The season of Advent seems like the perfect time to remind us all of this important truth: appearances are limited in their ability to tell the whole story.
First century Palestine was a tangled web of political bullying and economic power mongering. The military of Rome and the religion of the Pharisees reigned with iron fists that opened only to snatch more money from the overtaxed Jews. The gods of power and wealth and position were worshipped by a corrupt government that demanded total allegiance from the oppressed.
Words of rescue rose from the pages of the Hebrew Scriptures. The faithful voices of the ancient prophets spoke truth to the weary Jews. Their Savior, a promise of relief to their battered lives, was on his way. Finally! Their Messiah would come to free them from the economic chains, the impossible standards of the religious elite, and the cruelty of Rome. A mighty King of valor would save them. A commander with class and clout would bring their wicked oppressors to their knees. Like the chosen young Jewish girl, the chosen people of Israel grew pregnant with hope.
To their surprise and disbelief, however, this king was not the warrior the Jews had anticipated.
His lineage was littered with questionable characters and dark deeds.
He was no government genius or man of royalty.
By all cultural standards, this king-to-be-born failed to measure up.
How could a helpless baby with a gnarled family tree and no military training rescue them?
Fresh from a teenage womb, the strong smell of iron mingled with hay, tiny King cried out in the dark of a simple guest room.
There was no fanfare or feast to mark his arrival.
His young mother wrapped him in strips of cloth, snuggled him, the created placing her Creator in a feeding trough.
There was no throne for him to sit upon, no crown to straighten, no septor for his tiny hand to hold.
In C.S. Lewis’s book, The Last Battle, an epic scene unfolds, in which the last of the Narnian kings, the good King Tirian, and his loyal followers are facing utter defeat. All hope for rescue was lost in their final battle against their wicked enemies. With their backs against the proverbial wall, Tirian and his remaining team are forced to walk toward a tiny, dark stable at the top of a hill. This unlikely shelter, where the evil god Tash had recently dwelt, however, proved to hold more than the deceitful rumors Tirian had believed.
The brilliant storyteller Lewis writes of Tirian’s trepid first steps inside the stable:
Tirian looked round again and could hardly believe his eyes. There was the blue sky overhead, and grassy country spreading as far as he could see in every direction, and his new friends all round him laughing.
“It seems, then,” said Tirian, smiling himself, “that the stable seen from within and the stable seen from without are two different places.”
“Yes,” said the Lord Digory. “Its inside is bigger than its outside.”
“Yes,” said Queen Lucy. “In our world too, a stable once had something inside it that was bigger than our whole world.” (102-103).
Tirian was preparing to face certain death. He did not expect the stable to be the place where Aslan would meet him and his subjects but that tiny, unassuming stable held their only hope of rescue.
Two thousand years ago, a certain stable in Bethlehem welcomed its own sort of Aslan. From the outside, this private space, a last resort for guests, a basic shelter for animals, held far more than the Jews at that time--or any of us--would have chosen
This stable, this humble palace, quietly points to the mysteries of God:
He exists in the unexpected, the impossible realities of our lives.
He uses morally questionable, unpopular, and oft ignored characters to quietly accomplish his purposes.
He chooses to be with humanity in all its grit, humbly crawling into the womb of a virgin peasant girl.
This unlikely king, born into an unlikely place came to live and move and be among his people that we might live and move and be with him. His presence proved the deep love of the Divine. His presence paved the way for our rescue. His presence now leads us to love and serve others.
May we rest in the God of mystery this Advent season--the God who meets us in unlikely places with unlikely people, where appearances mean very little in the story of rescue that he is writing.