me! What affirmation I feel when I realize how far God was willing to go to save me. Can I do any less than so love and affirm you?”

So as I go to worship this Ash Wednesday, it will be with a new focus: God is calling me, through these ashes, to acknowledge that my worth comes from him as my Creator, not from my own efforts -- which are only possible because of God, after all. And what am I worth as God's creation? I'm worth the greatest sacrifice ever made, and so are you.

From: "Ash Wednesday Meditation" (1988 & 1989)

My Elijah Moment

It’s been a while since I've posted on Bill’s Barrel, and there’s a reason why: I have been consumed by my work over the past month or so. I can’t think of another time in my practice of law when I've had more challenges, more frustrations, more difficult cases, facing me at once. One crisis is averted, and two more rise up to replace it. The strain of it all has left me feeling anxious, agitated and inadequate. It has robbed me of restful sleep. It has sapped me of my patience. It has made me question my abilities. This wave of stress crested one particularly tough morning when I left a desk covered with problems to dash to my appointment to give blood at the office blood drive. The Red Cross nurse who took my racing pulse frowned and asked, “Are you nervous about something?” Unable to donate, I walked away feeling utterly dejected.

Being swamped by your circumstances can leave you feeling isolated, alone, broken. That is certainly how the exhausted and defeated prophet Elijah felt when he was forced to flee into the wilderness because Queen Jezebel, who worshiped the false god Baal, had threatened his life. As my dad put it, “Here is a broken human being who God alone can bring back to fullness of life.”

In his sermon “Resources for Times of Stress,” Dad explained what God did to restore the despondent Elijah:

“The Lord sends an angel who ministers to his body with food and water, an indication that in this period of stress, as with most of us, Elijah had not been taking care of his body. … [O]ur bodies are closely entwined with our minds and spirits and affect our attitudes and thoughts.

After eating, Elijah lays down to sleep – to rest his body rather than to escape his despair. All of us need the peaceful rest that the angel allowed Elijah. God created us for a rhythm of work and rest, work and rest. We cannot be healthy without this rhythm.

Then the angel awakens Elijah [and] sends the physically stronger, but still spiritually broken prophet to Mount Horeb, the Mount of God. You know the story. The Lord wants to know why Elijah has come. Elijah tells his tale of woe – his former loyalty to God, the ineffectiveness of his work among the people, his frustration and loneliness. God knows that Elijah needs a new vision of Him. Elijah needs to know God’s presence and power again. A great and strong wind rends the mountain and breaks its rocks, but the Lord is not in the wind. And after the wind, an earthquake, but the Lord is not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake, a fire, but the Lord is not in the fire. Then after the fire comes a still, small voice. It is as if the Lord is saying to Elijah, “Stop. Be quiet. Cease all your anxious striving. You cannot tune in to me in all the confusion and vain busyness of your life. Take time. Be still. Give me an opening."

Again, Elijah tells his tale of woe to the Lord, ending with the familiar words, "I, even I only am left." Oh how that feeling haunts us. But God’s final words to Elijah point out several resources that are precious for every one of us who has become overwhelmed by feelings of frustration, failure and loneliness.

First, God gives the prophet some work to do. He is to be on his way to anoint a new king. God still has important work for him to do. Past failure does not mean future uselessness. It means we can bring a new sensitivity and a new positive humility to our next task because of our failures. Now we have a better handle on who we are and what we can rightfully expect of ourselves.

Next, the Lord tells Elijah to anoint Elisha to be the next prophet of Israel in his place. This is an encouragement to any man who feels like his life-long cause has gone up in smoke and that his years of labor are a total loss. Provided he cares about his cause and is not simply trying to build a monument to himself, it is heartening to know that God raises up others to continue and complement what we have done. I am a part of God’s plan, not the whole of it. This is an important truth to remember.

