Second Saturday of Advent
Scripture Reading for Today:
The God of the Feed Trough
by Jonathan Puddle
This year, four of my closest friends are navigating their first Christmas after separating in their respective marriages. As a child of divorced parents myself, Christmas is always a reminder of relationships unravelled. This year our community is unravelling further still. My heart yearns for the contrast of cold weather and warm homes, for hot drinks over long conversations, for a peaceful break from the hectic rhythms of the year, while my mind knows some of those conversations will be heavier this year.
As bodies, we are experientially aware that not everything in our lives is as it should be. Our relationships lack harmony, our schedules are unsustainable, and our nervous systems crave shalom. As I write, the leaves have fallen but the snow hasn’t come yet, a liminal space that reflects the complexities of our relationship with God, with others, with the planet, with our own selves. We are salted & peppered with tentative hopes and dashed expectations and glimpses of joyful fulfilment, even as we feel things unravel.
“Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and will not be afraid, for the Lord is my strength and my might; he has become my salvation.” — Isaiah 12:2
Many of us could say we are more familiar with fear than we are with safety or trust. We are subject to the rule of fear and death. We are dominated by loss and disease and violence; ruled over internally by panic and heartbreak, and externally by the principalities and powers of empire. But Isaiah’s next words remain compelling, despite being written some 2700 years ago:
With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation. — Isaiah 12:3
I want to draw fresh water, with joy. We need that water to clean, nourish and replenish ourselves in this season. During these days of Advent, we might look back on the year and be honest that it was with much bitterness that we drew water from other wells: the well of self-preservation, the well of control, the well of unjust systems.
But God understands the world we live in, what we are facing and the ways we try to survive it. Advent offers us a road into the mystery of one who sees us and knows us and loves us, and invites us to a hearth & home that is truly safe. To communicate that safety to our nervous system, God lays their might aside and becomes small and frail, unprotected, disarmed. We are never asked to place our faith in strength or violence, but are invited to encounter a God who comes in a relatably vulnerable package.
Let’s just remember that a manger is not a safe or cozy place to put a baby, a manger is an animal’s feed trough. You do not put your newborn baby in a feed trough unless you are utterly and absolutely desperate and you have no other options. A manger is like a shelter for the unhoused, a refuge of last resort. But far from a place of shame, the manger is the exact proof the angel informs the shepherds to look for.
So too, I think, the unravelling is proof we are alive. Proof that we exist. That we are here. And that God is no stranger to any of it.
The gears of empire are lubricated with human blood, taken without consent. In contrast, our hope is found in a child, baptized in the blood of his mother, freely given. Just as our own pillows are baptized with our tears. If the promises of Christmas look shallower than ever for you this year, if the mistletoe has turned to ash sprinkled on your divorce papers… the God of the Feed Trough has room for even this.
In being a baby,
God demonstrates the possibility and the desire for harmonious coexistence
mutual thriving
in all our relationships.
And God brings this shalom not as the world would bring it
through powerful demonstrations of violent domination,
proud parades down the street,
political polarizations
and cheap media stunts
but through the slow, faithful work of growth & gardening in our hearts.
This good work will bring a harvest in time. That’s the promise God revealed to Isaiah and to his contemporary Amos.
I will restore the fortunes of my people,
and they shall rebuild the ruined cities and inhabit them;
they shall plant vineyards and drink their wine,
and they shall make gardens and eat their fruit.
I will plant them upon their land,
and they shall never again be plucked up
out of the land that I have given them,
says the Lord your God.— Amos 9:14-15
It’s really only just begun. All things are going to be made new, every tear will be wiped away, every broken heart mended. The Kingdom of God is coming to earth, and it starts with a frail human baby, that hardly anyone recognizes, whose litmus test is a dirty manger. One day, everyone will know who he is. Everyone will experience real love for themselves… which is another way of saying that every eye shall see, and every tongue shall declare, the salvation of God. Because God made us all, God loves us all, and God is not willing that even one of us should be left out of the promise of restored hopes and fruitful vineyards.
Take a moment and tune in to the body that you are.
Where do you not have peace right now?
Where is there pain?
Where is there excitement?
Where is there unexpressed emotion?
Put a hand on it and give words to what is there.
When was the last time you felt at peace?
Felt hopeful?
What did that feel like and where did it sit?
What were the circumstances that gave rise to that peace?
Is there an invitation to lean into that peace again, even now?
Think about your community, your friends and family.
Who does not have peace right now?
Who in your life is in a season of unravelling?
Picture them in your mind’s eye and imagine them surrounded by every resource they need to walk this path with dignity and faithfulness.
What might Jesus look like to them?
Take a deep breath in, and slowly release it.
This unravelling is real, it’s happening. And it will be woven into something good, redeemed and transformed. This season will pass but even as it lingers, there are gifts of peace and hope to be found in cold ground and warm homes.
May the contrasts within these days make room for your tears and your laughter, your sighs of grief and of satisfaction, and may you find Love present with you in everything.
Thank you for reading the New Leaf Advent Reader, a collection of reflections from writers across Canada. If you are enjoying the reader, sign up to receive the readings in your inbox each day here: SIGN UP
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