The mystery of Christ’s birth

Matthew and Luke included Jesus’ birth stories, and John reminds us that Jesus existed before the beginning, increasing our sense of wonder and awe that God became incarnate.

From the blog

Advent Joy

Have you ever wondered why the third candle in the advent wreath is pink? Why pink? Why the third Sunday? The short answer is joy, but the long answer is fascinating, and it has something to do with Lent, and something to do with an early Gnostic movement that dismissed Jesus as a real human person.

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Peril of Christ

This world is not our final home. When terrible things happen, as happened to these shocked and grieving families so long ago, it is good to remember this fallen, broken world, riddled with evil, is not our final home. We were created for eternity, and tragedy can never change that.

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Proclamation of Christ

among all these pilgrims, the Magi’s opulent and exoticly laden camels, their turbans and jewels, their royal purple robes, their leopard skins and strange accents, would have parted the crowds and drawn gasps of awe.

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Prophecy of Christ

He was born in the hamlet of Bethlehem, an inconsequential dot on the map, but it was the birthplace of Kings, the very root and stump of Jesse, and from it now sprang this young shoot, the ruler who would sit on the throne of Judah forever.

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Divine Heredity

When I was a young girl, there was an enormous social stigma attached to having a baby when you weren’t married. You got sent away to extended family, had the baby in secret, started another life, or gave the baby up for adoption, very privately. Children raised out of wedlock didn’t have the same legal rights as children born to or adopted by a married couple.

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The Midwife

My church, New Hope Chapel, Arnold MD, is finishing up a four-part Advent series called “We Were There.” Each member of the teaching team took a character from Jesus’ birth narrative and told the tale from that perspective. I got “The Midwife”

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About Me

My passion for the Bible began when I was eight or nine years old, somewhere in there, when on occasion my dad would take me to synagogue, where he sang. I remember watching the men in synagogue pray the words of scripture, murmuring and weeping, lovingly touching and kissing the Torah, and I wished I could read what they were reading.

Imagine, then, my wonder when I was given a Bible of my own! Read more

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