we quit on christmas too soon

[5 minutes, 871 words]

Entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother, and falling to their knees, they worshiped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

Matthew 2:11

The Magi’s journey didn’t end when they arrived in Bethlehem. It ended when they worshiped the Christ. Christmas isn’t over until we bow and worship King Jesus.

We often bemoan the last hours of December 25th, mistakenly thinking Christmas is over. And why not? The very next day, radio stations go back to regular programming and department stores stop their holiday hours. It’s as if the magic of the Christmas season dissipates all at once. The lights start coming down, the Christmas tree is lugged up into the attic, and the wrapping paper tossed into garbage cans and dragged out to the street.

Back to normal.

Switching gears.

New Year’s resolutions!

Sinclair Ferguson writes, “When I was a child, Christmas seemed to die every year by bedtime on December 25th. The anticipation seemed long; the realization all too brief. I even tried wrapping up my presence again and opening them the following morning.”1

We quit on Christmas far too soon. A large swath of the global church, however, stretches their Christmas season through January 6. Epiphany: the traditional date given to mark the Magi’s arrival at the house where the newborn King was waiting to be worshipped. The Wise Men learned their trek across mountain and desert wasn’t quite over2; they still had a few miles to go. He’s not here; He’s in Bethlehem. Christmas wasn’t over until they worshiped the newborn king.

That’s what is missing from the modern celebration of Christmas: the worship of Jesus. We keep ‘doing Christmas’ year after year, failing on all fronts on this matter. Parties, presents, Hallmark movies, wassail and caroling, all make the season bright. But by Christmas evening we ruefully reflect on how quickly “it all went by.” The lights on the tree seem less twinkly somehow, the last gift has long since been opened, and the trappings are slowly whisked away. That’s the last of the eggnog, someone announces.

But what does it actually mean to worship Jesus at Christmas? It means remembering why He came in the first place. So…how did we do? Was Jesus worshipped? Or was He a quick detour at the candlelight service, only to be forgotten once the family gathered around the Christmas tree? Perhaps we sang “O Come Let Us Adore Him” without actually adoring Him. Perhaps we read Luke 2 as tradition rather than as an invitation to wonder.

The incarnation is about God taking on flesh, receiving a body, in order to become the worthy sacrifice for sin. Not only is God with us3, He is for us, as in our Sinless Substitute4 for our salvation. John wrote, “For God so loved the world that He gave His Son Jesus…”5 Gave him. For us.

The world isn’t really celebrating Christmas unless they celebrate the reason He came. Christmas, for them, is temporary merrymaking but not worshipping. It’s a Christmas Eve ceasefire for twenty-four hours, singing carols to your enemy across the trenches, only to resume hostilities the next day.6

We need to take our time through the holy days. Inhale. Marvel at the manger. Feel the awe of the shepherds. But ponder7 with Mary. There’s more than just one silent night that must be attended to. It’s not too late.

The Magi, embodying the true Christmas spirit, had to see it through to its end. Christmas wasn’t over for them on December 26th. They needed to see Jesus, bow before Him, and give Him everything they had.

We’ve all felt it—that letdown on December 26th when the magic evaporates and we’re left wondering why Christmas never quite delivers what we hoped for. We pile expectations onto a single day, asking them to satisfy longings that run far deeper than any season can reach.

Alistair Begg names the real issue:

“The reason that not even the joy of the Christmas season can satisfy us is that our very selves are made for the God who makes Christmas meaningful.”

—Alistair Begg, Let Earth Receive Her King, 173

January 6th seamlessly moves us into a new anticipation: Even so, Come, Lord Jesus. The incarnation gives way to the promise of Christ’s return to earth. Jesus didn’t just come the first time to save us from our sin, He will come again to visibly rule upon the earth, fully and finally defeat all evil, and make everything permanently new. Having been to Bethlehem, we can now set our sights on the Eternal City whose architect and builder is God.8

We are the Magi. The called. Journeymen and pilgrims, relentlessly pursuing the Object of our Magnificent Obsession. Pausing, perhaps; misdirected at times; but never stopping. Not until we come face to face with Jesus, thus emptying ourselves of all that we are and have and lay our crowns at His Blessed Feet.

We might consider adding one more day to our Christmas season this year. It isn’t Christmas until we have worshipped Jesus. So let’s not quit too soon.

Selah, beloved.

