The Saga of Atonement

[Long ago I read the Kalevala, the mythological epic of Finland and found its special meter (trochic tetrameter) to be one of the most compelling things about it. I wanted to write poetry of some kind for Christmas, and basically this is what happened. The rhythm is very suited for long poems, and I may very well gradually expand it in the future to tell the entire story of salvation. Either way, I hope you are blessed by my feeble attempts at wordsmithery. Merry Christmas!]

Long in silent darkness dwelling

Long the shadows on them lay

Those that name the Name of Israel

Waited for a coming day

Legions Roman hold their cities 

Legions Demon hold their souls

Priests of rules the rules abandon

Stealing tithes but washing bowls

Now a spark in shadow shining

Now a light begins to burn

Virgin she yet bears a firstborn

In their fields the shepherds learn

Angels sing in choirs angelic

Angels fallen shout in fear

Know they well the Son of David

Clothed in flesh now He is here

*

Eastern men of wisdom find Him

Eastern skies reveal a star

Furious a false king seeks Him

Safely fled to Nile afar

Nazareth receives Him homeward

Nazareth what good from there

By the lakeside woodcraft learning

Feels He all our mortal care

Now the fire begins a-blazing

Now Redeemer deems it time

Calling to Him sons of Israel

Breaking rules without a crime

From the desert flees the tempter

From the desert cries a voice

Kingdom coming heaven calling

Rich and poor must make a choice

*

Teachers of the law oppose Him

Teachers taught to listen well

Crowds are sated storms are silenced

Yeast and salt and fires of hell

Turns He fishers into preachers

Turns He to Jerusalem

Waving palms but palming silver

One betrays the rest of them

Now the flames grow somber softly

Now the sorrow swiftly nears 

Chases cheaters from His temple

Truth He rains on arid ears

Cup and bread and night is falling

Cup of wrath and torches glow

Whips that cut the Son of Heaven

Peter cut by rooster's crow

*

Borne by boards He bears our sorrow

Borne aloft for Adam's fall

Crying out the work is finished

Gives His life our all in all

Death in mortal fear beholds Him

Death a stranger in His land

From the grave a King is rising

Scars in foot and side and hand

Now a mighty conflagration 
Now His love the world ignites
Sends us forth to speak His gospel
Seven lamps and seven lights.

Dwelling now in heaven's glory
Dwelling places He prepares
Now we wait for His returning
God Almighty None Compares

Christmas with Pontius Pilate

We don't know what Pilate looked like, but the expression Greg Hicks
(from the old film The Robe) is making here seems very appropriate.

A middle-aged Roman prefect stumbles confusedly through an unfamiliar town square.

This is certainly not Jerusalem, he muses, observing the strange garb of the local inhabitants. A careful-thinking man, he does not panic, but tries to retrace his steps that evening. There had been the gift of fine wine from Antipas, perhaps enjoyed a little too willingly in the wake of yet another censorious message from Rome, a lapse of his customary self-discipline. Then on the way home, a swerve into that unfamiliar-looking alley to avoid that idiot rider who couldn't manage his own horse. There was a sort of flash, and disoriented feeling (had he hit his head?), and suddenly he stepped out of what he had assumed was the same cobble-stoned alleyway, only to find he was not in Jerusalem at all.

Nor anywhere in Judea, seemingly. The people here had strange features, and were of every ethnicity, like the diverse masses that poured into Jerusalem for Passover, yet there were faces strange to even his own fairly experienced eye. Some looked more or less Roman, some like the Germanic warriors Tiberius had brought back to parade at his Triumph, some like Egyptian or other African auxiliaries, and others more exotic still.

They were dressed in strange but festive garb, suitable for the cold weather, colder than Jerusalem had been, he now realized. He drew his cloak more closely around him as a frigid blast drove flurries of snow into his face, aquiline features narrowing in disapproval. He did not shiver, a habit cultivated to avoid appearing weak in front of his soldiers, but he knew he would need to find warmer clothing like theirs soon. That left the question of where he was, however, and how he'd get home.

His attention was quickly drawn by music, such music as he had never heard before. The rhythm and instruments were strange to his ears, but he could understand the lyrics well enough: Gloria in Excelcis Deo. "Glory to God in the Highest." But only part of the song was in Latin, the rest was garbled in some kind of barbarian, mumbling tongue full of consonant clusters, though here and there he heard loanwords borrowed from Latin and perhaps Greek. The tongue of some outlying province, then, which knew of the glory of Rome but perhaps did not yet bow to its authority. He should be careful; his obviously Roman garb and bearing might not earn him any good feeling in this place. And "deo" was a bit strange, "god" rather than "gods." Perhaps these people, like the Judeans, worshiped a singular deity. He'd never taken the time to learn the details of Judean religion, that was Antipas' forte, not his. The Judeans didn't like him, and he didn't care for them at all; they were difficult to manage, fussing with religious minutia at one minute, and attempting bloody insurrections the next, then crying to Rome if he so much as slaughtered a handful of them to teach them a good lesson. The Judean position had been a welcome promotion at the time, but he'd soon grown weary of the post, and Rome had not been pleased with his severe interpretation of proper governance. Perhaps they were all going soft back in The City Aeternal, losing the old patrician sternness just like they'd lost the war in Germania, though such rebellious thoughts were dangerous even in the secret palace of his own mind.

What he could not understand was where the music was coming from. To produce such a song would require a choir of reasonably well-trained singers, along with a small band of musicians. But his ears could clearly distinguish the direction of the music, and it seemed to be coming from the air. Perhaps it was a party on an upper floor? Some of the buildings here, he now realized, were taller than any he'd seen before. Gods knew what far-flung royal capital had he been transported to, no doubt in a deep wine-dream he'd regret in the morning, even if his slaves had gotten him safely home to bed.

He walked further down the street, avoiding the pedestrians who mostly ignored him, though several gawked as if they'd never seen a Roman before. He rounded the corner, seeking shelter from the wind, and drew in his breath at the sight that greeted him. A great conifer tree, like those of the forests of northern Germania, completely covered in dazzling lights. How they were contrived he did not know, but one of these would be the talk of Rome if it could be arranged. He drew closer, seeking to understand how it was lit and appointed.

At the base of the tree, he now saw, were some badly-done statues, enacting a scene of some kind, probably religious in nature. There was a baby in a tiny bed of straw, surrounded by improbably diverse livestock, with sheep jostling with cows and what was either a horse or a donkey for space. There was a man and a woman on each side of the baby, probably its parents, and then some other strange characters, with shepherd's crooks but dressed unlike any shepherds he'd ever been forced to take notice of. On the other side were three unusual figures, dressed in exaggerated finery and accompanied by an undersized camel, the kind with two humps from the northeastern provinces that were massive and intimidating in real life, around which the horses of his all-too-few cavalry units were irritatingly skittish.

