Adventus: Late In Time Behold Him Come

Hark the Herald Angels Sing is probably my favourite Christmas carol. Not only is it sung to the same tune on both sides of the Atlantic (unlike Away In A Manger, Angels From The Realms Of Glory or It Came Upon A Midnight Clear), but the words are superb, full of meaning and truth.

This lyric, in the second verse, however, is on the face of it a little strange. How can God, the Lord over time itself, be late?

As part of a family that often struggles with punctuality, it’s somehow comforting that even the Lord of the Universe is being described as late, but that is, of course, not the precise meaning of “late” that’s being used here.

“Late” doesn’t solely mean “running behind schedule”. That’s absurd when applied to God, but it raises an important point about Biblical time. The Koine Greek language in which the New Testament was written has two words for “time”, and they have subtly different meanings. Chronos is the word from which we derive modern words like “chronology” and “chronometer” and “chronic”. It’s used for the regular progression of minutes, hours, days, weeks and years. Chronos time is the world of schedules and clocks and calendars. And though God works in chronos time, the most important events on Heaven’s calendar are scheduled with kairos time.

Kairos is the other Greek word for time, and it’s used for specific important moments and seasons that may or may not come regularly in chronos time. “The time of the Pharaohs” is kairos – a specific period, but you can’t exactly say that it began on March 22nd, 4004BC and lasted exactly 2867 years 92 days and 6 hours. “When I was young” is kairos time, and so is “When I grow up”. My kids think bedtime is kairos time, and keep trying to push it later and later.

The Bible uses the word kairos in verses like “At just the right time, while we were still powerless, Christ died for us”. In essence, it’s used for “redemptive time”, if you like: the hidden schedule of God’s master redemptive plan that began in a garden and ends in a city. Kairos is why the Bible sometimes skips over hundreds or thousands of years of history or sometimes fails to mention contemporary rulers whom archaeologist and historians number among the movers and shakers of the world. They aren’t significant to kairos time.

It’s kairos time that encapsulates the Messianic prophecies that state that “in the last days” God would send Messiah. Kairos-wise, we’ve been in the last days since Bethlehem in about 4BC, and it’s this to which the lyric refers. All the waiting and expectancy is over. All the prophetic time through Adam, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, “Gideon, Jephthaih, Barak and the prophets” is finally coming to a head. The time of promise is here.

Celebrating the inauguration of the Last Days and the coming of the central figure of the entire Bible and of history itself right at the end of the calendar year seems especially apt. Late in the year (chronos) we celebrate the Advent of the One Whom God promised to send late in time itself (kairos).

It’s very nearly Christmas day now. All presents bought, all cupboards stocked, the house decorated and the lights twinkling. Last-minute details like final house-cleaning, gift-wrapping, thawing the turkey and placing presents under the tree are either completed or underway. Tonight the children hang up their stockings, tomorrow their excited anticipation is fulfilled.

Tonight, once more, we await expectantly. Tomorrow, we will unwrap the Gift.


Walls: Getting Your Head Round Nehemiah

Nehemiah is an easy book to get your head around in a lot of ways. The story’s pretty straightforward: royal cupbearer hears sorry state of Jerusalem, takes life in hands by appearing sad before the king. King commissions aforesaid cupbearer to go and do something about it. People rally around said cupbearer and begin work; inevitable opposition arises and is roundly trounced. Cupbearer institutes religious reforms. The end.

But in other ways it’s an odd book to read, particularly as a Gentile.

Over two and a half millennia later, we don’t really get why the wall of Jerusalem being broken down and its gates burned with fire is such a big deal. I at least am disturbed by some of the apparent racism of Nehemiah’s religious reforms, and unsure of why it matters that the people had taken foreign wives.

In the modern world of controversial border-wall proposals, is “building the wall” really the sort of signal we want to send?

All in all, the book is quite Jewish. I have difficulty viewing most of Nehemiah’s religious reforms as anything other than proto-Pharisaism, and several earlier parts of the story, for example the opposition to the building, seem to have lost something in translation.

The earliest chapters of Nehemiah are the least troublesome. Nehemiah hears that Jerusalem’s wall is broken down and its gates burned.

The previous major Biblical event being the fall of Jerusalem and the exile of the Jewish nation, part of me always comes to this and says “well, duh?”. What do you expect? The Babylonians just got done burning it. Aware of later history with the Maccabees, the Romans and Masada, we’re apt to read back onto this the troublesome and rebellious nature of the Jewish province, and think to ourselves that no ruler in their right mind is going to let anyone arm such a dangerously secessionist piece of turf.

