I love the promises of Emmanuel -- God-with-us -- that permeate this Advent/Christmas time of year. My correspondence for some weeks now has closed with various versions of this prayer for those who read what I write: "May these holy days draw you deep into the mystery and joy of Emmanuel."
In the baby born in Bethlehem God draws near. God comes in humble, unexpected, even scandalous ways to be with us, to be one of us, to bear our burdens and to bear us forward, leading us through darkness into light. God with us, Emmanuel: Is there a greater promise than this?
But this year, for some reason, for me, this grand promise has an edge. It's something not so peaceful, something challenging that keeps calling me to take a close look at the way I live my days and beckoning me beyond myself and my own little Christmas tree world. It goes something like this:
The texts and music of this great season do indeed beckon us to await, look for and welcome Emmanuel, God-with-us. But those same songs and scripture call us to also await, look for and welcome God-as-over-against-us (whatever that Hebrew word would be!), at least God-as-over-against our powers and principalities, our perspectives and practices that stand in the way of God-with-everyone, that prevent the wolf and the lamb from living in harmony with each other, that obstruct and resist God's reign of peace and justice among us and for all.
I hear it, for example, in the Magnificat, Mary's melodic magnification of Emmanuel that enables us to hear and see clearly both the joy of God-with-us and the challenge of God-as-over-against all that stands in the way of God's desire for the world:
...The Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.
God has scattered the proud in the thoughts of the hearts.
God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted high the lowly;
God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty...
Emmanuel is good news for the humble, the lowly, the hungry -- and for me when I am any or all of these things. But for the proud, the powerful, the rich -- for me when I am any or all of these things in ways that obstruct Emmanuel for others -- there is an edge to the promise. Beneath the lilting melody I hear a counterpointed call to turn in a different direction, to fall on my knees at the manger in order to be raised up to walk in the new life offered by the cross and the empty tomb that await this baby Jesus...and which our world so desperately needs.
Thankfully, in the end -- and every day and always until then -- the grand promise of this season is indeed that God is every and always Emmanuel, God-with-us-with-the-world, forgiving, drawing us deep into the presence of the God swaddled in a manger, empowering each and every one of us to experience the deep and abiding mystery and joy of being God-with-others. This is the counterpointed carol that I find myself humming joyfully and mysteriously this Christmastide.
May your Christmas be merry, mysterious and magnificent!
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