The whole scene had an air of spiritual significance, both in its placement under the shining tree and with the careful placement of certain characters, as if it were the re-enactment of an important religious ceremony or myth. These mystery religions and their public rituals had become common in Rome and throughout the Empire, though the significance of this one escaped him and didn't particularly concern him. As he was turning his attention back to the tree, to his great surprise a woman tapped him on the shoulder. He glared in startled outrage at her for daring such a familiar gesture, and he a prefect of Rome, before remembering that this was a dream and he'd best play along in hopes of waking up as soon as possible. His wife often had vivid dreams, and claimed they sometimes came true later. Perhaps this was something significant as well. He forced himself to relax his features and looked sternly but inquiringly at her. The woman, who did not at all resemble his wife, with pale skin and hair redder than he had ever seen before, looked momentarily taken aback at his reflexive scowl, but now drew herself up and began prattling at him in her barbarian language with the occasional familiar-sounding word, seemingly both pleased and impatient. He understood nothing from her speech, but she began poking and prodding him toward the scene he had just been contemplating, and to his irritation he understood that she wanted him to stand off to one side and not move.

He did so, feeling very imposed upon by this strange dream, and in response she drew out a small, flat, black object and held it up in front of her, bending forward slightly and appearing to look through it at the scene, though it was solid as far as he could tell. He wondered if she was the designer of the display, and the black object was used for worship in her obscure cultus. It was aimed at him too, he thought, which meant he was being honored as well. Though he didn't hold with barbarian superstition, he decided to play the part, and drew himself up proudly. She made more pleased sounds at this and kept tapping the object in her hand, before straightening up and, to his utter astonishment, raising her thumb in the pollice verso gesture which condemned a defeated gladiator to death. With her beaming countenance completely at odds with the lethal sign, it occurred to him that this might mean something different so far from proper civilization as he clearly was, though it was hard to contemplate. This must be a distant province indeed.

She withdrew after being hailed by some other women, and Pilate took the opportunity to study the scene more carefully before withdrawing. He had assumed the figures were carved from stone and then painted in this rather lurid fashion, but now he saw they were fashioned from some light but tough material, so light that having barely brushed against it he knocked one of the rich kingly figures into its impossibly tiny camel, both falling over. No matter, a slave would take care of that. On the back, he now noticed, were affixed labels, in mostly-legible Latin script. He peered at each of them, and found some names were more or less familiar. "Ioseph" was seemingly their local corruption of the Latin name "Iosephus," for example, though the I was drawn with a foot, like "J". Idly curious, an unnatural mood for him, he came to the child, and lifted it to see what the label on its back might say. Having done so, he dropped the small figure in surprise and passed his hand over his eyes in disbelief. "Jesus Christ." Surely it couldn't be...?

His mind immediately flashed back to that horrible day. Iesus Nazarenus, the one they called Christus. The crowds had been all stirred up at his arrival for their annual celebration, one of several yearly that required the slaughtering of vast numbers of animals, then a few days later turned on him savagely and demanded his crucifixion. But this man was not just a fallen local celebrity. He was... different. The thought was uncomfortable, even years later.

His wife had behaved unusually that day they executed the man. She'd had another one of those dreams, but claimed it was about this Iesus, this Nazarene also called the Galilean, and that Pilate should have nothing to do with him. He'd interrogated the man himself, and to his surprise found that instead of a desperate criminal begging for the clemency of Rome, it was he himself who felt defensive. The one they now called Christus seemed to be walking a fine line between not giving him any legitimate, legal grounds for condemnation, yet also not asking for pardon, throwing the burden of the decision entirely on Pilate. He almost seemed to be inviting Pilate to make a self-sacrificing choice, an altruistic decision altogether at odds with Pilate's own studied pragmatism and enlightened self-interest. That was impossible, yet something deep inside him stirred when the man spoke.

The man hadn't said much, but his few words were efficiently profound, in a way any educated Roman could appreciate. Clearly the man understood philosophy. Pilate had nothing but contempt for those faux-hellenized sophists who called themselves professional philosophers, but this man wasn't like that. He knew some things about the nature of authority, too. Somehow, inexplicably, Pilate had felt proud that the man had said more to him than to Herod. Antipater hadn't gotten a word out of him, though he'd handled the whole impossible situation with more humor than Pilate had anticipated. Things had been better between them after that, for all Antipas' short-comings. But old Antipas was never very deep, nor interested in virtue; this Christus seemed to realize Pilate was a man who lived by a code, and was trying to subvert that code with a higher one. How strange that the natural response of "who do you think you are" seemed impossible to apply to him, even beaten bloody and dressed in tragic finery. The title of King seemed natural to him, yet he'd not boasted of it or even claimed it for himself, simply accepted it but explained it was a different sort of kingdom.

His death felt like a tragic waste. Pilate considered himself a cynic, not a man given to sentimentality, but Iesus Nazarenus had radiated dignity and peace, and a man like that who understood philosophy finding an early death at the hands of a reactionary mob had happened too many times in history already. Pilate hadn't wanted to be the enabler, and was angered by the chief priests' open leveraging of his uneasy standing with Rome. They knew how to stir up the crowds, knew how to get what they wanted, and in the end they'd gotten it from him, and an innocent man had died due to some religious dispute.

In the end he had washed his hands of the matter, of course. In fact he'd found it difficult to stop compulsively washing his hands, sometimes, for a long time after that. His wife said he still did it in his sleep. But when he thought of how the man looked, how he'd not attempted to convince Pilate to spare him, he felt vexed. The man had put him in an unfair position. It's like he wanted to die. Pilate had put a rather significant number of people to death in his day--too many, Rome kept complaining--but somehow this one was like a little burning, itching spark in his sense of moral rectitude that refused to be quenched by either persuasive logic or stone-faced stoicism. Glancing down at the infant-figure's painted face, he scowled deeply. So the Christus had his own cultus here too?

Recently he'd heard rumors of this sort of thing, private meetings and public gatherings of the ones mocked as "christianoi," little christers. It was deeply unsettling somehow. The Galilean had risen from the grave--metaphorically, he hastened to add to himself--though the christianoi all seemed to believe he'd done so in reality as well. Thinking back to the man's eyes, his own soldiers' report of the events that afternoon when everything grew dark... Pilate shuddered at the cold wind. Something was rising in the world, a strange premonition told him, that would shake even the measureless might of Rome to its foundation.

