In these unsettling times of hatred and violence as rulers rage like Herod, may we stand in the ruins of the empire and lift our voices. For unto us a child is born.
In our familiarity with the birth narrative, we often do not consider the long-term consequences for the secondary figures in the story. It was an unsettling time that left long and permanent scars on their lives.
Advent reminds us that God comes into a world already organized by power and exclusion — and does not accept its terms. If Christianity is used today to justify separation, the gospel calls us back to its center.
The cruel spectacle churns on for now, but Advent prepares us to see anew that there are countless ordinary acts of love happening quietly, out of sight, more than you and I will ever know.
We should all be concerned about government officials anointing themselves as the arbiters of what a Nativity scene should look like. Sadly, too many Christians today willingly side with Herod.
It must have seemed hopeless in first-century Palestine for plenty of people, but that is where the light of the world chooses to be born. God is still coming into being, even amidst the cruelty of ICE and the terror of state violence.
A difficult pregnancy made it feel like darkness was closing in. But still, there was a tiny burning ember of hope that kept glowing. In the midst of actual and metaphoric scar tissue from years of losses, something miraculous happened.
Jesus often appeared in places where he was unexpected. He hung out with supercilious religious folk, sinners, and publicans. But he would undoubtedly say some confrontational things to the crowd.
Jesus didn’t say ‘peace’ because the disciples were safe or because the soldiers went away, but precisely because they were waiting outside and yet peace was still possible.
As Christmas approaches and the world gazes once again toward Bethlehem, a fundamental choice emerges: Will Christians justify oppression and exclusion, or will they stand with the local Christian community?