This, of course, is telescoping about six hundred years or so of history together. It had been over 70 years since the Babylonians sacked Jerusalem, and under normal circumstances the wall would be the first thing to be rebuilt, because until it was complete, everything you built was vulnerable to every raider or bandit in the region.

In the ancient world, walled cities were the norm. Your city wasn’t more than a large village unless it had a wall, and until it did, it was at the mercy of everyone.

More than mere security, a wall around the city was a mark of identity; a “this is us” statement that distinguished the “safe” area inside the city from the dangerous barbarian wilds beyond.

It’s difficult for us to adjust our thinking enough to cope with this ancient-world truth; in our day it is the inner city that is the dangerous wilderness, and “the countryside” holds an almost mystical reverence. We want wild spaces and pristine landscape; in an Iron Age era where there were lethally dangerous animals living within long bowshot of the city walls, plus raiders and other human predators, the city was the good part. Untouched wilderness didn’t mean “unspoilt”; it meant “unsafe”.

And Jerusalem’s wall had remained in ruins for over two generations, because, so we are told, the local provincial governors had a vested interest in keeping the Jews down.

It seems, on the face of it, difficult to fathom their thinking. Another walled city on an important trade route would mean another safe haven for merchants, and being able to say that your province held 87 walled cities rather than 86 would have been a symbol of status as an important governor. It would even pay for itself eventually in increased trade revenues into the royal coffers.

Sadly, though, not all rulers make decisions on the basis of logic and reason. The governors only had to answer to their Emperor, not to their subjects, so they had less pressure to be reasonable, and even today there are rulers and politicians who make decisions on little more than whatever whim fills their heads that moment. And aggressive war is one of the least amenable to reason of any national decision. In 1939, for example, Germany’s biggest trading partner was France. It didn’t, economically speaking, make sense for the Germans to attack. Similarly, it doesn’t quite make sense to me that there was so much official opposition, but I take the Bible’s word for it that there was.

The wall, then, was a statement of identity. Jerusalem’s wall-less state should be viewed as a physical representation of what was in danger of happening to the Jewish nation. Any other nation in history, once removed from its ancestral homeland, has eventually lost their identity and become subsumed into another. Under different circumstances, the American colonists developed an identity as something other than subjects of the British crown. Away from “home”, “home” begins to be somewhere else, and identity changes. Or is lost altogether.

God had a vested interest in that not happening. These were and are still His Covenant people. Besides, no Jewish nation meant no Son of David, because at the time He was yet to come.

Sanballat and Tobiah’s opposition may not entirely make sense with the limited data we’re given, but we can read onto them every tyrant or oppressor who has ever persecuted one group in order to increase their prestige in a different group. Tomas de Torquemada and the Jews. Tamerlane and the Central Asian churches. Modern far-right groups and Muslims. It doesn’t have to make logical sense. “They” are the real Bad Guys; you go off and hate them, and ignore the tyrant’s rule closer to home.

Maybe walls aren’t a good symbol in the post-Resurrection world, where the end goal is people “from every tribe and nation and people and language”. We don’t want to be putting barriers in people’s way, or decreeing “pagan-free zones” within our churches. This is self-evident. And yet, are we building walls of hatred towards Muslims, or anyone else for that matter?

Christ died for these individuals. He has not given us the right to push them away.

But a metaphorical wall as a token of identity… Yeah, it’s actually important. We should not let go of who we are in Christ, nor of Whose we are. Guarding our heart, as the Proverbs puts it, is a vital duty, because if we lose heart it’s all over.

This wall is built brick-by-brick from the knowledge of God and what He’s done for us.

I still have questions about the sort of signal this wall-building sends, but it’s not at odds with the character of God as revealed by the rest of the Bible.

And then those religious reforms.

This is probably the part of Nehemiah that I’m least comfortable with. It looks rather racist, at least in the Eurasian sense of nationalities rather than the American sense of black and white. And in part it certainly smacks of the birth of the Pharisee movement of Jesus’ day; the idea that doing is what earns you favour with the Lord.

What’s the deal with these other nationalities? Nehemiah seems fully prepared to decimate, or at least exclude, a sizeable chunk of the nation, just because they’ve married foreigners. As far as he’s concerned, the right thing to do is for these marriages to be dissolved.

And I have a problem with that.

What about all those women and children? Where’s the compassion of the Almighty? Why were these foreign marriages so wrong that the pain and trauma of destroying families was preferable?