He'd had some of the soldiers who were there put to death, just to be sure. The Judean leaders had given them money, told them to spread rumors that the corpus christi had been stolen. That order had been harder to give than usual, more people dying in connection with the same strange incident, but the fact remained that the soldiers had totally failed in their duty to protect the grave site, and could not even offer a decent reason why. If they'd been able to produce one, perhaps this whole matter would have resolved itself peacefully. As it was, their ridiculous stories about an earthquake and shining figures--the true account, they insisted, not the one they'd been paid to spread--just made it worse. But the real unforgivable crime had been accepting the money. First the religious leaders openly manipulated him in public, and got away with it. Now they'd tried to manipulate the situation in private, bribed his own men, and even convinced them they could shield them from Pilate's anger. He wasn't about to let that kind of corruption spread through the garrison; those soldiers who had believed the lying priests had paid dearly for their naivety, and the lesson had been well taken by the others.

Pilate smiled grimly at the recollection of the priests' displeasure when he'd ordered the sign for the crucifix. "King of the Judeans" seemed an appropriate title, given that was nearly the only accusation they could muster against him. "Quod scripsi, scripsi" he had replied, "What I have written, I have written." One of his better comebacks, and it silenced them for the time being, though the troubles had only begun at that point and he'd lost good soldiers by the end of it. Though it was hard to say if it had really ended, now.

Discipline had improved since then, at least, though rumor had it that even a few of his soldiers now prayed to the Christus. "A fine god for a soldier," he murmured out loud, sarcastically. "A betrayed King who couldn't save himself." The infant figure stared up at him calmly, a mute refutation. A sphinx-like smile played about its lips, one that hadn't been there when the man himself had stood before Pilate, wounded and sorrowful. Yet also calm, and without the least trace of desperation. Almost as if he'd known... almost as if those reports that he'd been spotted a few days later, outside the city...

Pilate turned on a heel and strode away from the scene. The mighty tree, bejeweled and shining like the desert sky on a clear night, now seemed like a monument to Pilate's lapse in judgment. Its joyful aspect mocked him, as if the man who'd died in defeat had won, and Pilate had lost. He gritted his teeth. It wasn't fair. He'd saved himself, preserved public order. Duty to self came before any kind of altruistic nonsense, and duty to Rome above all. Sometimes innocent men died, that was how things were. People died and Rome endured, crawling forward like a mighty siege engine on the backs of slaves and corpses of men down the Viae Romanae from almighty Rome itself to distant barbaric lands like this one he now found himself trapped in. 

But better one innocent man die than the whole nation perish, was it not so? Roman Law even benevolently took pains to try to lessen the killing of innocent people, and Pilate felt on that day he'd really done more than was strictly necessary to defend the Nazarene, who didn't seem inclined to defend himself despite having not broken any real laws. He'd practically put his already unstable career in jeopardy over the situation, surely no more could be expected than that. One man's life didn't count for much, not in Jerusalem. If he'd expected more from Pilate, he'd only gotten his own death as a reward. Yet none of this soothed that little burning spark in his conscience, if anything it grew a little hotter now, turning his mood sour.

The tree was at one end of the town square, and as he stalked away from it he nearly jumped as a large bell rang out, a brief, repetitive cadence. It was some kind of signal, clearly enough, but did not seem like an alarm. Looking in the direction of the sound, he was surprised again to see a building marked with a large crucifix. Surely these barbarians did not do their crucifixions indoors? Even as a man accustomed to scenes of violence, he would not have relished being trapped inside a room with the gruesome spectacle and the accompanying sounds and smells. Drawn toward the white-painted structure despite himself, he ventured closer, and decided that could not be the case, as the building's white façade was entirely clean (blood always stood out on white, and slaves never managed to find and wash or paint over every single crimson splatter). It also had too small an entrance to drag a crucifix in, or let the sanguinary-minded crowds in to watch.

Peering inside, he found a mostly-empty room, lined with benches. Almost like a synagogis, where the more devout Judeans insisting on congregating every sabbath, except decorated strangely, and predominantly made of wood instead of more durable stone. He noted with unstoic pleasure that warm air was issuing from within, and wondered if in this cold clime they had architects skilled enough to run hot water pipes through the floor. Taking a few steps inside, he froze again. At the front, prominently displayed on the wall, was a crucifix. But this one had a man on it, and he had a sinking feeling that he knew who it was supposed to be. His eyes weren't what they used to be, but from this near distance he could see a sort of rendition of the thorn-crown one of the garrison's more cruelly inventive soldiers had placed on the Nazarene's head, in unsubtle mockery of his claimed kingship. It was not a good likeness of the man himself, granted, but only a good sculptor could bring that out, and the intent was unmistakable: it was a depiction of the Christus being crucified. Pilate could even see the little sign over his head, the one he himself had ordered.
I.N.R.I.
A shudder ran through him.

He stormed back outside into the cold, his mind raging in confusion. It was just one man. One man among so many that had been nailed to the wooden posts and died in agony. Gods, what was he supposed to have done? The crowd was about to riot. Couldn't the man see that? Why hadn't Herod figured out something? Why was it left up to him? Why did they insist on choosing the other Iesus, the one they called Barabbas, instead? Why did everyone else seem to think he had any other option? Why did none of the other decisions he'd made keep haunting him like this one?

Pontius Pilate rubbed his face with his hands, groaning for a moment, then mastered himself. He knew exactly why they'd chosen Barabbas. The Galilean had said it himself. His kingdom was not of this world. Rome, Judea, the political machinations of the Empire were not his concern. But they were Barabbas' concern. He'd led a riot over it, drawn blood. He'd done what the Judeans all wished they could do, all those who hated Rome and would have revolted in a heartbeat if the right leader presented himself. That's--he paused, a thought suddenly striking him. That's why they'd welcomed the Christus to Jerusalem like a hero and then turned on him so savagely. They thought he was coming to finish what Barabbas had started. Failing that, they had no use for him.

Pilate shrugged cynically. So be it. A man in leadership had to read the crowds and understand the needs of the time, or he deserved whatever failure he reaped. If the Nazarene had chosen to be their leader on that day, it would have taken more than the garrison in Jerusalem to stop them. The man himself had even said something like that. He was willingly dying rather than lead his own people to revolt and ultimate destruction by Rome. Pilate grasped at the straw of justification. Really, he had made the right choice then. If he'd refused to allow the crucifixion to take place, maybe the crowds would have convinced the Nazarene. Maybe he'd have had a full-scale insurrection on his hands. Maybe.

Maybe not, he admitted, thinking of the man's words and face. Maybe the man hadn't failed. Maybe in dying he'd accomplished something greater than he'd ever been able to achieve if he'd clung to life. After all, even in this distant place, they somehow knew of what had happened, and considered him a god of some kind. But Pilate hoped his own name would be forgotten in connection with the whole affair. He wanted nothing more to do with it. He trudged back through the light dusting of snow, back towards the alley he'd emerged from. He wanted to wake up from this dream, and face whatever troubles the ever-troubled city of Jerusalem would greet him with in the morning.