Finally, the Lord reminds Elijah that, contrary to his feeling that he was all alone in his fight against paganism, there are still 7,000 people in Israel who have remained faithful to the Lord and have not bowed down to the pagan god, Baal. Do you feel alone in your struggles and trials? Don’t believe it for a minute. This is one of the Tempter’s most successful means of deceiving and destroying us. "Isolate and conquer." This is why the Devil hates the church and tries so mightily to fracture and divide it. He knows that such a fellowship – where we discover that we are not alone and where we share our mutual woes and bear our mutual burdens – is his undoing. There is untold strength in having true Christian friends nearby – people you don’t have to pretend to and people who will at the same time offer you support. The Lord always provides at least a remnant with whom we can stand strong. The community God calls together (we call it the church) is his most powerful means of sustaining us when life threatens to engulf us.

And so the Lord brought Elijah through this period of frantic fear and stress. God offered him food and water and rest for his body. God offered him God’s own presence in the stillness. God gave him new tasks and therefore renewed purpose. God gave him other people to support and care for him. God’s resources for our times of stress have not changed. They are there for you now in your stress. They are God’s way of giving you back your own life.”

Thank you, Dad, for reminding me of the resources God has provided to help me through this rough patch.

From: "Resources for Times of Stress"

Scripture: 1 Kings 19:1-21

Bill on Martin: A Call to Action

On April 14, 1968, my father stepped into the pulpit at Adams Shore Community Church in Quincy, Massachusetts – near Boston – to deliver his very first Easter sermon after being ordained. As the young pastor scanned the white faces in the pews before him, I imagine there was some anxiousness in the congregation, maybe even apprehension, about what he might say. Some may have thought, “This is Easter – a time to celebrate Christ’s victory over sin and death. It’s no time to bring up divisive issues like race.” But others may have been lost in a fog of despair that morning. Just ten days before, Martin Luther King, Jr. had been gunned down – and with him their hopes for non-violent change in a nation torn by racial injustice and strife.

The Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Dad began to speak: “You saw it as I did on television. You saw 150,000 Negroes marching beside the casket of their patron saint, who had been murdered by a white man. But somehow it didn't seem like a funeral at all. Oh, some were crying, but most of them were singing: ‘We shall overcome, we shall overcome. We shall overcome some day. Deep in my heart, I do believe that we shall overcome some day.’ They surely couldn't be serious about the meaning of that song. How could they be optimistic about their deplorable situation? Truly their cause was in its darkest hour. Small strides have been made, yes. Some schools have token integration; Negroes now may ride in the front of the buses in Atlanta; there are many civil rights laws on the books. But many Negroes are in no better position economically and socially now than they were 20 years ago before this all began.

And today, the hour is even darker because one of their leaders was struck down by the vicious racism that he tried to combat. When others were forsaking non-violence and turning to black power and its own kind of racism, saying that non-violence had been tried and had failed, this one man stuck with it. He preached love and black and white living together in peace and mutual respect, when all others had despaired of it ever coming to pass. And now, this voice is snuffed out. It is a dark hour for his cause; it is a dark hour for his black people, it is a dark hour for our nation.

So how is it that his followers are singing beside his casket? They are so few in comparison to the untold numbers who hate. They are so few, and the whites and blacks who oppose them are so many. They sing, 'We shall overcome.' They sing it like they believe it. They have no grounds for this hope. The evil they are fighting is too great. They are too few. Their leader is gone.  They are cockeyed optimists. Their optimism is absurd.

Almost two thousand years ago, there was another small group who, under their leader, had brought at least a dim light to the horizon, but now he was dead, and surely now, even that dim light had every reason to go out. There were other leaders – self-styled zealots and messiahs who sprang up almost every day – telling the people that the only way to freedom was through armed revolt. Their answer was to rise up and throw out the blood-sucking Romans and restore the kingdom of Israel. Only Jesus had advocated another way – a way of non-violence, peace, love, service. He preached love and brotherhood and peaceful community when all others had despaired of it ever coming to pass. And now this voice was snuffed out. It was a dark hour for his cause; it seemed a dark hour for our world.

But he did have these few followers – sometimes weak, sometimes vacillating, but basically faithful and committed. They were so few that no one could reasonably expect them to change the world; yet they continued to gather together in upper rooms and on street corners, praying, preaching, singing, witnessing. They were acting as if they actually expected to change the world. They were cockeyed optimists.