It doesn’t make a lot of sense coming from the same God that we are told “sets the lonely in families” and Who opens faith in His Son to all who call on Him, no matter their ancestry.

And yet, as I’ve said before, if I’m going to take the Bible seriously, I don’t get to pick and choose which bits I trust. There’s nothing figurative about this, and the tone of the passage is that Nehemiah was acting righteously with the sanction of God. I can’t dismiss it just because I don’t like it. Something makes it fit with what I know from the rest of Scripture about the character of God.

Was this something particular for the Jewish nation and not specifically for Gentile Christians? Was there something specifically wrong with the nationalities involved? Was this just something like God making sure of the bloodline of the Messiah? Was this a particular instruction for that time and place, a part of God’s national Covenant with Israel?

Certainly I think that probably plays into it. In the Covenant with Israel, God works nationally, with the entire 12-tribe nation. Involved with that are several uncomfortable things, like apparent genocide and the waging of aggressive wars of conquest. Things that don’t fit well with our modern sensibilities trained in multiculturality and the fact that God loves everyone.

Tribalism in the Bible is something we have to reconcile with. I personally am more or less of the opinion that it was a fact of ancient life that God worked with and through even though it wasn’t His best will, rather than an end in itself, but passages like this do challenge that opinion. At least where the Jewish nation are concerned, perhaps there’s more to the seemingly-tribalistic “Jews good, foreigners bad” mindset than simple Iron Age-ness.

The Jewish nation were the nation through whom God had promised to send Messiah, and no Jewish nation at that point would have meant no Messiah. There’s a prominent strand of Scriptural interpretation that seems to view most of the difficult passages of Old Testament Scripture through this lens, and it does make a sort of sense. I believe there’s more to God’s Covenant faithfulness to Israel than the mere preservation of the Messianic bloodline, but I suppose it’s possible that if the Jews had been permitted to intermarry willy-nilly with surrounding nations that the line of the House of David might have become so diluted that the prophecies of Messiah would have been rendered meaningless.

This seems like a nice, neat explanation, but I’m still uncomfortable with it. I feel like it implies unpleasant things about God’s character: effectively, that He’s a rather Macchiavellian Deity more concerned with His plans than with people.

I know this isn’t so, which is part of why this interpretation sits so poorly with me, but how else do you reconcile the apparent righteousness of Nehemiah’s actions with the character of a loving God who accepts everyone regardless of their background?

Thinking about it, I believe we have to remember that the Jewish nation wasn’t defined primarily by ethnicity. It has never been a closed set; to this day it’s possible to go through a certain process including the covenant act of circumcision (for males) to bind oneself to the national Covenant of God and become a Jew.

It’s true that God will accept anyone into His Kingdom regardless of their background, but there are steps you have to take to be added to the Kingdom. You have to believe in Jesus the Messiah and His finished work of salvation, trusting Him with your life to the extent that He’s in charge. You have to renounce sin – all the destructive self-centred behaviours and attitudes that separate us from God and from one another. You have to become a citizen of His Kingdom.

The fact that these were characterised as “foreign” marriages tells us that these people hadn’t bound themselves to God and His Covenant. If the Jewish nation was (and is) defined first and foremost by its Covenant relationship with God, there literally cannot be any “foreign women” that are married into the nation but retain their own gods and practices.

Religiously speaking, you aren’t allowed be half a Jew and half something else. It’s an all-or-nothing deal. Similarly, you can’t be half a Christian. Either you have a New Covenant relationship with the Lord, or you aren’t actually in His Kingdom. He doesn’t grant citizenship privileges to those who are still foreigners.

If anyone ought to know this, it ought to be me. I live in the United States as a legal permanent resident, but I’m not a citizen. I don’t get to vote in US elections, I don’t get to stand with my hand over my heart during the singing of The Star-Spangled Banner. I’m not a citizen.

It’d be convenient to become one, but I’m still in the place where I cannot in good conscience swear an oath that includes renunciation of allegiance to “any other nation, prince or potentate”. And in my heart I’m still loyal to my Queen and my Country, and I don’t see that changing.

Similarly, citizenship in God’s Kingdom is one thing or the other. As Jesus said, you can’t serve God and Mammon both, neither can you hold onto the old things you pursued and reverenced: beauty, strength, worldly power, fame or whatever your personal idols are.

And now I believe I get the point. It looks harsh. It’s unpleasant. But there’s no other way. God will not allow people who won’t be His into His Kingdom. Ethnicity or nationality as we think of them today are not the issue. Look at Rahab, Ruth, Bathsheba, Naaman… No; the issue is “Who are you going to worship?”