As he approached the alley, he noticed a man was standing suspiciously off to one side of the entrance. He was handing out to passersby some kind of membranei, a little folded pamphlet. As Pilate approached, the man blinked at his clothing and appearance, but offered him one with a smile. He said something in their garbled tongue, just two or three words, like a greeting, but Pilate could swear "Christus" was in the second half of it. Maybe he was just losing his nerve now.

Looking down at the tiny codex, however, his hand spasmed as he saw on the cover was a man, dressed in a white robe. His hands were outstretched, and clearly bore the stigmata of crucifixion nails. Across the top was written that name he now dared not speak, that of the Christus. The face stared into his. The eyes were different, yet the same. "You again! You everywhere!" he hissed, dropping the thing as if it had burned him. He fled down the alley, and collided with a light metal container which made a loud crashing noise as he fell over it.

They tumbled to the ground together, and as he flailed around in unseemly panic, he realized he was wrestling with bed sheets. A copper platter lay on the floor where he'd knocked it off the small bedside table in his somnolent struggle. The window was unfastened, and the cold midnight air was blowing in. He went to it and looked out at the old city, a few lonely torches guttering in the night breeze, trying to calm his breathing. Just a dream. His eyes wandered across the dark rooftops, drawn in the direction of that place they called The Skull.

"Quod scripsi, scripsi," he muttered, going back to bed.

Overlooked Parts of the Christmas Story

Merry Christmas from Taiwan!

As I teach the Christmas story repeatedly over these weeks, some bits of the story that are often overlooked or misinterpreted based on popular art and tradition rise to the surface. Here are some of them which you may find interesting. Most of this can be found in other articles being circulated, but I thought it would be nice to have it all together in one post.

1. Why was there no room for Mary and Joseph?

It wasn't just a busy night in Bethlehem and Barliman ben Butterbur happened to be all full up at the Prancing Pony--Mary and Joseph weren't the only ones who had to go back to their hometown for the census. The place was packed with travelers, and there would have been other members of Joseph's extended family traveling back to Bethlehem too, since that was their ancestral hometown as well. 

There's no indication from Luke that Mary was in labor as they arrived and Joseph was running around in desperation knocking on doors; it simply says that while they were there (i.e. had already arrived) the time came for Jesus to be born. (Luke 2:6) So the scenario described is less suitable for a dramatic scene in a film, but much more true to life, with the young couple arriving in town with Mary pregnant, yet finding it so crowded due to the large influx of census-takers that they couldn't have their own room and had to make do with a secondary space.

"No room" means no room of their own, then, and not "no units available for rent," since 1) that's based on a medieval idea of inns and is probably the wrong translation of the Greek for such inns as existed at the time:

2. Not an Inn, nor an isolated Stable in a Cave

As is becoming more common knowledge, the famous "no room at the inn" line is not the best translation, and the Greek word used probably refers instead to the guestroom of a family home. 

Some evidence in support of this would be 1) Mary and Joseph didn't have the money for something like an inn for traveling merchants (as evidenced by the fact that they had to use a pair of birds for the dedication sacrifice for Jesus instead of a lamb, only allowed when one is very poor), and 2), given the circumstances and the culture of the time (and lack of phones or internet or effective postal system to let someone know you are coming, it must be remembered), it's much more likely they have first gone to find and try to stay with Joseph's family in Bethlehem. (Some have suggested at that time it was more or less a cultural obligation for them to do so)

With the place packed out with incoming family, however (who would likely have gotten there first before Joseph and very pregnant Mary coming in from up north), there was no room in the house's little guest room for Mary to have a baby, so they moved to the front area of the main room, where the ladies could help Mary. In the cramped and intimate quarters of a 1st century Jewish home, animals often sheltered inside the house in an area by the door, and a stone manger with soft straw would be a secure place to lay a baby to keep him out from under the rest of the family packed into a small house.

A good chart which shows how things might have looked,
obtained from this article which has a good quick rundown
on the reasons why Jesus wasn't born in a roadside inn
or a stable full of animals away from other people.

For more information, see this really good article, which brings up both the Greek translation issues and also the humorous reminder that, at very least, had a bunch of Jewish shepherds found Mary and Joseph in a stable by themselves with a newborn infant, they would have been horrified and insisted the three come back with them so their wives could care for Mary and the baby.

The manger situation was probably about like this.
A secure stone trough in a nook by the front entrance.

3. A Lengthy Stay in Bethlehem?

Mary and Joseph didn't go back up to Nazareth until Mary was ceremonially clean again after 40 days, and they had done the dedication offering for Jesus at the Jerusalem temple, and Luke 2 mentions that only after visiting the temple do they head back north to Nazareth in Galilee. So they must have stayed around Bethlehem for at least 6 weeks.*

This is yet another piece of evidence that they stayed with family, as either being stuck in a stable with a newborn for several weeks or trying to pay for a room in an inn for that long (plus food, etc.) would be highly problematic for the poor young couple.

*- On the other hand, based on the account of the Magi visit in Matthew 2, it can be argued that the flight to Egypt may have occurred very soon after Jesus' birth. That would mean that the time in between Jesus' birth and settling back in Nazareth again after the temple visit would largely have been spent in Egypt instead. (We'll look into this below)

4. Simeon and Anna

Why does the Bible especially mention how old Simeon and Anna were? The two aged prophets at the temple, who rejoiced to see the birth of the Messiah, were old enough to have lived in Pre-Roman Israel. After the Maccabean revolt, Israel was its own nation again for a few generations, until Rome finished defeating/absorbing the old Seleucid Empire (previous rulers of Israel, whose desecration of the Jewish temple led to the revolt and subsequent cleansing of the Jerusalem temple which Hanukkah celebrates).

Thus, for over 100 years between kicking out the Hellenistic Seleucids and being brought into the Roman Empire, Israel was autonomous and ruled by an Israelite king. Both Simeon and Anna grew up in the last days of this temporarily restored Kingdom of Israel, so the idea of their waiting for the consolation of Israel (Simeon)/redemption of Jerusalem (Anna), and God's promise to Simeon that he would not die until he saw the Messiah, the true King who would reign on David's throne, is especially meaningful. They had seen a glimpse of Israel restored, only to be subjugated yet again by a foreign power. They longed for the coming of the Messiah who would bring political and spiritual restoration.

Aslan has come, winter will soon be over.

5. Magi/Wise Men/Three Kings: Not there with the Shepherds, But also not 2 years later?

It's clear that the Wise Men or Magi are not identified by Matthew as kings, but the Greek term used refers to something more like royal alchemists/astrologers. Matthew never says there were three, and they certainly didn't set off across the desert by themselves on camels, but would have been at least a small caravan, probably a rather large one. They must have been at last somewhat impressive because they got to speak directly to King Herod, who was willing to enlist the help of scribes and priests to answer their question.

