The Revolution of Christmas

Here's one last Christmas quote this year. This one is from G.K. Chesterton's The Everlasting Man:

Christmas for us in Christendom has become one thing, and in one sense even a simple thing. But like all the truths of that tradition, it is in another sense a very complex thing. Its unique not is the simultaneous striking of many notes; of humility, or gaiety, of gratitude, of mystical fear, but also of vigilance and drama. There is something defiant in it also; something that makes the abrupt bells at midnight sound like the great guns of a battle that has just been won.All this indescribable thing that we call the Christmas atmosphere only hangs in the air as something like a lingering fragrance or fading vapour from the exultant explosion of that one hour in the Judean hills nearly two thousand years ago. But the savour is still unmistakable, and it is something too subtle or too solitary to be covered by our use of the word peace. By the very nature of the story the rejoicings in the cavern were rejoicings in a fortress or an outlaw’s den; properly understood it is not unduly flippant to say they were rejoicings in a dug-out. It is not only true that such a subterranean chamber was a hiding-place from enemies; and that the enemies were already scouring the stony plain that lay above it like a sky.

There is in this buried divinity an idea of undermining the world; of shaking the towers and palaces from below; even as Herod the great king felt that earthquake under him and swayed with his swaying palace. This is perhaps the mightiest of the mysteries of the cave. Indeed the Church from its beginnings, and perhaps especially in its beginnings, was not so much a principality as a revolution against the prince of the world. It was in truth against a huge unconscious usurpation that it raised a revolt. Olympus still occupied the sky like a motionless cloud moulded into many mighty forms; philosophy still sat in the high places and even on the thrones of the kings, when Christ was born in the cave and Christianity in the catacombs.

This is War

This is War
Dustin Kensrue

This is war like you ain't seen.
This winter's long, it's cold and mean.
With hangdog hearts we stood condemned,
But the tide turns now at Bethlehem.

This is war and born tonight,
The Word as flesh, the Lord of Light,
The Son of God, the low-born king;
Who demons fear, of whom angels sing.

This is war on sin and death;
The dark will take it's final breath.
It shakes the earth, confounds all plans;
The mystery of God as man.

(Dustin is the lead singer of Thrice. You can listen to the song below.)

Victor Hugo

Nathan Stam
Children/Communications Pastor

From a devotion I shared at the AHS Christmas Musical last week:

This time of year frequently combines two things that I really love: Christmas + music = Christmas musicals. The two are a wonderful combination!

I recently came across a quote from Victor Hugo concerning music. Read what he had to say:

"Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent."

It's the truth. Music seems like it comes from somewhere deep within us and really connects on an emotional level. I've met people who like lots of different styles of music, but I've never met someone who didn't care for it at all! Music is a universal language.

You're probably familiar with this, but Victor Hugo is also the author of Les Miserables. Les Mis is the story of a man named Jean Valjean and was written in 1862. It's a powerful novel and quite complex, but I wanted to share one particular scene with you:

Jean Valjean has been in prison for nineteen years for a terrible crime—he stole a loaf of bread. After he has been finally released as a parolee, he comes to a Bishop’s house who takes him in for the night. Valjean repays the Bishop’s generosity by promptly stealing the Bishop’s silverware and silver plates and taking off in the darkness.

He’s caught almost immediately by the police and brought back to the Bishop’s home. But when he arrives something strange happens:

The Bishop shocks the reader when, instead of prosecuting Valjean, he insists to the police that he himself gave Valjean the silver. And then the Bishop freely offers Valjean his silver candlesticks too. It's an extraordinary moment of grace. "Valjean is made an honest man through another man’s sacrifice." Valjean doesn't deserve it in any shape or form, but the Bishop's action towards this hardened criminal embodies both mercy and grace. (And Valjean's life is changed because of it.)

Mercy came when Valjean was not given the punishment he deserved for theft, and grace came when he was given something he didn’t deserve: the candlesticks and the rest of the silver that he stole.

Christmas tells us another story, THE STORY of mercy and grace. It tells us of how God himself came to the world—a world full of death and darkness that had rebelled against him—God came and was born as a baby so that he could rescue our world from death.

Christmas is a story of mercy because Jesus, the God-man, did not come to condemn the world because of our rebellion, but to save the world through his death on the cross and his resurrection three days later. He is God’s great rescue plan.

Christmas is a story of grace because we’re given something we don’t deserve: new life and a new beginning. Freedom. Hope. Peace with God. And it’s all made possible through a baby that was born on Christmas day that would one day grow up and die on a cross to take our place—to those who believe in the name of Jesus.

Recognition

Recognition
Luci Shaw

Who on earth saw him first, knowing
truly who he was? Belly to belly, when
John, prophet in utero, distinguished
in the natal soup the fetal bones, the body
curled like a comma, eyes tight, skull
packed with universal wisdom,
this unborn cousin began to dance.

And when she, birth-giver—
her ordinary vision arrowing down between
her legs through pain and straw to her son's dark,
slime-streaked hair, to his very skin, red with
the struggle of being born—she lifted him
to her breast, kissed the face of God,
and felt her own heart leap.

God With Us

I ran across this video and loved it. What a great Christmas song from Folk Angel (by the way, I highly recommend their newest Christmas album)! You can check out the lyrics in full right here.

First Coming

First Coming
by Madeleine L’Engle

He did not wait till the world was ready,
till men and nations were at peace.
He came when the Heavens were unsteady,
and prisoners cried out for release.

He did not wait for the perfect time.
He came when the need was deep and great.
He dined with sinners in all their grime,
turned water into wine. He did not wait

till hearts were pure. In joy he came
to a tarnished world of sin and doubt.
To a world like ours, of anguished shame
he came, and his Light would not go out.

He came to a world which did not mesh,
to heal its tangles, shield its scorn.
In the mystery of the Word made Flesh
the Maker of the stars was born.

We cannot wait till the world is sane
to raise our songs with joyful voice,
for to share our grief, to touch our pain,
He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!

A True Christmas Photos

A few photos from this past weekend. For more, check out our Google+ page: