In this season of advent, when many of us are pondering the life and birth of the Prince of Peace, we find ourselves also remembering the life of peacemaker Nelson Mandela.  For the last couple of days news programs, television specials, and radio addresses have reminded us of Mandela's achievements and sacrifices. Twitter and Facebook have been abuzz with Mandela's quotes. As I have learned much more about Mandela's legacy through all these vehicles and consider the life of Jesus, a very elementary thought has occurred to me:

Peacemaking doesn't look all that peaceful. 

This is a very rudimentary snapshot of Nelson Mandela's life up to his arrest:

• Mandela was suspended from college for political agitation, and he was not called a peacemaker.
• He allied with members of the Communist party who were willing to treat black Africans with dignity and respect, and he was not called a peacemaker.
• With support of his ANC party, Mandela started a military wing, though carefully planned and focused on sabotage, was a departure from nonviolence and passive resistance, and he was not called a peacemaker.
• He snuck out of the country, illegally, to build outside allies against aparthied and snuck back in to continue his efforts against the system, and he was not called a peacemaker.
• His actions led to an arrest and imprisonment because Mandela was not called a peacemaker. Mandela was considered a trouble-maker, a rabble rouser, even a terrorist. 

Causing trouble seems to be the M.O. for peacemakers, and their movements seem to be marked by a significant lack of peace, at least in the beginning. Sojourner Truth, Cesar Chavez, Jane Addams, Martin Luther King Jr., Mahatma Gandhi, Rosa Parks, Deitrich Bonhoeffer- this list is by no means exhaustive (find more than 1200 peacemakers listed here). But even this small list serves our purpose in showcasing that most were considered peacemakers only in hindsight. 

I looked up the definition of peacemaker, and I found various forms of "someone who reconciles adversaries and brings peace." This is usually what we [the Church] preach about when we call our congregations to be peacemakers. We ask them to resolve conflict with in-laws, to reconcile with siblings, to dialogue with colleagues, to fix interpersonal relationships. While I certainly agree that we should be resolving interpersonal conflicts between one another, this is not why we remember the lives of these men and women, including Jesus. (Ironically enough, many of these peacemakers struggled with healthy interpersonal relationships for the better part of their public lives). The reason we remember the lives of these peacemakers is because they fought for peace AFTER.

They fought for peace after demanding justice. 

They fought for peace after condemning the status quo. 

They fought for peace after seeking equity and equality on a systemic level. 

They fought for peace after speaking truth to power. 

They fought for peace after challenging existing social structures and hierarchies.  

And our beloved Christ is not exempt from this behavior. He turned social and religious convention on its head; he showed the followers a new way. He challenged the idea that some people are clean but others are not- innate superiority, innate defect. He touched bleeding women and sufferers of leprosy. He talked to Samaritans and affirmed the faith of Romans. He attended parties with drink and let prostitutes touch his feet. He told crazy stories about good samaritans and suggested the rich give up their wealth to follow him. He let women sit as feet to learn and choose for himself the strangest group of disciples. He completely ignored the laws of Sabbath if it meant healing for someone and regularly challenged the laws of Moses. It was a wild ride with this Jesus. And He, too, was not considered a peacemaker. Jesus's very birth induced mass slaughter; the result of Herod's fear of a new king. 

Peacemakers overturn unjust systems for the sake of creating equitable relationships thereby achieving peace. 

So here is the question for us: when we start calling people to be peacemakers, are we ready for that? 

Consider your church. Are you ready for marginalized groups to rise up and demand that any inequities which exist in your current structure be torn down and a new way be created in its place that significantly changes the current power structure of your church? 

Chances are there is a group in your church already seeking equity. How are you treating them right now? Are you trying to appease them? Trying to keep them out? Trying to manage them? Trying to reframe their arguments and cast them as troublemakers? Do you trust that the new system they are interested in helping to create will be equitable and will bring peace? Do you want peacemakers in your midst?

If we really look at the lives of the people we have dubbed peacemakers, it would be glaringly obvious that peacemakers are seeking something far more profound than a lack of conflict. We are calling people to pursue justice and equity no matter the cost. We are calling people to rebel, to protest, to organize. We are calling people to a life of speaking truth to power, a life of prophetic speech, a life that may stand in direct opposition to the status quo your church, your neighborhood, your community is trying to maintain. I'll be your peacemaker, but remember that means i have to tear some stuff down first and it won't look or feel very peaceful.  

