Hello, fellow wayfarers … How Christmas upends everything that draws our culture to
astrology … Why I broke down with emotion at the mother church of country music … What I learned from 13 years of the best sermon interruption I’ve ever experienced … Where you can join us this week to talk about books … a snowy Buffalo Desert Island Bookshelf … This is this week’s Moore to the Point.
People Love Astrology. The Star of Bethlehem Tells a Different Story.
Not long ago, a Christian economist from India mentioned that he was part of an unusual coalition. The group ranged from atheists to believers, from astronomers and physicists to religious leaders, all seeking to debunk astrology in their home country. This was not some remnant of old Eastern superstition, as most Western secularists would assume. The hunger for horoscopes was largely, he said, a cultural import—from North America. This should not surprise us.
In her book of several years ago, Strange Rites: New Religions for a Godless World, Tara Isabella Burton points to studies showing that 40 percent of those who say they have no religious affiliation believe in psychics and that 32 percent say they believe in astrology. Burton argues that secularization does not mean an abandonment of spiritual beliefs and practices but a “remixing” of them.
We can see that fascination with the role of stars in human lives in recent fictional explorations of the meaning of life. Karl Ove Knausgaard’s 2021 novel The Morning Star sets a series of family conflicts and personal crises against the context of a mysterious, foreboding star in the night sky. A similar story is the backdrop of Sarah Perry’s 2024 novel Enlightenment, which is about, of all things, a deconstructing English Calvinistic Baptist who questions whether a comet is controlling his fate. He finds purpose in a combination of physics and a kind of astrology.
Perry told interviewers that her editors insisted she explain theological concepts like predestination and providence in plainer terms for readers. One assumes the editors took it for granted that readers would need little explanation, on the other hand, for the kind of fatalism that is grounded in reading the stars.
Astrology is, of course, an ancient practice, but it is perfectly fitted for this age. In his Confessions, Augustine argued that astrology was a way to justify one’s sin without seeking mercy from God. The astrologers could say, “The cause of your sinning was fixed unchangeably by the heavens” and “The planet Venus (or Saturn or Mars) has done this,” Augustine wrote, “meaning that man, made up of flesh and blood and proud corruption, is free from fault and that the creator and ruler of the sky and the stars must bear the blame.”
We humans do indeed wish to self-justify our guilt, but I think there’s an added pull to astrology that is different from that of ancient times.
We now have choices every day that our ancestors never imagined. Up until very recently, a high school career counselor would have made no sense. In some ways, the same is true of other big choices—who a person marries, for instance, or where one lives. But all these are fraught with possibilities of making the wrong choice. Why should you trust your 19- or 20-year-old self to make decisions that will define not just your life but the generations after you?
Pierce Moffett, a character in John Crowley’s Aegypt series of novels, realizes that clairvoyance and astrology are about “assenting that the cosmos was in some sense a story—that the universe was a cosmos.” He concludes that the search for harmonies and directions for the future is, ultimately, about providing “Cliff’s Notes to the plots of their own lives.”
Faced with the fear of wrecking one’s future—or the regret of fearing one has already done so—who would not want a shorthand way to find that plotline? That is especially true when an entire global culture seems plagued by anxiety, the kind that philosopher Hartmut Rosa describes as the simultaneous expectation of being in control of everything while feeling that everything is out of control.
When a person feels dominated by a fate outside of one’s control, there’s comfort in believing that fate is controlled by our Zodiac sign. At least then, one reasons, we can kind of see what’s coming.
The wise men of the Gospel of Matthew’s birth narrative were Eastern star-readers, discerning from the night sky a sign of the coming of Israel’s prophesied king (Matt. 2:1–2). When they calculated by the star the location of the Christ child, Matthew tells us that they “rejoiced exceedingly with great joy” and worshiped Jesus when they found him (Matt. 2:10–11, ESV throughout).
At first glance, the guidance of the Magi might lead us to conclude that we too should seek out those who can read constellations. But the story of Jesus upends all that.
The ancient prophecy—“I see him, but not now; I behold him, but not near; a star shall come out of Jacob, and a scepter shall rise out of Israel” (Num. 24:17)—also originated with a frustrated occultist. Balaam was hired by the warlord Balak to place a curse on Israel—a curse God kept turning into a blessing that would include the prophecy of Jacob’s dawning star.
The apostle Paul wrote little about what we call “the Christmas story,” with the exception of such brief references as this one: “But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law” (Gal. 4:4). He did this to free us from slavery—slavery to “the Law” but also to what he calls “the elementary principles of the world” (v. 3).
The pull, Paul wrote to the church at Colossae, was to return to captivity to these “elemental spirits of the world” (Col. 2:8). The ancients were not stupid to believe themselves to be trapped by forces outside their control—the “elements” of a universe that ultimately kill us all. The problem is not just that people feel this kind of fatalism, but that we actually want it.
“Formerly, when you did not know God, you were enslaved to those that by nature are not gods,” Paul wrote. “But now that you have come to know God, or rather to be known by God, how can you turn back again to the weak and worthless elementary principles of the world, whose slaves you want to be once more?” (Gal. 4:8–9).
