I’m sitting here wondering how to start this thing, but then in the silence I hear it, Shalom.
It means
Peace to you, and it is the heartbeat of God’s message found in the pages of Luke
chapter 2. Shalom was spoken of long before
that December night we celebrate, from the prophet Isaiah and Micah, and shalom was on the hearts of the
people of Israel that cried out to God.
For to us a
child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting
Father, Prince of Peace.
Isaiah
9:6 (Emphasis added)
But you,
Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are small among the clans of Judah, out of you
will come for me one
who will be ruler over Israel, whose origins are from of old, from
ancient times. And he will be our peace.
Micah
5:2, 5 (Emphasis added)
But what is peace? What do I do with a word like shalom- a short,
two-syllable word that is both a greeting and also a farewell? Why do I keep
running straight into it and where do I put it? How do I wrap up peace this
Christmas season?
Peace is
not what I’d use to categorize this story of a baby coming before the wedding,
tarnished reputations and questions- so many questions. I can’t quite get past the donkey ride in the
cold night leading far away from home and night-shift shepherds (who were
complete strangers) throwing a holy baby shower and kings on camels traveling
for years from a distant land to give gifts to a newborn who was a king.
Unexpected,
yes. Peaceful, hardly. But this is a story full of peace. Full of peace.
Not pieces of peace here and there, last minute attempts to adorn this
fascinating story of long ago. Full of peace. Peace spilling right off the pages into our
lives. Shalom.
While they were
there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in
cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available
for them.
Luke
2:6-7
The
birth of the Messiah was predicted, but who would have guessed it would happen
like this? Who would recognize it and
who would miss it, because I’m not sure I’d be looking for a king there
either? They were all waiting for this
moment, but they weren’t expecting this and who would have scripted it this way-
there in that tiny town with a stable and animals and no room and a baby
in a manger?
I
remember the Christmas gifts wrapped in red and white, green bows sparkling under
twinkling lights just feet from where I sit. I think of what’s inside those
bundled packages. I think of how many
times a day the kids ask me if it’s time yet for Jesus to unwrap His gifts
since it’s His birthday.
Mary
wrapped her precious baby boy in strips of linen, and she laid Him where
animals had slopped down dinner. And as
she laid Him there, I can almost hear her saying, “Really, God? Here?”
The stable was more like a cave than the rustic, vintage barn that
always meanders its way into my imagination.
The Savior of the world was born in a cave, a hole cut into the side of
a massive rock- cold and dark and so unexpected.
Yet, this was God’s picture of peace.
Angels
gave their birth announcement in thundering song. “Glory to God in the highest
heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.” Peace to you.
Shalom.
When
Mary laid her baby in a dirty, dingy cave, it wouldn’t be the last time. Once
more, years later, Jesus’ body would be wrapped in linen and once more. The unexpectedness of it all would cause
ripples of questions and waves crashing down around shaky faith.
Now there was a
man named Joseph, a member of the Council, a good and upright man, who had not consented to their decision and action. He came from the
Judean town of Arimathea, and he himself was waiting for the kingdom of God.
Going to Pilate, he asked for Jesus’ body.
Then he took it down, wrapped it in linen cloth and placed it in a tomb cut in
the rock, one in which no one had yet been laid.
Luke 23:50-54
And
that’s when this thought comes tumbling into my heart, unexpected. Peace
is God with us not life without pain. Jesus, Emmanuel, came to live with us, and
He came to die for us. He lived to
die. He was born to live with us, and He
lived with us to die for us. Peace is
knowing who wins, not getting excused from the battle.
He is with us.
He is for us.
Completeness
is at the core of shalom. It means
whole, and as I read this story with fresh eyes I see Peace in a brand new
light. I can’t escape the thought of it
when I read this in Jesus Calling on the same day, and I know I am on the verge of
something that’s always been there- familiar, yet still unexpected- and I
cannot stop searching, and I don’t even know what it is I am after, but it’s
there, so I keep on.
“Focus on Me- Emmanuel- and let my living Presence envelop you in
Peace.”