One theory of their arrival time suggests that they were probably not there on the night Jesus was born, nativity scenes notwithstanding, but became aware of it due to "his star at its rising" and made a long trip to Israel to come pay their respects, arriving when Jesus was around or less than 2 years old, basing this off of Matt 2:16.

One major problem with this view when investigated carefully is that the Magi do indeed find Jesus in Bethlehem, but we know from Luke that his family returned to Nazareth after Mary was ceremonially clean again, about 6 weeks after Jesus' birth. However, the text of Matthew 2 is not written in such a way to suggest that the Magi went to Bethlehem, then the star led them up north to Nazareth instead.

Note that scripture doesn't directly say how old Christ was; it's possible the star/sign appeared early, and part or nearly all of the journey was made before He was born. Matthew does specifically mention that Herod specifies children 2 years old to be eliminated, and does this based on the time he had ascertained from the Magi. So what we know is that Herod believes the Magi to be searching for a very young child or baby in a village with a few hundred people. (WF Albright estimated around 300 people, I don't know if he allowed for an influx due to the census) In this context it's unlikely that 2 years was a precise estimate, but was based on the Magi's inability to be sure of the age of the child they would find, only their knowledge of how long they'd been aware of the star.

One objection to the baby Jesus - Magi view is that Matthew says He was already in a house, not an inn or stable. However as we have seen above, the strongest evidence is that Jesus was born in the house of some relatives of Joseph, in the side area were animals were kept, because there was no place for them in the room for guests. So this is not actually a problem but perfectly in line with what the evidence suggests.

There is also the Flight to Egypt to consider. When did it occur in the context of these other events?

One view I saw reconciled the timeline by having the Magi arrive very soon after Jesus is born, then Joseph being warned in the dream and the family fleeing to Egypt after leave. They are in Egypt for a month before Herod dies (as others have suggested, the gifts of the Magi arrive just in time to finance this excursion), and go to Jerusalem to present Jesus at the temple after returning from Egypt. Luke, with a different focus, in 2:39 simply tells us that they return to Nazareth after this, while Matthew 2:22-23 explains more about Joseph's motivation for doing so.

Another possibility which allows for the young Jesus - Magi view would be that after Jesus was born in Bethlehem, the family stayed until it was time to visit the temple and after that went to Nazareth. Back in Bethlehem a couple years later for whatever reason, perhaps visiting the same relatives, the Magi are led to them, and they then flee to Egypt until Herod dies, returning back to Nazareth much later than planned with a very interesting story of why they were gone so long. This requires positing a subsequent visit from Nazareth to Bethlehem which coincides exactly with the Magi visit, something Matthew doesn't seem to indicate, but it would explain why Luke doesn't bother including the Magi-Egypt story between the birth and temple visit, as the entire incident happened later and Luke is focused on the future important temple visit when Jesus is 12 instead.

 (For more on the Magi, here is an article about the history of the Magi as a religious/political order, and how it may have been Daniel's prominence in Babylon that brought Hebrew prophecy to their attention. Some of it is just speculation, but the background information is interesting)

It's likely the Magi were from Parthia. A rowdy bunch.
When not perfecting their horse archery, their Magi were
inventing primitive DC batteries to achieve gold electroplating,
giving rise to the legends of alchemy and gold transmutation
which their European counterparts later tried to re-achieve

6. The Star: A long-term, non-obvious, and highly specific astronomical phenomenon

What exactly was the star that the Magi saw has been the subject of much speculation, but it must have been an astronomical phenomenon that the Eastern star-gazers noticed and saw significance in, yet not so locally obvious that hordes of people descended upon Bethlehem to see what was going on. It was clearly nothing like artistic depictions of a massive "Christmas star," since if a natural phenomenon it would be a supernova of unprecedented magnitude, frying the earth dead with gamma rays, and if supernatural and that obvious, Herod wouldn't have needed to resort to ruthless measures to find the child Messiah, as half of Jerusalem would have turned up wondering why a glowing orb was illuminating that specific house.

Matthew does say that the star that they had seen when it rose (at the beginning of their journey, Matt 2:1-2) later went before them to the house where Jesus was, once they were already in Israel (Matt 2:7-11). It is difficult to imagine what kind of astronomical phenomenon can be described as a star that rises, yet can also come to rest over a specific house, to their great joy and rejoicing. 

The imagination can provide all sorts of images without any way of verifying them scripturally. The trouble with these kinds of images is that they substitute a non-scriptural picture for one that simply doesn't exist, since we lack the information to do anything but speculate:

A group of foreign magi and their retinue, bearing scrolls with the writings of Daniel, one of their honored predecessors, arrive in a splendid caravan coming down the mountain from Jerusalem, after Herod's response from the chief priests and scribes indicates Bethlehem is the right place. They turn west off the main road, as people gawk at their passing. It is evening, and the sun has begun to set. Very familiar with the movements of stars in the night sky, they can see the star they have followed from the East for so many nights, as it drops from higher in the sky, barely visible, toward the dimly illuminated and rapidly darkening horizon. They follow it into the village, and the star becomes increasingly visible as it drops in the sky, nearing the roofs of the low houses clustered together. Feeling they are near the culmination of their quest, one magus dismounts, the others joining him, and they leave the bulk of their caravan behind them, going down the narrow, dirty street on foot. The star is directly ahead of them now, and does not move to either side as they continue on, but remains twinkling steadily over one house at the end of the lane. From the darkness within the small dwelling, the light of a solitary lamp escapes from the doorway. As they draw so near that from their point of view the star seems to descend and touch the roof, among murmuring voices inside they suddenly hear the cry of a baby...

This could be a bit like what happened, or totally off, but at least, let's know to what extent the pictures and popular traditions we have inherited through many ages of artistic license adhere to the truth of God's word. A careful investigation of the birth of Christ is a great way to honor Him in this season when we celebrate His birth, the Divine invasion, the beginning of the final defeat of evil and the restoration of our relationship to God.

By His Grace, and until His Coming, Merry Christmas!

Do you have any more interesting observations or information on the account of Jesus' birth? Did I leave anything out in comparing the Baby Jesus vs. Young Jesus Magi visit theories? Leave me a comment below and let me know!

Why the "Pagan Origins" of Christmas... Don't Matter

Disclaimer: This post is, naturally, entirely my own perspective. I say things which some raised in a fundamentalist background may take offense to, but having been raised in a semi-fundamentalist background myself, I submit that might be a little too natural of a reflex for us. Hear me out to the end first, then I'm happy to hear any objections.

Also, for those of you who say "but Christmas is over," the 12 days of Christmas are still very much underway. We're not even to the seven shrimp a swimming yet...