What is the basis for this we-shall-overcome attitude of both groups? The basis of their hope is the right reason for our being here this morning, my friends. We should be here to whoop it up, to celebrate the fact that our Lord Jesus Christ is alive! The basis for their cockeyed optimism is that they serve an all-powerful, living God. The resurrection proves something. It proves that the most gigantic, hideous, evil crime man can perpetrate – the cruel torture and murder of the Son of God himself – cannot avail against the power of the living God. In the end, after evil and death has swung its last punch, God still stands there untouched. Both of these groups know by virtue of the resurrection that, even when the odds are so great against them, good is stronger than evil, love is stronger than hate, and they are on the side of good and love.

But now, my friends, a final warning – lest we mistakenly conclude that the Easter message is that God is in charge, so we can sit back and let him clean up the mess. There is reason to expect a happy ending. There is reason to believe in a nation where blacks and whites live together in happiness at every conceivable level. There is reason to see ahead a world community of peace. But the reason is only there if we let the resurrected Christ be alive in the way that he chooses to live … in us!

I truly believe that the living spirit of Christ incarnates himself in flesh – yours and mine – and works to change the world through us. This is how the resurrected Lord works. You prove the resurrection is true when you yield to the living spirit of Christ and allow him to use your body, your mind, your soul, your whole person to fight the battle against evil that is so real to us today. We prove Christ is alive by letting him live in us.

Since God has chosen us as his means of living and working in the world, it behooves us to get on the stick and become the transforming resurrection community we have so long failed to be. This means ACTION, not sitting on your hands bewailing the terrible state we are in, or even preaching pious words, but allowing the living Lord to empower us to actually tackle our predicament head-on, with the sure knowledge that with Christ in us we will win. Now I say this in all candor, and I’m sure you would too, given recent events: Either we become the resurrection community in action or the world blows up in our faces.”

From: "Easter's Cockeyed Optimism"

Scripture: Isaiah 25:1, 7-9; Mark 16:1-7; Acts 13:26-33

Preached on April 14, 1968 at Adams Shore Community Church

The Nativity In The Living Room

Do you have a crèche or nativity scene somewhere in your home this Advent? In the Newcomer house, we have manger scenes in several rooms to celebrate Jesus’ birth.

On Christmas Eve of 1984, my father preached a sermon at Paoli United Methodist Church that challenged the traditional picture of Christ’s lowly birth in a stable. It turns out that if you place a manger scene in your living room, you may be closer to the truth than you might think:

“The story of the first Christmas is fraught with so much tradition that sometimes it is difficult, if not impossible, to separate what we actually know from the Scriptures about the event, from what has been added over the years by the collective imagination of believers in order to fill in the missing pieces. Christmas pageants over the years have conditioned us to imagine Mary and Joseph arriving late in Bethlehem, perhaps her labor pains already beginning. We've seen countless pictures of Joseph knocking on the door of the crowded inn, and we've heard all kinds of condemnations heaped on the innkeeper for not finding them a room. But all of this is supposition; none of it is in the Scripture itself. The text from the Second Chapter of Luke actually reads this way: “And while they were there the days were accomplished when she was to be delivered.” It really sounds as though Mary and Joseph arrived in Bethlehem days ahead of Jesus’ birth.

The tradition about Jesus being born in a stable also may not fit the facts. In Luke, we read these precious words: “Mary gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.” We have always supposed that a stable was his birthplace because they were turned away from the inn, and when he was born they laid him in a manger, a feeding trough for domestic animals. Where else would a manger be than in a stable?

Actually, there is another explanation. The Greek word kataluma – which is translated as “inn” – really means “guest room,” not “inn.” In the parable of the Good Samaritan, when the Samaritan takes the wounded traveler to an inn to recuperate, Luke uses an entirely different Greek word for inn. In Luke’s account of the preparations for the Last Supper, Jesus tells his disciples to find a “guest room” for the Passover meal. Here, the word is kataluma – the same word used in Luke 2’s story of Jesus’ birth. In short, a better translation of Luke’s account might go something like this: “She gave birth to her firstborn son and laid him in a manger because there was no place for them in the guest room.” Since Bethlehem was Joseph’s ancestral town, one might suppose that he had relatives there with whom they were supposed to stay, but by the time they arrived, the guest room was already full of kin-folk because of the census, so Mary and Joseph had to stay in the main part of the house – the living room, so to speak. But what about the manger? This doesn't explain the manger.