The life of our Prince of Peace showed us a new. But as only the Divine can do, He didn't just operate on a human level. He also operated on a spiritual one. This Prince of Peace destroyed a system of law- a system that required a level of sacrifice that none of us could truly meet. When enmity stood between God and humanity, Peace stepped in. Peace changed the system. Peace found a new way to salvation. 

How

Where

When

will you make peace? Interpersonal relationships are a great place to practice, but what would be the state of our world if these peacemakers never went beyond their families, friends and co-workers? 

This advent season, will we make peace in the world? 

They are everywhere during the Christmas season… Nativity Scenes. They are on our shelves, sitting on mantels, outside churches, playing out on church stages and in Christian school dramas. But always they are a little sanitized, pristine, cute if you will. 

(Consider these to see what I mean) 

This advent season I am trying really hard not to sanitize all that is Christmas. I don't want to sanitize this Jesus who came crashing into a real world, in real skin, with a real family, and navigated real issues. I want to honor the messiness. Perhaps in honoring the messiness, I will stop assuming that my life is supposed to somehow fly above the messy, dirty, complicated work that is humanity. 

So with this in mind I present to you an unsanitary nativity scene. I present to you a real journey, with real fears and real pain. This piece was written by one of my bestest friends in the world, Jessica Rock. (yes, bestest) Many of you will want to share this in your small groups, Bible studies and maybe even in your advent sermons- all I ask is that you give my girl credit for writing it :) You can also find Jessica selling the cutest little animals on Etsy! 

Through this piece she helps us put language to our own fears as we patiently await the promised King. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

She was so tired. The traveling was a chore and a burden and not as exciting as she wished it was. Her back ached so much. She did not ride the camel very much. Getting on it was too cumbersome with her distended belly. Her legs and thighs ached because of its heavy gait. Camels stomp. So she walked. Her back had a deep ache and the ache was getting deeper and deeper.

On all fours she rocked back and forth on her hands and knees. The woman that the property owner had brought to help her, a midwife, wanted her to try to get up and squat with a birth stool, but the squatting hurt too much. Even with the midwife offering her own body as support- Miryam refused. She was just fine on her knees. The contractions were too close together for her to move between them anyway. As each one came and crashed against her body, she breathed as deeply as she could and involuntarily swayed her hips. Her body was simultaneously grasping for relief and working hard to move a baby out. The midwife rubbed Miryam’s back and a young girl, no more than 9 years old, stood rigidly against the wooden wall, eyes wide. The child was ready with the birthing stool, a pile of sun dried rags, oil, and a wool blanket that was clean enough. It was all they had had time to bring. The midwife had her bag and barked orders at the sleepy girl to assist her.

The laboring mother groaned loudly and tears streamed down her face. Her back and bottom burned from the contractions and she wished her mother and cousin were there to be her midwives. She did not cry from the physical pain. She cried because the young wide-eyed girl reminded her of her former self. It was only a few years ago that she was 9 and old women barked orders at her. So many things had happened in the span of a few years. She was not ready to be a mother and a wife no matter how wonderful the child could be. Miryam was not sure, but she had been laboring since before sunset, and it was going to be morning soon. She did not feel favored during these hours. In this hour she was utterly alone and unseen.

She wept and dropped her head to the rough blanket they had given her on the dirt floor. Her blanket was less than clean, but she did not care or notice. It was dark in the stall and she was glad they could not see her cry. She labored quietly, mind the groans and deep sighs. She did not want to worry Yossef. He was within earshot. Or maybe he wouldn’t worry if she screamed and if she died. If she were to die in labor, he would be free of her as his obligation. He could start again. He was a generous man. He had kept his promises to her even when her belly swelled with child after she had been gone for months- living with her cousin. People talked. He stood by her and his promise. She shook her head as if to shake the thoughts out. If she survived this birth, she needed to prove herself strong and brave.