  1. Sinclair Ferguson, Child In The Manger: The True Meaning of Christmas, p 41 ↩︎
  2. Matthew 2:7-8 ↩︎
  3. Matthew 1:23 ↩︎
  4. 2 Corinthians 5:21; 1 Peter 3:18 ↩︎
  5. John 3:16 ↩︎
  6. www.worldhistory.org/The_Christmas_Truce/ ↩︎
  7. Luke 2:19 ↩︎
  8. Hebrews 11:10 ↩︎

making room for the supernatural this christmas

[652 words, 3 minutes]

Luke’s account of the nativity includes the famous “no room” clause that deftly adds to the drama of the story1. When Joseph knocked on the door of Bethlehem Inn, he and his virgin bride, great with child, were turned away and forced to find lodging elsewhere. No room. Adding to their hardship, the Firstborn2 Son of God was more than eager to become the firstborn son of Mary and Joseph, while every jostle and bump on the back of the donkey was no joyride for the young mother-to-be!

Dr. Luke, being an ever so meticulous researcher and orderly chronicler of history, thoroughly interviewed eyewitnesses, organized his sources, dated events by Roman rulers, and employed precise geographical and medical terminology in his writing. Yet this careful historian, so committed to recording every detail, had no problem addressing the supernatural and fitting it seamlessly into his archival record.

In the same region, shepherds were staying out in the fields and keeping watch at night over their flock. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them…(Luke 2:8-9)

Imagine a respectable journalist reporting on an event of such nature today, and matter-of-factly including signs and wonders in their report as if it was the most normal thing. That’s essentially what Luke did. Visiting angels, angelic choirs, virgin birth, prophecies and fulfillments—all are arranged equally alongside his historical accounting. These supernatural elements are nothing unusual to Luke, and yet they mean everything! Mixed seamlessly with political, socioeconomic, geographic, and historical details are heavenly interventions relayed to us as factual, without disclaimer or apology.

“Without the supernatural, there is no Christmas, and there is no gospel.”

Alastair Begg, Let Earth Receive Her King

The main characters in the First Advent had one thing in common: they welcomed the supernatural to interrupt their ordinary lives. Simeon. Anna. The Magi. And, of course, Mary and Joseph, once the plan was disclosed3. But those who weren’t as welcoming—Herod, the priests, the innkeeper, most of Jerusalem4—had no clue what was happening around them. They missed everything: the visiting angels, the heavenly choirs, the guiding star.

One of the most supernatural Christmases I remember was sitting in our family’s den, listening to Joni Eareckson Tada’s Christmas album as lights from the Christmas tree cast an ethereal glow and the scents of cinnamon and clove filled the house. I silently wept because I had survived a back-breaking fall weeks earlier, and, though permanently paralyzed, was gifted with a multitude of reasons to rejoice. I was home. I was alive. And heavenly peace filled my heart.

You might not have read words like signs and wonders in that paragraph, but I assure you, the palpable presence of the Savior from heaven was as close to me as the reality of that silent night, holy night in Bethlehem all those years ago.

It could have been different; I could have been an embittered, angry young man, crippled with sadness and bemoaning my plight. I could have hurled curses from a hardened heart, demanding to be left alone. Or worse, plotting to take my life. It happens.

Instead, I humbly made room for Jesus. And He supernaturally sang to me through a quadriplegic, and I was healed. Heaven came down, and glory filled my soul. I might as well have heard the Lord Jesus say, “Rise, take up your mat and walk”5 in that moment. Perhaps, in some small way, I did.

Advent begins in darkness, but ends in light. So let it. Anxiety, sadness, loneliness, grief, and despair are all part of the season for many, perhaps yourself. But if you’re open — if you have a room to spare — the heavens will open up and you might just hear the worshiping choir and witness the glory of God6.

Selah, beloved. Merry Christmas!

  1. Luke 2:7 ↩︎
  2. Colossians 1:15 ↩︎
  3. Luke 2:25-32; Luke 2:36-38; Matthew 2:1; Luke 1:26-38; Matthew 1:19-25 ↩︎
  4. Matthew 2:3-8; Luke 2:7 ↩︎
  5. Mark 2:11 ↩︎
  6. Luke 2:9 ↩︎

better than fine: an advent meditation

[937 words, 5 minutes]

There’s a popular meme of a cartoon dog sitting glaze-eyed in a burning room with a mug of coffee within reach. He seems to be disassociatively resigned to his fate as the caption reads, “This is fine.”

