As a child growing up in the Reformed Episcopal Church, the first day of Advent was lovely yet a little strange. At the evening church service, we sang the most mournful hymns, with lines like “O come, O come, Immanuel, / And ransom captive Israel.” They were always songs that moaned about our sin and captivity and, well, the hymns sounded gloomy.
And so did the Advent Scriptures—like this Advent reading from Isaiah 30:1, which says, “‘Woe to the obstinate children,’ declares the Lord, ‘to those who carry out plans that are not mine, forming an alliance, but not by my Spirit, heaping sin upon sin.’” I was only a little girl, but I thought this was a very odd way to begin the Christmas season.
How could we possibly appreciate the gift of Jesus Christ as Savior of our sins unless first—like right now—we take time to consider what we need to be saved from?
God wants us to understand the depth and breadth of our transgressions against him and come face to face with the utter lostness of our plight. He wants us to own our sad and sorry situation, understanding that our sin offends him and that his wrath is upon us. That without Jesus we are held captive by the Enemy.
I know what it’s like to be held captive by a sad and sorry situation. Decades ago, when a reckless dive left me paralyzed at the age of 17, my world went dark. My despair seemed like a bottomless pit. I was lost to life as I once knew it—riding horses, playing sports, and hiking through the beauty of God’s creation. But now? I felt enslaved by a life sentence of quadriplegia.
Lying in the rehabilitation hospital after my injury, I wanted to end my life. Unable to do even that, I determined to end my life spiritually. I told my mother to shut the door and close the drapes. I wanted to shut out the light—shut out the whole world. I was lost.
Only when we appreciate the fact that we are lost can we fully celebrate being found. Perhaps that’s why James says, “Grieve, mourn, and wail” over your sin and God “will lift you up” (4:9,10). Only when we face our lostness can we say,
Joy to the world! The Lord is come.
Let earth receive her King.
Let every heart prepare him room,
and heaven and nature sing!
There is a method to the mystery of Advent. As each week of Advent progresses, the Scriptures—and the hymns—turn from somber to joyful. They become lighter, happier, and full of hope.
Even Scripture’s tone changes in the hope-filled call of Isaiah 40:3: “Prepare the way for the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God.” And in Isaiah 41:10, God says to the captives, “Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
The journey through Advent teaches us that we need Jesus. The Light of the World is coming to set the captive free.
As December 25 draws near, it is time to reflect on the manner in which we wait for Christ in the darkness of our captivity and respond to his eternal light.
We all have different responses to the incarnation of the Son of God. Are you searching? Wanting to draw closer? Or are you a little indifferent—almost uncaring that another Christmas is here already?
People likely responded similarly to Jesus’ arrival. Think of the answers people gave when they heard of what had happened in Bethlehem. There were many, like the innkeeper, who couldn’t have cared less. He had things to do, pots to wash, beds to change, stuff to pick up at the market.
Other people were cruel and even malicious, like Herod. He did everything in his power to stop the celebration, hunt down this so-called King, and put an end to the events God had already put into play.
Still others were frightened, even terrified—like the shepherds. It was only after the angels bent over backward to explain what was going on that their fears were put to rest.
Other people were curious, like the wise men—the searching types. They sincerely wanted to know what was going on. They sensed that something different, something important, had happened. And they knew, without even having the Bible to guide them, that it would mean a big change for the world.
Some people waited, like Simeon in the temple. Other people hoped, like Anna the prophetess. Still others like Mary and Joseph knew the answer to “What Child Is This?” and worshiped this little one sleeping in his mother’s arms.
Do you, like the innkeeper, just have too much to do to take time to truly celebrate Christ’s birth? Do you, like the innkeeper, just have too much to do to take time to truly celebrate Christ’s birth? Or like Mary and Joseph, do you take time to stare out from the gloom of your daily struggles to contemplate the brilliance of God’s perfect light?
The miracle that has illuminated human history also illuminates our weary hearts. The God who overflows the universe has poured himself into baby flesh. The high and holy who shrouds himself in his own dazzling light, whose chariot is the wind and fire, who crosses the heavens on storms and lightning, who shakes the foundation of the earth—he has entered history. Jesus has touched down on this chaotic, fragile, and noisy planet. You can hear his Christmas footsteps if you stop, look, listen, and be still.
Tonight, bundle up and head outside. Gaze at the stars and ponder: The same night sky overhead peered down on that Christmas miracle over 2,000 years ago. And then, if you can, sing, “All is calm, all is bright,” deep from your soul.
Because of that night in Bethlehem, the Spirit of the Lord has invaded your heart and taken up residence in your very soul. He boldly intruded into your sin, calling it what it is and challenging you to leave it behind.
So come, oh, come, Immanuel! This glorious Advent season, may we realize afresh our need of you, our Savior, and may we own our desperate condition. Only then can we truly have a very merry Christmas.
Joni Eareckson Tada is the founder and chief executive officer of Joni and Friends, a Christian nonprofit ministry committed to reaching and serving people with disabilities with practical help and the saving love of Jesus.