1. "Folk" Religious Practice

One of my favorite professors in seminary brought up an issue which I'd noticed but not had a good name for until then, the concept of "Folk Theology." Any major religion with established doctrines and practices can have a "folk" version, which is what happens when one gets far away from those who keep things orthodox, and superstitions and traditions begin creeping in, influence from the surrounding culture which rises from background culture to mix with religious conviction, etc.

Scripture is quite clear that we have a direct relationship to God. Because of Christ's atonement, we can boldly approach the throne of grace, a staggering concept that I am still trying to wrap my mind around. When Jesus taught His disciples how to pray, He did so by speaking to the Father directly, not angels, His mother, or anyone else.

Folk theology happens when the natural ways of fallen human thinking start to mix with "theology proper," and people start doing what comes more naturally. Interposing saints or angels between oneself and God to get more "influence," would be one example, though sadly one that has become fairly established practice within large portions of the Roman Catholic Church. (I still pray that the divided church in the future may become one, as the body of Christ ought to be united)

Much of the Islamic world practices not "proper" Islam, but some version of Folk Islam, with local deities still worshipped in some form under Allah, or people wearing talismans to ward off the evil eye, etc. Many of the Islamic terror movements claim legitimacy as reformers, initially coming in to banish these non-acceptable practices and preach a more Qur'an-centric Islamic message, naturally with their own interpretation emphasizing Jihad, etc. (then start recruiting...)

Other milder examples might be putting a Jesus fish on your car, not just as an expression of belief, but because "I'm not saying it will keep me from having car wrecks, but it can't hurt," or carrying one of those angel pennies. Doing these things is not necessarily wrong, but when we start turning to any physical things, rituals, or routines for the blessing and protection that come from God alone, we are walking away from scripture, down the road of folk theology that leads eventually to heresy and superstition.

It's an easy and natural trap to fall into. It could start as people copying a respected and godly leader in their church regarding a particular practice and teaching others to do so, without a total understanding of why he chose that way or that he himself would say it's purely his preference. It could start with someone wanting a tangible expression of the blessing and protection God provides, then more and more identifying that tangible object or symbol with the blessing and protection itself.

It's not like a minefield to be avoided, it's more like rust: It's always gradually appearing, some environments are more conducive to it than others, and it can be prevented with maintenance and care, in this case by always using Scripture as our foundation. (Scripture doesn't say whether you should have a cross on the wall behind the pulpit or not, or even whether you should have a pulpit, but one can easily understand from Scriptural principles that people should not be going up and kneeling before the cross because they think they are more likely to receive God's forgiveness that way)

I saw a severe case of this problem in Mexico, where historical fusion and syncretism with local pagan religions has led to a muddled situation where Mary is worshipped as a goddess (with the moon behind her and all, just like the moon goddess she replaced), and superstition is totally rampant, with little understanding of actual scriptural doctrine in many cases. I appreciate the missionaries and local believers I have met there who labor against this infernal confusion; they need and deserve our prayers. (OMF has a good page on how something similar happened in the Philippines)

The question we need to answer in this blog is, is that what's happened to Christmas? Have we allowed superstitions, influences from pagan/pre-Christian European cultures, to mix together with a straightforward remembrance and celebration of Christ's incarnation? 

2. The Dangers of Witch-Hunting

At least this guy wasn't trying to say Santa is Satan with the letters re-arranged...

I grew up in a fairly fundamentalist evangelical setting. (Apologies to older readers; I recognize the term was not originally negative and the motives of the original movement were good, but I'm using it in the more recent sense) We didn't burn any books, but we did throw away some Disney movies, and we weren't allowed to listen to secular music, or Christian music that "sounded like" secular music (Christian pop rock danced on the margin). I confess that I did not always adhere to this rule (I wonder if my parents are reading this? Well, they didn't adhere to it 100% either, haha), but I did learn the important lesson that what we put into our minds is important. Discernment is strangely unpopular, but I'm a big fan, as you will see.

Growing up in that setting, I have experience with fundamentalism ranging from the cloistering reflex only partially influenced by a legalistic way of thinking to crazy, pharisaical demagoguery.

What I observed was this:

A culture can easily develop in which the Biblical concept of "the world" that is our field of ministry becomes eclipsed by the Biblical concept of "the world" that is this corrupt world system full of distractions and temptations, and instead of engaging it as salt and light, Christians began to withdraw from it.

Having circled the wagons (formed a outward-facing defensive perimeter protecting what's inside, if you're unfamiliar with the more colorful Old West expression), they then begin to "purge" worldly influences from their midst. This often begins as a genuine attempt to pursue godliness and remove sin, but sadly rarely stops there, becoming a sort of contest: who can find the devil where no one had noticed him before?

I can remember in my childhood, Christian magazines breathlessly explaining how non-Christians were making movies or TV shows that had values that undermined biblical principles, and that good parents should keep their children from watching those things (or to be safe, anything from the same company), lest they be unconsciously corrupted or tainted somehow.

Now, I don't blame the parents. It did sound pretty terrifying, and typically we kids agreed with our parents that if a show or movie was "bad," then we shouldn't watch it. And I think it's instinctive for a loving parent to shield their child from harmful influences if they can. In retrospect I also think it had a lot to do with movements within the Church in America of that decade, with the Moral Majority and other attempts to steer the moral climate of the nation from the top-down, away from the cliff towards which it was hurtling, since that still seemed possible at the time. (Despite the deplorable state of our culture as 2015 approaches, I am strangely optimistic; the Church has always done poorly when it dabbled in politics, but shone brightly when times are dark)

But my point is, a church, or portions of the Church, can sometimes get into a witch-hunting mindset, forgetting that from Eden onward the world has always been the world, fallen, and full of people who don't live by Biblical principles. Instead of going out to be salt and light, they become focused on avoiding and purging bad influences. This embattled mentality can turn into a kind of deep-seated fear, which leads to even more urgent searching to uncover hidden evil influences. (Soon everything is suspect, everything is guilty until proven innocent, not even explicitly conservative and evangelical sources cleave closely enough to whatever fine line is judged to be truly safe.) It's a fear which feeds on itself, and it can become like a prison that locks from the inside.

3. The Church Never Existed in a Culture-less Vacuum

Claims that the Church has been contaminated by the surrounding culture go all the way back to the Gospel writers, with some scholars accusing the Apostle John, for example, of having been too influenced by Greek philosophy. It's actually quite a common accusation that Greek thought and gnostic influences warped Christian doctrine from the very beginning of the Church. Does that mean we throw out all the early Church fathers as "tainted"? Of course not. For one, the Early Church Fathers are excellent sources for us, but we do not regard them as infallible to begin with. Two, it is they who wrestled with the heresies and hammered out doctrinal statements from which we benefit today. There is great value in studying them as wise and godly examples, not in subjecting them to an ideological litmus test. Three, "Biblical scholars" will think up every kind of possible accusation to throw at something that hasn't been tried yet. Not all of them actually believe the Bible, but they all need to write dissertations.