I read
it three times just to give it time to sink down, down to the places where my
dreams lie waiting and my fears crouch low, the places where memories billow
up, some on cue and some uninvited. This word ‘envelop’ grabs me and I put down
my pen, look up its meaning, wondering why it has such a hold on me. It reminds me of Jesus wrapped in cloths, but
the picture is different in my mind. Unexpected. It is surrounding me- His Presence, this
Peace.
It’s not
contained in the manger or in the tomb or in any cave of life. It’s living.
His Presence is living- alive and free. And being alive means
active, full. Full of peace. And there is quality,
vitality, and reality here.
I
realize why this word ‘envelop’ has captured me so. Right there in the long list of synonyms,
staring back at me without blinking are these two: ‘swaddle’ and ‘swathe.’ I’ve already read about these words- which
both boil right down to ‘wrap’- so I know that they might as well be the same
word. One is used of binding an infant,
the other of bandaging a wound.
I grab
my pen once more and I’m writing questions, mind reeling faster than hand.
The linen was wrapped around your body which was broken for
me. Your Presence is surrounding my
brokenness, and it’s what makes me whole.
Could it be that this manger scene was given to display what Your
Presence does for me?
I dig
deeper and stay close, because there’s more, and now I’m hunting for it.
As
Mary’s heart split, deep with fracture, she watched them lay her boy in that
cave. He was dead. Her heart was crushed. She would have
remembered the last time her boy was wrapped with strips of linen, shepherds
gathered round in that small enclosed space.
Here again. Staring into a cave
at a perfect plan that seemed to have gone terribly wrong.
I have
stared into my own cave and wondered, too.
Here again, God? Really? Why this cave? Why here? Why now?
Why me?
God the
Father knew this moment would come, an assault against the hearts of those who
loved Jesus and lived with Him, shattering their expectations one by one. He knew the questions would follow, but more
than that, He knew that this was scripted.
It was written this way on purpose.
This is not a story gone wrong.
This story has no errors. My
story has no errors. Neither does yours.
All who
loved Jesus, including Mary, watched the slow, circular roll of that tomb
stone, steady arms guiding the way until it halted to a standstill in front of
the entrance. Death sealed up, shut up, finished. The Father knew this moment
would come and that three days later an earthquake would erupt, the splitting
open wide of God’s heart where Love and Redemption and Mercy and Grace were
poured out all around. The final
payment. The debt dismissed. The stone
rolled away and a risen savior.
This
moment would be unexpected as well, and this moment would forever
change everything.
Forever.
The
stone wasn’t the only thing moved by the magnitude of His love. All of creation, all of time, all of heaven
and all of earth were moved in that moment.
And that moment brings to mind the beginning, the part that, on the
surface, seems to be a mistake, an oversight, a badly scripted plan. And yet, seeing the whole of it, my breath
catches, and I have to remember to exhale.
Shalom.
Jesus,
tiny and frail, bundled with swaddling strips for comfort and warmth, eyes
peering up into the dark of a cave. This
couldn’t have been God’s plan. Why here? Why a cave? Only one explanation is given to
gather meaning: “Because there was no room at the inn.”
Because there was no room at the inn. So much is crammed into this statement
spilling over with disappointment.
Because they were miles away from home, it was terribly inconvenient.
Because
they were forced to travel here when a baby would be coming any day, it was the
worst possible time. Because no one saw a thing wrong with sending a pregnant
woman away to the animals’ shelter, it was so incredibly uncomfortable. Because they had nowhere else to go, it
seemed hopeless.
As my
pen scratches out one after another, I see it. The only reason that sweeps my
face into wide smile, relaxes the grimace I have felt as I list them out one by
one, as ink smears across the page: Because it was always God’s plan, she wrapped him
in cloths and placed him in a manger.
What
sounds like a story gone wrong, sliding wildly, recklessly off the tracks, is
God’s perfectly scripted salvation story brimming with love and sacrifice. When Mary laid her baby in that manger, with
strips of cloth wrapped around His small frame, God knew.
The Father knew.
