Isaiah 9
6 For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
7 Of the greatness of his government and peace
there will be no end.
He will reign on David's throne
and over his kingdom,
establishing and upholding it
with justice and righteousness
from that time on and forever.
The zeal of the LORD Almighty
will accomplish this.
Now, as then, we look for resolution to our problems in the seats of power and authority. The Hebrew concept of Messiah inherently focused on a child who would become a King; the anointed one to rule over all the earth.
One of the hymns we sang this past Sunday, the first Sunday in Advent, was Charles Wesley's Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus. It's a moving invitation to claim one who comes "to set thy people free"; one who is "hope of all the earth"; one who is the "joy of every longing heart". Of course, I believe these words just like you. Yet, we find a real paradox when we sing the words, born a child and yet a King.
James Howell, a noted Methodist preacher and thinker, speaks to this truth in highly insightful fashion. Let me share his thoughts with you as the heart of today's devotional.
If the world invented a savior, we would be eager for a mighty warrior to roll down with a massive entourage to crush all evildoers. People scan the horizon for aid, thinking it will come from the corridors of power or not at all. But, as Martin Luther taught us, 'God became small for us in Christ. He showed us his heart, so our hearts might be won.' It isn't that Christ was really a powerful commander who merely pretended to be a child, humble, vulnerable. Christ showed us the true heart of God, that has no desire to thump enemies; God loves, embraces, risks everything hoping we will love God and each other.
In Christ we see a different kind of power - the kind you notice when a baby is born and you drop everything and find yourself gently cooing and tenderly cradling a fragile life that you treat as the center of the universe, and the hope of the future. A baby keeps you up at night, and there's no inconvenience too great to bear. During Advent we pray for the long-expected Jesus to come - but he comes in no other form than as a child we must care for, who insists we shed our mightiness and quite simply love.
Worth our reflection these days of Advent, isn't it?
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