The problem is that we want to be enslaved by the elemental forces of the world. Whether it’s with a “Well, what are you gonna do?” resignation or with an attempt to channel the uncontrollable forces we believe are throwing us around, we, left to ourselves, would rather have a story written for us by fate or destiny or charts or graphs—or even a legal code from the Bible—than to contemplate the dark possibility that there is no story at all, just a random, meaningless void.
A certain kind of rationalist laughs at the “backwardness” of those who read their horoscopes. But there’s little difference between that kind of superstition and the kind of techno-utopianism that rests the future on, say, “terra-forming” Mars or downloading human consciousness to the cloud.
We don’t find freedom from that kind of fate-slavery by mastering the elements or, even worse, by mastering the Creator of the elements. We don’t find it by becoming as smart as “the universe” or by learning how to harness it—either by magic or technology. We find freedom, instead, as children and heirs of the Father who “sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, ‘Abba! Father!’” (Gal. 4:6).
In other words, we find freedom not by becoming Magi, much less King Herod attempting to channel that kind of power to protect himself. We find freedom when, joined in union with Christ, we cry out in dependence not on an impersonal universe but on a Father who loves us.
By losing your need for control—even the illusory “control” of predicting your future—you can count the future of Jesus as your future. His “destiny,” if you will, becomes your own. By losing your life, you can find it.
Maybe the star on top of every Christmas tree you see this year will remind you of this: that the star itself can’t help you as you grapple with a past you might regret or a future you might fear.
The person checking the horoscope app next to you in the coffee shop is not a flake or a fool. They are trying to find a story that makes sense. That way won’t get them there. But God has been known to redirect people to the real story—the story that became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.
Behold the Lamb of God’s 25th Anniversary
One of our favorite Christmas season traditions is the annual Behold the Lamb of God concert at the Ryman Auditorium here in Nashville, put on by our beloved friend Andrew Peterson and his band with collaboration from some of the best singers, songwriters, and instrumentalists in the world.
We love both the newness of it every year and the annual hearing of the words and music from the album that means so much to us, written and performed by people who mean much to us. And every year, we meet new people—it was a treat to meet some of you who came up and introduced yourselves—and people we haven’t seen in a long, long time. We even saw former students of mine from our Southern Seminary days.
This year was even more special than others because it was the 25th anniversary of the tour. I am hard-pressed to think of anything quite like this: a community of people drawn together every year from all over the country to sing together and hear together of the incarnation of Christ.
This year, I was hoping nobody could see me in the dark as I wept (and I don’t mean wiping away tears; I mean totally undignified crying). Bluegrass artist Dennis Parker introduced himself and noted that the first time he’d ever heard “Behold the Lamb of God” was several years ago while on work release.
Some folks laughed, assuming he was making a joke, but he went on to explain that he had been incarcerated, his life wrecked with alcoholism and other problems, and was washing dishes in a Thai restaurant, listening to YouTube videos through headphones to pass the time. He then talked about what it was like to find Jesus—or, rather, to be found by him—and about the amazement that, after all he had done and all he had messed up, there was mercy and grace for him.
Parker then sang “Jesus Loves Me.” I can’t see the screen through the tears as I type, just thinking about it again. Maybe it was partly because I’ve heard and sung those words—“Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so”—from my very earliest memories. But I think it’s more than that. I’ve never been in prison or in addiction, but I have to fight hard too, every day, to remind myself that those words are true, that Jesus does love me.
The worst parts of my church upbringing imprinted a view of an angry God for whom I have to make sure that my faith is strong enough, that my repentance is sincere enough, my sinner’s prayer worded right, to keep the terms of my contract. The best parts, though, told me just what Parker sang. I’m still amazed by that kind of grace—and in a moment like that, I am flooded with awe and gratitude, and love.
The Best Sermon Interruption Ever Is Now a Teenager
Today is the 13th birthday of our youngest son, Taylor Eugene.
The day of his birth was a Sunday, and I was just about to preach, as I did every week, at Highview Baptist Church in Louisville, where I served as teaching pastor. Maria took me by the hand right before and said something along the lines of, “I don’t want to interrupt anything, but I’m in labor.”
I turned to our minister of music and said, “Guess what? You’re preaching in five minutes, so get ready.” He did, and we hurried to the hospital. Taylor was born a few hours later, and we were elated to be “interrupted.” We still are.
We have no bar mitzvahs in the Christian world—certainly not in American evangelical Christianity—but I wish we did. Thirteen is a big threshold out of childhood and toward adulthood. Taylor is smart, curious, and kind. He loves to fish and to romp through the woods and creeks here in Tennessee where we live. I’m proud of him both as the child he has been and as the young man I can already see him becoming.
As I’ve mentioned here before, people will say a lot of things to you when you are new parents. A lot of it is nonsense. But one thing that is true is that the years speed by faster than you would ever imagine.