Miryam would not scream yet. She swallowed them with the next contraction. She had torn her dress off an hour ago and thankfully the midwife was unalarmed to see a naked laboring mother, bottom up, sweaty, and mooing like her stall mates. The dress was filthy from the walk and smelled of camel. It was better that it was off.

The pain was unbearable. Miryam wanted to rewind her life 40 weeks and say no to her blessing. She wanted to crawl out of her skin and be back in the arms of her mother. If she had the strength, she would have run away from the filthy stall. She hadn’t forseen her life looking like this. This was not how kings were born.

Miryam didn’t know what she believed anymore.

“You are getting close,” the midwife said and firmly pressed on Miryam’s lower back. She poured warmed oil on her fingers and massaged the laboring mother. Miryam was so relieved to have the midwife touch her. She felt momentarily less alone and the pressure on her back was a distraction. No one had touched her in so long. Yossef was- well- he was afraid of her. He was distant. She felt utterly alone. Sometimes there were bouts of relief and she felt reassured that he trusted her. She was glad to be his betrothed. He had saved her. But he kept his distance and expected her to be the model wife. She was humble, diligent, and obedient.

She let out a cry and the midwife knew she was transitioning.

“I can see the head!” The midwife shouted and used her fingers to make sure it was the top of the head she was feeling. She motioned for the young girl to come to her. Every birth was a new opportunity to learn. The midwife would not tell her helper until later that she was glad to not feel an infant’s face, bottom, or feet. The midwife was pleased that the soft spot of the infant’s head had a strong pulse. Delivering dead babies was something she did often, but it never got easier. Early in the labor, when the contractions were getting closer together, Miryam had nonsensically repeated that everything would be fine and that she was favored, but she also had a slight fever at that point. The midwife didn’t mind a delirious laboring mother- she also didn’t mind if she did have a mother that was favored. Uneventful births were happy births.

Miryam continued to rock and her head was on the ground now. She grasped the blanket tightly and pushed with every contraction. The pushing helped bring small moments of relief. But she was so very tired. She had been having contractions as they walked into town. She was able to walk through most of them. As they got closer and closer to town, she had to stop walking for the duration of each contraction. Yossef was clueless and frightened. Miryam was clueless and frightened. She boldly threw her arms around him for the longer ones, which took them both by surprise.

She yelled out as she pushed. She could not hear herself and she did not hear the commotion about her. The young girl brought the rags and knelt down behind Miryam. Newly born babies were slippery and the rags would help her catch the infant. The young girl would catch the babe, the midwife would continue to rub the warm oil to sooth the burning that came with crowning. All the women were knelt there together, taking up space on the modest blanket that was covering a filthy floor.

Miryam’s back slouched and the midwife knew the young woman was exhausted.

“You told me you would be fine and you are doing exceptional. Maybe you are favored.” Miryam’s head nodded slightly even as she rested it upon the scratchy blanket. The stall they were in glowed dimly with the light of two meager lanterns. Dawn was coming, but it was still very dark. None of the women felt the chill in the air because they were working tremendously hard to birth a baby.

“Now on this next one, take the biggest breath and push with everything you have and you can be done. Prove to me you are favored,” The midwife was both scolding her and encouraging her. Miryam mustered all the strength she had left and lifted her head up off the blanket. She inhaled and the midwife could see her back and ribs expand with air.

“That’s a good girl. Now push!”

And as the midwife yelled at her to push Miryam groaned loudly until her body heaved with sobs. The young girl caught the baby. The midwife relaxed back on her heels. Miryam collapsed forward on her side and before she knew it the 9 year old girl had already placed the baby on the mother’s sweaty chest. Her hair was tangled and dirty and matted. The baby cried out with life in her arms and she swept her hair away from her face to get a look at her child. The midwife tied a string around the umbilical cord and wrapped the pair in the larger blanket. They helped Miryam to sit up and nurse the baby.

Her contractions continued and they would continue until she delivered the after birth. Miryam felt them and she was aware of the discomfort but it did not matter to her. Her body hummed and glowed with the warmth of her healthy baby. Her betrothed was not there, and she was unclean, so he would not come too close. She would be tended to by her family, if she was at home. But for now, she was all alone and in place that was not her home, in a room that was barely fit for animals. She wept softly, overcome, but she did not feel sorry for herself.

