Whence Cometh the Everlasting “Prince of Peace?”
A PDF copy of this commentary can be read and/or printed here.
“For a child has been born for us, …
and he is named Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”
(Is. 9:7)
Prologue
In my last commentary, I wrote and shared my thoughts about “Hope, in a World of Hopelessness.” With them I also included what I called those “meddlesome” passages in what is proclaimed to be the good news of the gospels in the Christian faith tradition and attributed to the Galilean peasant sage; about loving one’s enemies your neighbor, turning the other cheek, and not seeking vengeance.
In the weeks that have subsequently come to pass, the daily news cycle has continued unabated to describe the consequences of Israel’s retaliatory and indiscriminate killing of thousands upon thousands of civilians in Gaza, excused as unfortunate collateral damage.
Meanwhile, my country’s representative to the United Nations vetoed a non-binding resolution, calling for an immediate ceasefire. Meanwhile, the Administration simultaneously called for additional and unconditional military aid for Israel in its fight against what is deemed to be terrorist violence; while urging Israel to do all it can to minimize civilian casualties.
As ludicrous as that all is, I also watch a news broadcast interview of two military experts, discussing their simple solution that lies with the need to use more of what are called “smart bombs” — versus “dumb bombs” – in order to more precisely strike their intended targets. As an American, I cannot help but shudder and confess, those are all my bombs.
So now, as I think about celebrating the perennial holiday season, I’ve endured watching the images of Palestinian civilian survivors, displaced from their demolished homes and fleeing for their lives, clutching bloodied and wailing children in their arms.
And all the while, I’m thinking about some of our folksy holiday customs; how the Advent season began with unadorned evergreens, and an empty manger awaiting the arrival of a homeless child, and a lone, lit candle. It’s deemed a ‘holy’ nativity.
Decades ago, I wrote a blessing prayer for this season that began with a reference to nothing but a flicker of hope in “the fading glory of these autumn days, when night creeps early on to darkness; and leaves us, bound in shadows, longing for the light.” And yet, it remains that flicker of hope that I want to write about.
A Season of Hope?
This last week, mid-way through the Middle East peace talks …, a newscaster interviewed a prominent official, seeking his opinion on the chances of a successful outcome. The official first recapped the historical failures of previous attempts; and then proceeded to outline the seemingly insurmountable challenges at this present time. He spoke of how conditions now seemed more dire than ever before, how Israelis and Palestinians had greater reason than ever before to distrust one another; that there was more reason than ever before to assert their own form of power, dominance and terror over the other.
That is, they might continue to employ their military superiority on the one hand, or the insurrection’s trade on the other; in the vain hope that the undaunted perpetuation of such terror, fear and dread would finally triumph over their adversary. And all this, despite the stark, obvious reality that it never has … at least, not yet.
The interviewer asked him again, “Then what gives you any more reason to hope for a different outcome now, how an accord could be achieved this time, when you say conditions now would make it seem even less likely?”
He replied, “It is precisely because of that, because things seem more hopeless now, more than ever before, I cannot abandon hope. I have to hope the impossible is possible.” When pressed further, he went on to say he was a pragmatic optimist, essentially because the present alternative – the way things seem to be — was simply unacceptable.
I took this to mean he refused to believe that which – to all outward signs seemed undeniably self-evident as the way things are – would continue to define what would ultimately prevail as the reality of this world.
So, I’ve been thinking about hope, and how universal a theme it is to the human experience. Presidential candidates speak and write about the audacity of hope. Diplomats delicately dance around thorny, un-resolvable issues and refuse to relinquish the possibility of hope. And preachers certainly like to talk about hope as one of the three great, virtues; along with faith and love. Presumably, the greatest is love. But hope ain’t bad.