As bad as the world gets, we don’t have to check out and pretend it’s not as horrible as they say. It’s bad. It’s really bad, granted. But Bethlehem would like a word. That little town long, long ago was mourning in lonely exile when something brilliant was taking place under its nose. Captive Israel (and the world) needed ransoming, and O Little Town of Bethlehem seemed as good of a place as any to get it started.

The beauty of Christmas is that it knows nothing of defeat. Mourning, yes. Disappointment, of course. But never defeat. As we find ourselves in the season of Advent, let this guiding promise illuminate our approach: Christmas reminds us that God is operating smack dab in the middle of the unholiest of messes and redeeming from it a much better story.

The Christmas story really begins in a garden full of trees. One might say Christmas was being scripted from the very beginning: a perfect world illuminated by God’s presence, resounding with angelic worship.1 And somewhere in the middle of it all, a couple and a tree that would change everything.2

The devil slithers into the narrative and messes it all up. The angels are caught in mid-song. The stars stop dancing. Darkness as black as death falls across Eden. Demons are given free rein to hunt and prowl the earth. Plagues of violence, lust, murder, and hate spread until they torch the outer boundaries of the once-flourishing world.

David, a key player in the Christmas saga, wrestled with the same kind of stuff we do today. What do we do when the room is burning down around us?

When the foundations are destroyed,
what can the righteous do?

Psa 11:3

What, David, what? What can the righteous do? Shrug our shoulders? Acquiesce? Sulk? Fret? Surrender to our fate? No, David says. We shift our gaze from the burning room to the throne in Heaven.

The LORD is in his holy temple;
the LORD—his throne is in heaven.
His eyes watch…The Lord examines the righteous…The upright will see His face.

Psalm 11:4-7

Martin Luther caught a bit of the drama in his famous hymn:3

And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us…

But he quickly pivoted to the Hope of humanity in our fallen world:

Did we in our own strength confide,
our striving would be losing,
were not the right Man on our side,
the Man of God’s own choosing…

The first gospel verse in scripture (Genesis 3:15) shines into the dark void, declaring One who will “crush the head” of the serpent and destroy his dominion over the earth. At the news I’m sure the hearkening angels, in full voice, heralded once again and the stars resumed their dance with unrestrained delight.

It won’t be an easy path for humanity, not by a long shot. “There will always be conflict between the ancient serpent and the offspring of Adam and Eve, until the day the Right Man comes — Jesus — and “destroys the works of the devil.” And the Right Man did come, and He did what He came to do.

Even when it looks like all is lost, everything’s fine. All is well.

In his book, Let Earth Receive Her King, Alistair Begg elaborates on the Advent promise:

Because God is in control, nothing could prevent the birth of that promised head-crusher of the serpent, Jesus of Nazareth. Because God is in control, nothing could prevent the perfect life that He lived. Because God is in control, nothing could prevent His triumph on the cross, when He bruised the serpent’s head. And because God is in control, nothing can prevent the coming age when the serpent is totally defeated and God’s great reversal is complete.

The baby in the manger at Christmas is the “he” of Genesis 3:15. We can rest in the reality that Jesus was, is, and always will be in control. We can remember that He will one day gather all who are His own and usher us into a new Eden. We can enjoy looking forward to the day when He will give to each of His people the privilege of enjoying eternal life with no sin, no sorrow, no sickness, no bitterness, no family divisions, no political wrangling – just never-ending beauty as we enjoy perfect communion with our Creator4.

Isn’t God kind to give away the end of the Story in the very beginning of the Story? Otherwise we would think Twitter is real life; that our grieving and groaning will remain unrequited; that we are stuck in a George Bailey horror show forever; that evil will always have the upper hand; that there is no change, no resolution, no getting out alive.

Imagine sitting in a burning room bravely pretending to be okay with it all, yet knowing in our hearts it will never, ever be fine. In truth, everything may not be fine right now, but all is well nonetheless (if you know what I mean). Advent hope doesn’t anesthetize present pain but rather gives it context and company—God entered the mess rather than explaining it away from a distance.

Christmas spares us from the dog in the meme’s delusional “This is fine” take, and transforms it into the best Christmas message of all: “All is well.”

Selah, beloved.

  1. Job 38:7 ↩︎
  2. Genesis 3:1-7 ↩︎
  3. Luther, Martin, A Mighty Fortress Is Our God ↩︎
  4. Begg, Alistair, Let Earth Receive Her King, p. 24 ↩︎