It is important to understand how a First Century Jewish house was arranged. It was usually one large room, and if the family could afford it, a kataluma, or guest room, was attached because of the Jewish emphasis on hospitality to strangers. The main room of the house was itself divided into two parts. The back part was a platform raised about one or two feet above ground level. Here, the family lived, cooked, ate and slept. The lower, front part of the main room was at ground level, and into this area the livestock was often brought to spend cold nights with the family. Naturally, a manger was there with fresh straw for the animals, and often it doubled as a cradle for the babies.

Is Luke telling us that when Mary and Joseph arrived at the house where they planned to stay, the guest room was already full, and so they had to stay in the main room of the house with all the family and the animals, and there the newborn child was laid in a manger?

Of course, there is much supposition in this theory, but if it is true it makes an important point. Luke seems to want us to know that Jesus – the Son of God – was born, not off in the guest room, but right in the midst of smelly hay, snorting animals, anxious onlookers, and the tenderness and love of the family circle. Jesus, our Savior, was born like all of the other children of that day. He was tenderly placed precisely where all other babies of that day were cradled.

If we experience the birth of Christ this Christmas, it will not be in the guest rooms of our lives – not off to the side in those special compartments of our lives that we've reserved for him – but right in the middle of it all, right in the middle of everyday living. … Jesus was born where we work and live and love and where we hurt. He is Emmanuel, God with us. … He goes to any lengths to meet us in the real stuff of life. … He is always where we are, concerned about what’s going on now in our lives. His salvation is not an other-worldly experience; it is for the here and now. God’s favorite place is the commonplace.”

Merry Christmas, my friends!

From: "The Nativity in the Living Room"

Scripture: Luke 2:1-7

Preached at Paoli UM Church

December 24, 1984

A Light In The Darkness

When I was in junior high school, our youth group at Calvary United Methodist Church in Easton, Pennsylvania went on a spelunking trip. Spelunking is better known as caving. We were told to wear old clothing that we were willing to throw away. The reason for this became clear when we eventually emerged from the cold, wet cave. We were covered from head to toe with mud, looking something like this guy:

A Spelunking Guy

For a seventh grade boy, this is high adventure, but I don't think my dad fully shared my enthusiasm for spelunking. He did, though, glean a sermon illustration from the ordeal. Here’s what he said the next Sunday:

“I’m not sure why our Junior High Youth Fellowship advisor, Chuck Fuller is so gung-ho over exploring caves, but a week ago as our group slowly threaded its way up from the depths of a cave toward the mouth, I thought perhaps it was meaningful for him, and could be for all of us, if we looked upon it as a parable for life. And the more I thought about it, the significance of this whole experience was even more heightened by the fact that we were groping our way out of this cave on a day in the middle of the Advent season.

As we left the inner reaches of the cave and began to climb out, it became apparent that the batteries in my flashlight were beginning to grow weak. Since we had to proceed in single file order, when the person in front of me would get pretty far ahead, or turn the corner and I no longer had the benefit of his light, it grew quite dark, as the beam of my own light was fading fast. Without the proper light, there were more bumps and scrapes on the jutting rocks of the cave’s walls; more caution was needed, more feeling ahead with my hands. But then, just as my flashlight was dimming to a mere glow, something happened. I felt it before I saw it. The cooler air of the outside world; we were coming near the entrance to the cave. And then finally confirming my speculation, the first beams of sunlight were visible. In no time at all we crawled out into the full light of day, squinting in the bright sunshine, for we had become accustomed to the darkness. It made me think again of that great verse from Isaiah 9: ‘The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in the land of deep darkness, on them has light shined.’

This whole caving experience is our Advent parable. Apart from God, in our fallen humanity, as individuals and as nations, we are groping and fumbling our way through the darkness, falling, hurting ourselves, bumping into one another. Sometimes helping each other a little, but mostly pushing each other away and looking out for ourselves. Like my flashlight, what light, what goodness we have on our own is weak and flickering at best. It cannot be counted on to save us from the darkness that is closing in all around us. Such is the helplessness and frustration and fear we feel as we thread our way through the worries and tragedies and tensions of life. Our strength sometimes wanes, and we wonder if we’ll make it.