I love G.K.Chesterton's illustration of orthodoxy as a horse or chariot rider who can handle shocks and bumps without losing his balance precisely because he is always moving. And I think his picture is accurate.

The Church is not a delicate glass of water we strive to keep perfectly clear and undisturbed, it is the Body of Christ that reaches out to this world and lives in it, beset by strange circumstances and local confusions, always "in crisis" but never destroyed, always under attack but never defeated, always purifying itself from heresies and finding new ones popping up wherever the church spreads rapidly. It would be impossible if sustained by men, but it is sustained by God.

When the Church goes into a new culture, or develops and spreads in any culture, it can express unchanging, transcendent truths through each culture in contextually appropriate ways. This is a huge difference between a global religion like Christianity and a culture-bound one like Hinduism. Even with a massive number of adherents, due to India's population, and even with some principles of Hindu philosophy having spread around the world, very popular at various times, monkey temples and sacred cows never really caught on in a global context, and aren't going to. Those things can't really escape the culture they developed. If they exist outside of India, they do so directly in proportion to the prevalence of that culture in a specific area.

Christianity is unique among religions (it's not merely a religion, but I'm speaking in comparative terms) in being the least dependent on culture. Local religions, based on un-exportable cultural values or concepts, typically cannot ever hold out against global ones which are based on more universal principles and can thus cross cultures with varying degrees of success, and are often attractive to younger generations who have begun to lose their traditional values but recognize it as a link to a wider world, both geographically and conceptually.

But Christianity stands out clearly even among global religions..
Islam, the second-most exportable religion, is heavily influenced by Bedouin cultural values at its core, and tends to "Arabicize" cultures where it gains influence to bring them in line with Qur'anic principles. Hinduism, as mentioned above, has a very large number of adherents but I would argue it is not truly a global religion in the sense that it can traverse dissimilar cultures. Buddhism, with its roots in Hinduism, is more like a complex series of related world views, ranging from polytheistic/animist religion to atheistic philosophy, yet it is only in the philosophical realm, like Hinduism, that it has found a real following in the West. It's easy to find fans of Zen in America, but non-Asian Tibetan Buddhists are a bit sparser.

Christianity, by contrast, has an meta-cultural message (it is represented in many cultures but the message itself transcends culture and is distinct from any of the particular cultures in which it is represented). Certainly, one could claim that it has a close association with the West, but one then has to define "West." Tens of thousands of Korean missionaries certainly would not agree with you, and the Russian Orthodox church with over one hundred million members might object as well. The global Church has had a very Western feeling over the past two centuries because, for reasons of both church and secular/economic history, that's where the vast majority of missionaries had been coming from. That is changing in the 21st century, to the extent that there may come a day when the Church in Europe and even America is revitalized by African, Asian, and South America missionaries. The process has already begun. A dear sister from Ghana I met at seminary considers herself a missionary to America, to bring God's truth back to the land which blessed so many nations with the gospel but is now itself in dire need of revival.

When people repeat the oft-quoted phrase "it's not a religion, it's a relationship," though it is a bit hyperbolic (Christianity certainly is a religion, but one which is founded on a relationship to God not found or attempted in any other religion) they are getting at this truth: Christianity is a belief in God as He has revealed Himself to us through Scripture (comprising the Bible), and faith that Jesus Christ is God, as He claimed to be, and that we can have a relationship with God, through Christ, that allows us to receive a different kind of life from Him, an eternal life which is holy and can be lived in His presence both on earth and in heaven. That message may be more readily received or more easily communicated in certain cultures, but it's all on a higher level of abstraction than any particular culture. Any cultural clashes will occur in the attempted working out of these truths in reality. Then indeed, there may be clashes all the way to martyrdom, but one then finds local groups of believers rapidly follow.

And from the 1st Century AD until now, all those believers have come from a particular culture or another, and have not magically been transported out of it when they believed. They have had to express the truths of Christianity in their own culture, either by adapting existing cultural practices and ways of thinking, creating new practices and ways of thinking to express Christian truth within the context of their culture, or borrowing practices and ways of thinking from outside their own culture.

Nearly any Christian in the 21st century who has been trained to work in a cross-cultural context would agree that the first two are superior, and I agree both in the abstract and from experience. The last thing you want is for your local church to be copying foreign ways of doing things which confuse and repel locals and train them to think Christianity is therefore a foreign religion which has nothing to do with them. Sadly, this did occur in Taiwan to some extent, though often it happened despite the missionaries' best efforts to avoid it.

4. What's All This Got to Do with Christmas?

So far I've set out a few points:
1. We must be careful to avoid folk religious ways of thinking.
2. We must remember we are to be light to the world, and not fall into an embattled mentality of fear-based "witch-hunting," choosing to disqualify instead of using discernment
3. Christianity is neither culture-bound nor culture-less, but is meta-cultural, and finds its best and most authentic expression when believers live out Christian truth in ways that make sense within their own culture.

Those are important to our discussion because they all have to do with how many people perceive Christmas to be a pagan holiday.

Europe has a long history of Christianity, the "Christendom" of times gone by, where for centuries a European Church both changed Europe and was changed by it. The particular expression of Christianity in Europe looked very different in different places, of course, but in much of Europe it first clashed with, then supplanted, local pagan religions. We don't have a lot of accurate information about these (neopagan practices are almost totally made up, based on guesses of how people might have done things), but we have enough information to know that some Christmas traditions may have some roots in what were originally pagan practices. Plus, the date itself seems to coincide with various pagan festivals centered around the Winter Solstice. A quick google search will reveal all you ever wanted to know about those associations, with many facts both legitimate and worthy of consideration and hilariously wrong. But it doesn't matter.

Here's why:

The Bible, and the history of God's dealings with men that we read in it, is a beautiful expression of God's truth in reality. Reality echoes this divine truth in innumerable ways, and therefore so does human culture. Pagan religions from Egypt to Scandinavia have the story of a dying and rising god, some long before Jesus came to earth. It would be foolish at best to suggest that those stories in any way taint or diminish the story of the Resurrection. They are merely faint and confused echoes of a grand eternal truth. For some, such as the former atheist C.S.Lewis, God used them to point the way towards that truth.

More pointedly, does the fact that the cross was a brutal piece of execution equipment used by the pagan, polytheistic Romans, a symbol of the consequences of rebellion against supposedly all-powerful Rome, make the cross a pagan symbol?