Confession Time
Now, because liturgically those weeks leading up to Christmas are considered a penitential season, I have to pause here, because I have a confession to make. Everything I’ve written in the section above – after my brief Prologue, and including all the comments about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and the elusive longing for peace – I wrote in 2007, in a former commentary, entitled “A Season of Hope.” When I just happened to come upon it in the Archives section of my Words & Ways website collection, the contemporaneity of what I had to say sixteen Advent seasons ago was startling. It also left me wondering if I had anything more to say. Here’s what I’d written further at that time:
There’s always a greeting card section in the local drugstore dedicated to hope. It’s more commonly categorized as encouragement, or support, as in:
“Hope you’re feeling better.” Or,
“Hope you’re not as lonely as you were; just remember, you’re not forgotten.”
“Hope you haven’t given up hope.” Or, there’s the colloquial “Hang in there.”
Sometimes it helps. But sometimes it doesn’t sound so much like “hope.” As in:
“Hope you haven’t smashed the car again.” Or,
“Hope you haven’t burned the pot roast.”
Hope can be audacious, I suppose. But it can also be obnoxious, like a superficial panacea, especially when accompanied by a prescription to pick yourself up and shake off whatever’s gettin’ ‘ya down. But also because sometimes people are down for a reason. And sometimes, it’s a pretty good one. And it’s not always a matter of wallowing there, but recognizing it for what it is.
That may be the only way to do something about it, including realizing there may be nothing you alone can do about it. …. Which brings us, once again, to the Advent of hope for something more.
In the more liturgical traditions of the Christian faith tradition, what is known as the cyclical “Church Year” has always had this funny thing about starting over. But we don’t jump in and start off with the remembrance and celebration of the birth of the baby Jesus, but rather the imminent advent of a holy nativity, and what that could possibly mean for us.
Hoping Christmas comes, really comes, is a season. It can always usher in the hope of a different reality, and way of being in this world — that precedes what we still, in so many ways, hope will happen. Someday, we hope, Christmas really will come. Put another way, the “Spirit of Christmas Past” is but a prelude to a second coming, of sorts; which we hope will be the first Christmas ultimately worth really celebrating.
The Feast of the Holy Nativity (Christmas) is about the first cast of characters (but certainly not the last) to arrive, one by one, at the empty manger; in order to see what real hope really looks like. And, it’s not just for those who’ve had their lives demolished and nearly obliterated; because there’s no room for them in the inn.
It’s also about those willing to make this journey to the least likely place on earth, and peer into an empty feed box in a stable to find what such an intended, divine reign is really all about, expressed in the weak, the powerless, the marginalized and outcast. Such audacity! Such audacity of hope.
Advent also always comes with its own warning: Be careful what you hope for. We may think it will come on December 25th, just like the calendar says. Think again, the gospel of the Galilean peasant sage tells us.
It may come when and where you least expect it. Which, I take to mean, it’ll come like a thief in the night, sneaking in to relieve you of your callow presumptions, your comfortable biases, limited expectations, and maybe even your best intentions, hopes and dreams. It’s about breaking in to turn our presumptuous, preposterous world upside down.
And not only that, it not only comes with a warning, but a challenge, as well; to define what is ultimately real, authentic, and divine about this world in which “Emmanuel” might truly come to live with us.
The interlude known as the twelve days of Christmas always concludes with the hope that a new light will shine upon the wise ones who seek it. It is called the Epiphany (epi–phanos ‘light all around us’). And it is what I will elaborate on in my upcoming, third commentary on this matter of hope,
For now, simply put, Advent and Christmastide confront us with the question of whether we can believe in — and will hold fast to — that light and call it gospel.
An Advent Blessing
Where, in the fading glory of these wintry days,
when night creeps early on to darkness
and takes us, bound in shadows, longing for the light:
May your remembrance of the words of the Galilean sage
gently come into your stone-cold time
at the least-expected hour.
And may these darker days
find us blessed with a ready, holy hope and expectation.
In the name of
The One who abides with us and guides us,
The One who inspires us with eyes to see and ears to hear:
That we might be light in the darkness of a broken world.
Let it be so, Amen.
© 2023 by John William Bennison, Rel.D. All rights reserved.
This article should only be used or reproduced with proper credit.