Maybe she was favored after all.

Ask me for the most compelling Bible verse that sets my heart a flutter for issues of social justice and the answer may surprise you. There are a number of verses in the Bible which promote giving to the poor. caring for the orphan, setting the captive free. There is no shortage of verses about crossing cultures, welcoming strangers, and honoring the humanity of our enemies. While I commit myself to studying and living out these important instances of loving others, there is one passage of Scripture that really lights my flame for its beauty and revelation: 

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was nothing made. In Him was life and the life was the light of men. And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it. And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.”

— John 1:1-4,14

Can we first pause at the beauty of this passage? "In the beginning was the Word" … "and the darkness did not comprehend it" … "The Word was made flesh and dwelt among us" … "full of grace and truth." Ah… I could revel in the beauty all day.

But its also the revelation that keeps my fire for justice issues flaming.  The imagery of the Divine, of words stretching as they wrap themselves into the confining space of human flesh and squeezing through a physical labor of blood, sweat and other fluids, I'm sure. All to enter this world of humanity, of dirt, of messiness, of division, of heartbreak, of rejection. How must it have been for the Divine to look on the world not from a holy place above the fray, but eye to eye, quite literally with skin in the game, watching the ways we treat each other, divide ourselves up, create hierarchies, build towers of babel unto ourselves. How different it must have felt from home, from golden walkways and angelic beings, from hallelujah all the time.

But the Word didn't turn away. Didn't turn away from that ragtag group of disciples, passionate but often completely misunderstanding the mission. Didn't turn away from men or women. Didn't turn away from Jews or Gentiles, even those most unholy Samaritans or those oppressive Romans. Didn't turn away from the sick or the afflicted. Even the dead received an audience with the Divine. The Word crashed through social barriers, religious convention, and everyone's expectations.

Thats why I fight for justice issues. Because the Divine modeled for me far beyond words, even words that I love, that I can't turn away from the messiness. The Word chose to dwell among us, but far from building an impressive throne right here, the Word wept, and experienced a range of emotions, rejections, disappointments and awe known to the human condition. The Word made flesh full of grace and truth, right here in our midst, wrestling with the issues of that day. Thats why I must wrestle with the issues of today. If the Divine didn't turn away, how could I?   

God incarnate. God with us. God among us. What better reason could my heart desire?

For the last week, I have been sick… really sick. I thought I was just catching a cold, but before I knew it, I was laying in bed, wrapped in the covers, high on Nyquil, surviving on saltine crackers. (Not how I planned to spend the Thanksgiving holiday!) Just when I thought I was getting better, things took a turn for the worst. I couldn't get warm. I was constantly shivering. My head was pounding. And all my innards were sore from the painful coughing fits that lasted far too long. Never before I have been so aware of every.single.breath.  I had to breathe just right if I didn't want the coughing fit to take hold of my body. Every breath I took for about 24 hours was measured, shallow, calculating. It was exhausting trying to make sure every breath brought peace. 

Though I wish I could push the reset button to recover Thanksgiving with my family, I am looking forward to this season of Advent. I have never recognized the Advent season before, but it seems fitting to start it feeling rather breathless. 

I imagine that when Mary stood before the angel, chosen to carry the Light of the World into the earth, she was probably a little breathless. I imagine that when the shepherds finally arrived at the scene of Jesus birth, they might have been a little breathless. I imagine Joseph, staring at the son he didn't produce in full faith that Mary really did have a holy conception, must have been breathless. 

There are so many emotions wrapped up in the story of Christ's birth.

A child conceived out of wedlock.

The whispers of town folks and magnificent prophesies.

The doubts of Joseph followed by their reunion.

A wearying journey. No room indoors. 

The wondrous fear and joy of a newborn child. 

The astonished looks of shepherds told to come by a chorus of angels. 

Its all so strange. So emotional. So complex. Its so much like… life. 

On this December 1st, as I prepare my heart to celebrate Christmas, I am thankful for a God wrapped in flesh, who chose to enter this messy, messy world. I am thankful for a God who leaves me breathless with wonder at what might be next in the story.  

I am breathless.