He
knew that the beginning would mirror the ending. He knew the rest, what was coming,
unfolding. Jesus was born to die. And there is peace in this perfect plan. He is Peace, and His Presence envelops
me. I read this from Isaiah,
and it’s one I know well, because I have been here before on this search for
peace. These words reveal the way to perfect peace- shalom shalom.
You will keep in
perfect peace those
whose minds are steadfast, because
they trust in you.
Isaiah
26:3
My mind
plays a part in this, because it has to do with where my thoughts rest and Who it
is I lean against. There’s a wrangling
of my thoughts- the ones that run wild and divert my gaze from Christ. It’s bringing them back to Him, lining them
up with His promises. I am tempted to
focus my mind on the cave that’s dark and cold and no place for a king; I
struggle to get past the dirty manger that I would have never picked for this
story. I focus too hard on those people
who let Mary give birth out there in the cold.
But when
I let all of that fall away, I see Jesus, and suddenly I am in the place where
Peace is found. I see that Peace was right there in the middle of
disappointment. Peace was right there
among the pain and the hurt, standing smack-dab in front of judgment that was
passed. And when I discover this path to
peace, the God of Peace Himself promises to keep me there in that place of
shalom shalom.
The tomb
that held Jesus’ body after my sins nailed Him to the cross was not any more a
backup plan than the cave or the manger in Bethlehem. This place where God’s finale rang out in the
heavens was also carefully and lovingly determined. It was here that all of time and all of
creation reached a glorious crescendo.
At the place
where Jesus was crucified, there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb, in
which no one had ever been laid.
John
19:41
The tomb
was in a garden. The dark cave of death
was inside a garden. This was the plan. Life envelops death. Peace surrounds brokenness.
When sin
entered the Garden of Eden, creation was instantly a broken world in desperate
need of a savior. Sin entered the
garden, but then so did Jesus. When He
entered this garden, sin and death were defeated forever and everything that
sin had us wrapped up in- bound in- has now been reversed. There is life in
Jesus- eternal life- and communion with God. Peace
with God once again. The Father picked a
garden, a place full of life and beauty and the very creation that imitates His
character.
The
placement of those strips of cloth is fresh in my mind: “The cloth was still
lying in its place, separate from the linen.”
(John 20:7) Another question comes quick on the heels of this: What
becomes of the linen cloths now that You have conquered darkness, the whole of
sin and the depths of death itself?
I
realize it isn’t as much about what is wrapped as Who is doing the unwrapping. The reversal of sin and death is in each
strip cast aside. The removal of death’s
curse and sin’s grip sets us free, and that is why those cloths lay there
folded, unneeded. It is finished.
The
broken relationship has now been restored, and we are no longer God’s
enemies. Shalom. He is with us. He is for us. Though the battle
rages on, there is Peace. Peace dwells
among us and reminds us that the Victor is on our side. Shalom.
God
initiated this holy conversation in a single word: Shalom. When Jesus left to
prepare a place for us, He knew He’d be returning. So until then, He left His Peace, His
Presence, here with us.
Peace I leave
with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not
let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.
John
14:27
I think
of all the things in my life that God has brought full circle, and I
wonder… How would I live if I
knew the rest? Would that be
enough? Would seeing the end make the
unexpected any easier?
It
doesn’t take me long to realize that even with an understanding of the ending,
beautifully wrapped and explained and healed with strips of His love and grace
bound tightly around my soul, I would still struggle with the unexpected
parts. I would still have to search and
pursue this peace that comes only from knowing Jesus.
Shalom is not the end of the conversation; it’s the beginning, the flinging
open wide the door to constant communion with the Father who loved us so
incredibly deeply that He wrote this story for us.
My mind
drifts back to the little voices that trail behind me, following me as if I
know the way. Their questions, full
of curiosity and wonder, make me realize that they are searching, too. When they
ask me if it's time yet for Jesus to unwrap His presents, I can tell
them that He already has. He already
has. Gathering them real close like I do when
I want them to listen, I will tell them the good news that Jesus has
already unwrapped His Presence, and He is here with us.
Shalom.
Peace to you.