But the meaning of Advent is this: Just as the rays of our own light are about to go out and we fear that we will be consumed by the darkness, just then a light shines on us from outside ourselves, a light far more brilliant than anything we could manufacture. This light, this salvation for our darkened lives, is from God. The Sun of Righteousness is the Righteous Son of God, whom God has sent to light the way for us unto all eternity. With him the energy to fuel the light is inexhaustible. We need never fear the darkness again.

Advent is the invitation to crawl out of the darkness and stand up in the light. Your eyes must get adjusted to the new brightness. There is growing to do. Sometimes the light itself will seem to be a little scary, and you may be tempted to retreat into the familiar darkness of the cave. But once you grow used to the light and take more and more of it in, the more certain you become that this is where you belong.”

So here is my prayer for you as we approach the fourth Sunday of Advent: May Jesus light up your life and your world this Christmas and always. Amen.

From: “A Child Is Born”                                            

Scripture: Isaiah 9:2-7

Preached at Calvary United Methodist Church,

Easton, PA

An Unlikely Hope

This Sunday, the Third Sunday of Advent, we will be lighting the candle of Peace on the Advent wreath at Newtown United Methodist Church. In a passage from Isaiah that's often read during Advent, the prophet casts an idyllic image of future peace for the People of God when he writes:

The wolf live with the lamb,

And the leopard will lie down with the goat,

The calf and the lion and the yearling together,

And a little child will lead them.
-Isaiah 11:6 (NIV)

Linton Memorial Park - Newtown, PA

One winter evening in 1980, my father happened upon a scene which, when I first read his description of it, etched in my mind something of the meaning of this famous line from Isaiah: "And a little child will lead them." Here's what Dad wrote:

"I pulled to a stop at a red light at the intersection of 6th and Northampton Streets in Easton, Pennsylvania. This was a section of the city besieged by urban decay, a place where the tragedy of urban living was at its worst. As I waited for the light to change, a poorly clad girl of about 8 or 9 years of age led a man by the hand whom I judged to be her father – a man who was drunk and could hardly keep his balance. The girl carefully led him off the curb and slowly across the crosswalk in front of my car, pulling him, steadying him, urging him on, until they reached the other side, and presumably from there made their way home in similar fashion. As I watched this scene unfold, a deep emotion flooded my soul as I realized how God sends his love and care to us, even when we are at our disgustingly worst – in the most fragile and unlikely ways, even in a little girl such as this one.

We live in a world that is very dark, ugly and dangerous, just as it was that cold night at 6th and Northampton Streets. Sometimes this dark ugliness is within us, sometimes it is around us, but in either case God always sends signs of hope, fragile signs, signs which we can perceive only with the eyes of faith. Strange as it seems, Christian hope is often found in unlikely places. In fact, Christian hope has a way of burning brightest on the most darkened stage. Christmas, coming when it does, reminds us of this. Christmas is not observed in the beautiful springtime. It is celebrated at the dark winter solstice. The date of December 25th does not have historical importance. Instead, it has theological importance.

The ultimate hope for us resides in a baby laid in a manger in a backwater town called Bethlehem. Such an unlikely hope! And yet God’s word and our Christian experience tell us that Almighty God himself came to visit us in that humble child. He came to show us that he loves us still, in spite of the darkness within us, and he wants us to love him. God’s love comes gently as a child. It doesn't coerce or overwhelm. It doesn't dazzle or manipulate. God’s love comes quietly, as quietly as the cry of a newborn. It is God’s subtle yet forceful reminder that God’s kingdom is on the horizon, and if we quiet our restless lives and allow it, God will fill us with his love. God will fill us with himself. This allowing God to fill us is faith, and faith is the way we know that, unlikely hope though he may be, this baby Jesus is indeed our Savior."

From: "An Unlikely Hope"
Scripture: Isaiah 11:1-9; Matthew 11:2-11