And yet there is hope

Several of my recent posts will have perhaps made it fairly obvious that I've been thinking a lot about fear. About the tragedy of a society increasingly dictated by fear, about my own complicity in that culture, about how the beauty of the gospel vision is to stand in opposition to an all-pervasive fear-filled way of living.

The Christmas story, the vulnerability of incarnation is at the heart of that message of daring to overcome fear. Sanitised by kids nativity plays and kitsch decorations, and overwhelmed by the commercialism of our era; the Christmas story remains in reality one of great challenge. Everything about the first Christmas has deep fear inherent within it. A hesitant young mother whose pregnancy doesn't correspond to the social, cultural and religious norms. A vicious occupying regime flexing its muscles. A series of outsiders trying to find a space in an unfamiliar place...

And yet there is hope. All of those fears are overcome, by the presence of deep love. 

Amidst a regime of violent oppression

Where bitter hatred invades the atmosphere

There is hope in the birth of a baby

As God himself comes to live among us here

And humble vulnerability shares the promise

“Know that I am with you, do not fear.”

To the poor on the fringes of society

And the stranger who has journeyed and drawn near

There is hope in the singing of the angels

As dark foreboding skies become clear

And a lone bright star bears the message

“Know that I am with you, do not fear.”

And for those of us who build up walls around us

To protect all the wealth we think that we hold dear

There is hope in the loving and the sharing

As rays of light through chinks in armour yet appear

And if we listen he continues still to whisper

“Know that I am with you, do not fear.”

Merry Christmas!