Join Me for a YouTube Live Event Tomorrow
This Thursday night, December 12, some colleagues of mine will be hosting a live event over at our YouTube channel. We will be talking to this year’s CT Book of the Year award-winning author Gavin Ortlund and runner-up Brad East about their books, What It Means to Be Protestant and Letters to a Future Saint.
We will start live at 8 p.m. ET here at our YouTube channel. Join us! And if you’re so inclined, here’s a form to submit questions for Gavin and Brad in advance.
Desert island bookshelf
Every other week, I share a list of books that one of you says you’d want to have on hand if you were stranded on a deserted island. This week’s submission comes from reader Jason Milne of Buffalo, New York, who writes: “I’m an avid reader. You’ve turned me to Marilynne Robinson and Wendell Berry, in particular … I was already a Lewis and Tolkien nut.”
Here’s his list:
- The Lord of the Rings trilogy by J. R. R. Tolkien: I know, I know … it’s three books, but I have them all in one volume. These stories are my comfort food. I never grow weary of them. Hopeful, the imagery, and my father first read them aloud to me when I was five, so nostalgic as well.
- Discipleship by J. Heinrich Arnold: Henri Nouwen in the foreword reminds the reader that “the peace of the gospel is not the same as the peace of the world, that the consolation of the gospel is not the same as the consolation of the world, and that the gentleness of the gospel has little to do with the free-for-all attitude of the world. The gospel asks for a choice, a radical choice, a choice that is not always praised, supported, or celebrated.” That’s what this book is about.
- The Prodigal God by Timothy Keller: This book helped shaped how I view God as my heavenly Father. I have given this book away probably 4–5 times and someone has always then given ME a copy. If I’m on a desert island, I’d finally have one to keep.
- Letters to a Young Pastor: Timothy Conversations between Father and Son by Eric E. and Eugene H. Peterson: Letters between senior pastor Eugene Peterson and his son (a young pastor early in his ministry). Practical nuggets of wisdom and whimsy.
- A Net of Fireflies: Japanese Haiku and Haiku Paintings transl. by Harold Stewart: A beautiful collection with illustrations.
- Letters and Papers from Prison by Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Letters from 1943–1945. Bonhoeffer’s correspondence to friends and family. Introduced to a broader readership his ideas of religion-less Christianity and appraisal of Christian doctrine. Bonhoeffer is an inspiration.
- In the Heart of the Sea by Nathaniel Philbrick: The true story of the whaleship Essex, which was the inspiration for Melville’s Moby-Dick. I just love Philbrick’s writing style and ability to tell stories. History of Nantucket and whaling tucked in there too.
- Can I Get A Witness? Thirteen Peacemakers, Community Builders, and Agitators for Faith and Justice ed. by Charles Marsh, Shea Tuttle, and Daniel P. Rhodes: Short bios of Cesar Chavez, Ella Baker, Mahalia Jackson, Richard Twiss, Dorothy Day, and others. All written by separate authors. Inspiring, challenging bios. I learned a lot about the courage of these people and the price they paid for loving and advocating for others.
- Watership Down by Richard Adams: This is probably tied with The Hobbit as my favorite novel. Adventure, love, danger, treachery, suspense. It’s got it all … and the characters are rabbits. (I know you just mentioned the graphic novel of Watership Down illustrated by Sturm and Sutphin.)
- Eiger Dreams by Jon Krakauer: A collection of adventure writing by Krakauer that appeared in Outside and Smithsonian magazines. “The Devil’s Thumb” is a must-read!
- Honorable Mention (not pictured): A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson. I laugh out loud every time I read it. His (mis)adventures on the Appalachian Trail.
Thank you, Jason!
Readers, what do y’all think? If you were stranded on a desert island for the rest of your life and could have only one playlist or one bookshelf with you, what songs or books would you choose?
- For a Desert Island Playlist, send me a list between 5 and 12 songs, excluding hymns and worship songs. (We’ll cover those later.)
- For a Desert Island Bookshelf, send me a list of up to 12 books, along with a photo of all the books together.
Send your list (or both lists) to questions@russellmoore.com, and include as much or as little explanation of your choices as you would like, along with the city and state from which you’re writing.
Quote of the Moment
“In church this morning, as I half-listened to the Christmas hymns and the reading of the very unlikely, much-illustrated passage from Luke telling how Gabriel came to Mary and told her that the Holy Ghost would come upon her and the power of the Highest would ‘overshadow’ her and make her pregnant with the Son of God, it appeared to me that when we try in good faith to believe in materialism, in the exclusive reality of the physical, we are asking ourselves to step aside; we are disavowing the very realm where we exist and where all things precious are kept—the realm of emotion and conscience, of memory and intention and sensation.”
—John Updike
Currently Reading (or Re-Reading)
- Graeme Goldsworthy, In These Last Days: The Dynamics of Biblical Revelation (B&H)
- Mark Lilla, Ignorance and Bliss: On Wanting Not to Know (Farrar, Straus & Giroux)
- Denise Levertov, A Door in the Hive: Poems (New Directions)
- John Crowley, Novelties and Souvenirs: Collected Short Fiction (HarperCollins)
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Russell Moore
Editor in Chief, Christianity Today
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