This month, we walk again through the season of Advent, a time of preparation and anticipation of the gift of Christ at Christmas. It is a time to look back, listening to the ancient words of God’s people giving voice to the deep needs and earnest hopes of a hurting and lost people. Maybe it’s too obvious to begin by noting that this year has been a hard year. Listen again to some of those ancient words in worship over the next few weeks, or in your Yates Advent devotional, and see if they don’t also give voice to your hopes and needs.
For instance, the prophet Isaiah sings: “The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom; it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy!” (Is. 35:1-2) Close your eyes just for a moment and let your imagination take you there. Feel the dry air on your lips and taste the dust of the parched earth. Then listen for the sound of the first drops of rain on that hard soil. Smell the moistening earth drinking in the sustaining water. Imagine the rain soaking into the arid spaces, then watch the desert flowers begin to break through the ground. Feel the life bursting through and see the buds opening, their colors breaking over the brown earth as far as you can see.
Isaiah reminds us that joy comes like new life in the desert. This is a story of divine intervention — nothing short of a divine transfusion of life into the old order of things. Streams in the desert open up to nourish a land that simply had none before.
This new life comes as a gift, and it comes as a surprise. That’s the way God comes to us in Jesus. We like to tell the Nativity story Broadway-style, with soaring angels, orchestras, and massed choirs singing the Hallelujah Chorus. This is an appropriate way to celebrate Christmas as people of faith, but it is not how it happened. At first, no one of note knew that it happened. There were some shepherds — but remember, I said no one of note. Some time later, when magi from the East showed up in search of a newborn king, the powers-that-be took notice. But we come to that part of the story a little later.
The beloved carol “O Little Town of Bethlehem” tells how joy came to the world without great fanfare: “How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is giv’n.”
The joy we yearn for — the joy only God can bring — can come inconspicuously. And we celebrate that God’s joy cannot be defeated, denied, or drowned out by the loud noise of our world’s pains. It is born in a deep place in our souls where we feel, sense, and know that in Jesus Christ, God is indeed with us.
If you want mere holiday happiness, you won’t find it in Scripture. You’ll need to look for a great bargain on Black Friday. But if you’re looking for joy — real joy, life-giving joy — then Isaiah tells us where to find it. It’s the joy that can “strengthen weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees.” (Is. 35:3) It’s the joy that dares to “say to those who are of a fearful heart, ‘Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God.'” (Is. 35:4) It’s the joy that lives with confident assurance that one day, by God’s grace, “the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped, the lame shall leap like the deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy.” (Is. 35:5-6)
Now, Isaiah would probably be the first to acknowledge that his words were out of tune with the times he was in, even as they may seem dissonant with our own. The noise of this world, with its difficulty, death, and despair, is so loud that it seems to drown out the quiet entry of real joy.
In Advent, we anchor ourselves again in the conviction that Christ was born for this. He was born for this time, for this world of suffering, loss, and death. Jesus as God with us, for times such as these — not just the easier times of celebration. All I want for Christmas, and at any time, is that kind of joy. How about you?
Peace,