Sunday will be Palm Sunday. The start of what has traditionally been called Holy Week, and the continuation of another round of the great liturgical calendar of the Church.

We’re familiar with the story, most of us. Jesus knows that His time is coming. He sends His disciples to go and find a donkey that’s never been ridden and bring it to Him. They put their coats on its back as a saddle, and Jesus rides it into Jerusalem, accompanied by throngs of people cheering His entry as the Son of David and the One who comes in the Name of the Lord.

And this year, I wonder how much the crowd knew.

How familiar were they with Isaiah’s prophecy that the King-Messiah would come to Zion riding on a donkey?

Were they aware of the prophetic import of Jesus’ choice of mount, or were they expecting someone more in the image of an Alexander or a Caesar, astride a mighty war-horse or pulled in a chariot?

Were their shouts of Hosanna an actual prayer of “Save Us!”, or just the emotion of the moment?

It’s difficult to tell. On the one hand, the wider cultural expectation was that kings don’t ride donkeys. It would be like the President of the US driving himself around in a Fiat Punto.

On the other hand, according to many historians Messianic expectation was running fairly high in Jesus’ day, and the crowd’s shouts of “Hosanna to the Son of David!” and “Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord!” are certainly what we would expect from people who were familiar with the prophecies and knew something of what to expect from their Messiah.

So how much did the crowd really know?

I don’t have any absolute answers, but it does look like they knew a lot more than we sometimes give them credit for. We’re apt to juxtapose their loud acclamation at the Triumphal Entry with their equally loud cries of “Crucify!” a week later, and dismiss the shouts of Hosanna as the emotionalism of the moment.

I’m not sure I buy that. Based on what they were shouting, it looks like they had an understanding of the prophetic significance of riding into town on a donkey. This was the action of the Messiah-King, coming in to set the nation to rights, drive out the evil Roman pagans and set up a Divine Kingdom in the image of King David’s. With liberty and justice for all. The crowd knew about the prophecies. They memorised the Scriptures, heard and read the words of Isaiah and the other prophets. They knew enough to at least recognise it. Here was the King.

But then, once in Jerusalem, Jesus doesn’t behave at all like the Messiah is supposed to. He doesn’t drive out the Romans from the city of God; He evicts Jews from the Temple. He doesn’t raise an army to oppose the Imperial taxes, He instructs His followers to give to Caesar what belongs to him.

He opposes the Pharisees, who were widely regarded as the holiest people around and as model Jews, but surrounds Himself with prostitutes, drunks and Roman collaborators.

Then He commits the worst error a Messiah can possibly make: He gets defeated.

Dragged off in chains by the holy Pharisees and handed over to the evil Roman overlords, it’s little wonder they turned on Him. “How dare You raise our hopes and then dash them like this?”

How dare You claim Messiahship? You aren’t He; He is God’s special King and does not get defeated!

Disillusionment can turn easily to anger. If Jesus wouldn’t act like a proper Messiah, then He must obviously be a deceiver. Away with Him!

So the appropriate question may not be “how could they turn on Him so quickly?”, but “how do we react when God won’t do what we think He should?”

Heal my mother/sister/brother/father. Make me wealthy. Fight against the godless liberals/conservatives/radicals/oppressors. Condemn this group or that group of evil God-haters. Make my country the world leader that it ought to be.

God may not be fighting the godless liberals because He is fighting something more fundamental than which side of the political dividing line we are on. He may not be making me wealthy because He wants me to seek Him for Himself rather than for rewards. He may not be making my country a world leader because the government belongs to Him, not to any one nation.

In other words, our ideas of what He ought to do may need some adjustment.

After all, He is good. He is the Source of good; everything good and perfect comes from Him. More, He’s omniscient; He really does know everything and see everything, so He knows what is really good and what merely looks the part. More than that, He’s all-powerful. Nothing can prevent Him from doing the good He intends. He can’t be forced to do evil.

More even than that, He’s pure. He alone has pure motives and is incorruptible. Even something He wants will not bend Him towards evil; there is no shadow of turning in Him.

If we can’t trust Him to know what He ought to be doing far better than we do, we have a problem. We’re in unbelief, trapped by a false image of who He is.

Jesus rides into our Jerusalem on a donkey in large part to deal with this. The crucifixion was all part of the plan; it was the only way to separate beloved Humankind from the sin and deceptions that dominated us. He has already died to put an end to our sin, and risen to set us free from it.

Hosanna, indeed.