Surprising Grace

Here we are again at that strange, blessed in-between time, between the old year and the new. I always appreciate this interval between the busy-ness of Christmas and the welcoming of the new year – a kind of fallow space in which to gather the blessings of the year that has passed, and listen to the new hopes and dreams emerging in our hearts for the future. It is a time for gratitude, and also for renewing our commitment to what truly matters. As I looked back over this year, this passage from Rainer Maria Rilke’s “ Letter to a Young Poet ” spoke particularly to me: You ask whether your verses are good. You ask me. You have asked others before. You send them to magazines. You compare them with other poems. … I beg you to give up all that. You are looking outward, and that above all you should not do now. Nobody can counsel and help you, nobody. There is only one single way. Go into yourself. Search for the reason that bids you write; find out whether it is spreading out its ro...

All the ends of the earth have seen the salvation by our God. Sing joyfully to the Lord, all you lands; break into song; sing praise. (Psalm 3b-4) The readings at Christmas are full of joy that seemingly cannot be contained. Our God has done a new thing, they proclaim – Christ has come! Of all the readings, though, my favourite is this more solemn passage of John’s: What came to be through him was life, and this life was the light of the human race; the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. (John 1: 3b-5) A light that the darkness does not overcome: that is the hope that Christmas brings to me. Our violent, divided world – and our wounded, fickle hearts – are, incredibly, the darkness into which God’s everlasting light has come, in the form of a small child. Christmas then is a yearly reminder to us of that incredible truth that God has chosen to become incarnate in the messiness of our lives, and thus given it infinite value. Daniel O’Lear...

"You, Bethlehem-Ephrathah, too small to be among the clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to be ruler in Israel.” (Micah 5: 2) Thus begins the first reading of this Sunday. This is one of many surprising statements in the scriptures, in which those who are “small” and overlooked are actually the ones blessed and chosen by God. The Gospel reading also takes up this thread as it follows the meeting of Mary and Elizabeth, two poor women from a backwater place, to whom God has inexplicably come. “And how does this happen to me…?” asks Elizabeth, not quite daring to believe (Luke 1: 43a). In fact, Jesus himself will go on to spell out this principle authoritatively in one of his best-known sermons: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” (Luke 6: 20) Most of us would have come across that verse many times. Often, though, for those of us who are not materially poor, there is a temptation to “whitewash” the statement; to avoid it...

"Shout for joy…! Sing joyfully…! … [The Lord] will rejoice over you with gladness, and renew you in his love; he will sing joyfully because of you, as one sings at festivals.” (Zephaniah 3: 14, 17-18a) Have you ever experienced someone bursting into joyful song because of you? Those who have fallen in love with another have perhaps experienced such joyful expressions of love in other ways – in a heartfelt letter, in a tender embrace, or in the particular way that our beloved looks at us. This Sunday’s readings call us to rejoice, because God loves us just as passionately – and more! How do we experience God’s love? At some points in our lives, of course, it is difficult to believe in our beloved-ness: in times in confusion and hardship, in times when we are aware of our failings and imperfections, in times when we feel lonely and in pain. But the coming of Christ in the stable, light to a people suffering and oppressed, reminds us that God in God’s infinite love is already ...

This Sunday’s first reading and psalm speak of the return of Israel’s children, who were exiles in a strange land. “[L]ook to the east,” says the prophet, “and see your children gathered from east and west…. Led away on foot by their enemies they left you, but God will bring them back to you…” (Baruch 5: 5-6) Do you ever feel, like Israel, the pain of exile? Of alienation? That existential loneliness that comes from being disconnected from ourselves, from each other, from our environment, and therefore from God? Much ink has been spilled on what some have now termed the “loneliness epidemic” in our societies. Technological innovation has made possible many improvements in the way we live. Through the internet we are more connected than ever – but, ironically, increasing numbers of people are feeling lonely, starved of quality contact with others. The influence of the digital world “can stop people from learning how to live wisely, to think deeply and to love generously.” (Lau...

Nowadays, my daily routine involves traveling a little more than an hour each day to my place of work (and back again in the evening), a big part of it on foot through drab-looking residential streets and across two dusty, polluted highways. In the last few weeks, however, it has given me much pleasure to see Christmas decorations going up bit by bit in the places I pass: a lighted star in someone’s window; wreaths made of recycled bottles on a bridge; and in the doorway of someone’s small tin shack – a complete nativity scene! These little bits of green and tinsel are more than just the trappings of Christmas… they are for me signs that point beyond. They hint at what we often forget: that behind the dull exteriors of the spaces we inhabit and the sheer familiarity of our daily grind is something extraordinary. The divine is indeed already present here among us, in the very places of our everyday challenges, boredom, and joy. This is what Christmas celebrates: that God has come...