I imagine (and hope) you are saying to yourself "of course not," but I encourage you to follow that logic. Why not? What transformed the cross into an acceptable symbol for the church to use, from early in its history until today, and even by which to identify itself? The answer is, what happened on it; an event that forever changed the meaning of that symbol. A symbol of suffering and shame became a symbol of hope and faith and God's love. So symbols and images can be repurposed; they can be transformed from whatever their original meaning was into something else, including something charged with gospel significance.

Of course it's not something one can do randomly; the transformational event must totally dominate the original meaning so that the symbol is now instinctively understood to refer now to this new meaning. A notable negative example: the swastika. Once a symbol of peace (still a common Buddhist symbol here in Asia), cannot now to Westerner's minds convey anything other than nazism, violent racism, and the holocaust.

Now we arrive at my point about folk religion. We know, as scripturally-educated believers, that it is not religious symbols and pictures that have power (in the spiritual sense). They are nothing in themselves; all authority on heaven and earth has been given to Christ, and He does not lend that authority to an idol of any kind. Therefore an idol is nothing, as Paul said. An empty symbol, an image of supposed authority that cannot reference any true authority. Some measure of power, yes, while darkness still remains on this earth, but even that darkness is subject to the authority of Christ, and soon will be put under His feet. (and ours, with and through Him)

Therefore, while obviously we do not and should not wish to associate ourselves with darkness, we need not fear pagan symbols as pagans do, because we know they are empty, and the darkness they point to has been defeated, even mocked, by Christ on the cross.

So we need not irrationally fear a pagan symbol as something that can hurt us somehow, give us "bad mojo," or somehow remove authority from Christ. That is a folk religious way of thinking, like people in medieval Europe who supposedly said "God bless you" when you sneezed, for fear part of your soul had escaped temporarily and you were in spiritual danger.

But this means if a Christmas tree, for example, is not now a symbol of paganism, it doesn't matter if it was one 500 years ago. The original meaning has been lost, beyond anything but guesses and conjectures, and it is now irrevocably globally identified with a celebration of Christ's birth. And that Christ's birth is celebrated on a date close to the Winter Solstice doesn't matter, because God made the winter solstice. Through Christ all things were created. It's His, not theirs.

Light cancels out darkness, not the other way around. God wins. That is the most fundamental thing I can say about this entire topic, Christmas, Easter, etc. Finding a tenuous or potential historical link back to something pagan does not cancel out that symbol, that event, that celebration. It means the light is shining in the darkness, and the darkness is not overcoming it. God is winning. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light... for unto us a child is born. The symbols of that former darkness are stripped from the enemy one at a time, and they are laid at Christ's feet. The Winter Solstice may have recently passed, but we marked it by joyfully celebrating the birth of our Lord, our Savior, and our King.
And soon it shall be Spring.

For to us a child is born,
    to us a son is given;
and the government shall be upon his shoulder,
    and his name shall be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the increase of his government and of peace
    there will be no end,
on the throne of David and over his kingdom,
    to establish it and to uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
    from this time forth and forevermore.
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.
(Isaiah 9:6-7)

Unexpected Stories from the Field: When God Sees Your Struggles and Sends a Rock Concert

There are moments in the cultural adaptation process when it seems that things are hopeless. When you feel like you're never going to figure out how things work, or you simply don't have enough motivation to keep putting energy into trying. When the problem is not any particular difficulty or obstacle, it's that you're in a situation where the normal things you'd do to encourage yourself and push past difficult days and situations aren't possible, so your usual methods of overcoming are missing in action, and you're not sure what to replace them with.
And all that seems terribly unfair somehow when it was your desire to serve God that got you into this mess to begin with. Shouldn't His silences (if necessary) and blessings (yes please) line up properly with the peaks and valleys in our lives as we perceive them?


Then there are those moments which carry you forward, which keep encouraging you even when remembering them later, when sharing them with others. When God does things in your particular context that let you know He's there and He hasn't abandoned you.

A little over 6 years ago, last time I lived in Taiwan, after being there for a couple of months I was struggling inside. It was winter, and I was working through culture shock, had only had 4 weeks of Chinese lessons, was experiencing something like SADS from the endless cold rain in Taipei, and was not yet equipped to handle some of the psychological stress of the transition.

One evening, really struggling with my discouraged frame of mind, feeling beaten down and starting to have second thoughts about this whole year-in-Taiwan idea, I was walking down a street near Shi Da University, and on a whim stopped by a restaurant that had a picture menu up in the window which showed some tasty-looking meat. (picture menus are very nice when you don't know enough Chinese to order yet)
I hadn't randomly visited a restaurant on this street before, and in an incredible "coincidence" considering the number of restaurants in the area and the fact that she lived on the other side of Taipei, my Chinese teacher (who was only a year older than me) was also eating in that restaurant with some of her other students. Imagine you live in Manhattan and your friend lives in the Bronx and you randomly find yourselves at the same Subway in Queens. The odds of this happening are too low to bother trying to calculate them. God arranges meetings.

Anyway, fast forward through some other unlikely events, and a few hours later, I find myself running up concrete stairs, led by my Chinese teacher. She speaks to a guard who surprisingly gives permission for us to crouch down and slide under a slightly raised metal door. Suddenly I am assaulted by a stadium-full of light and rock music and roaring fans. I am in a Linkin Park concert in the Taipei Soccer Stadium, for free. As I am adjusting to the sudden explosion of stimuli, a drink is placed in my hand; "this is for you!"

Thanks to whoever took this pic of that concert, I didn't have a camera with me
(And our cellphone cameras were not very impressive in 2007)

It was a very good night. If you think God wouldn't arrange a very unlikely chain of coincidences that ended with one of His children attending a free rock concert to encourage them, you simply don't know Him well enough, or how much He loves you as an actual person (not a hypothetical "saint" who supposedly manages to be the holier version of a living sacrifice that only understands the sacrifice part), and wants you to grow closer to Him from wherever you are. I felt His abounding love that night nearly as strongly as I ever have.

I considered it an unexpected gift from Him, and was deeply grateful and not a little encouraged. I had not really been taught that God gave us these kinds of gifts, ones that were personally meaningful and not just spiritually significant. This was something I really enjoyed, not another lesson or obligation (you may detect legalism in my upbringing, you would be correct), did God give this kind of blessing too? Apparently so, if it wasn't somehow heretical to believe that God would arrange unlikely circumstances just so I could have a fun experience because He was happy to let me have it.
I was very excited.
"Ok Satan, my God saw you exploiting my struggling with your attacks of discouragement and countered with... a free Linkin Park concert. You just got totally outclassed."

In the days that followed I jumped into life in Taiwan and my wheels found some traction. I'm not saying I never struggled again, far from it, but it was different after that night. I just needed that little push from God at that critical moment, to remind me that He loved me personally, and was there, and would intervene when necessary, in unexpected ways.