Author: Curt Hinkle

I am a practical theologian. A theology that doesn't play out in one's everyday life is impractical, or of no real use. A simple definition of theology is the attempt to understand God and what he is up to, allowing us to join him in his work.

An Encouragement for 2026

The calendar has turned again. New numbers. New planners. New hopes.  And maybe a few old fears are tagging along behind them. Some of us arrive at 2026 energized, eager to build, create, and press forward. Others arrive weary, limping across the threshold, unsure how much strength we have left to give. Most of us arrive somewhere in between.

So before we rush into resolutions, goals, or carefully curated visions of a “better year,” let me offer some words of encouragement, rooted not in optimism, but in hope.  Not the thin hope that says things will probably work out, but the thick, resilient hope that has learned to trust God even when they don’t.

God is Not in a Hurry

One of the quiet lies we absorb is that urgency can equal faithfulness. That if we are not producing, achieving, or fixing something quickly, we must be failing. But Scripture consistently reveals a God who works slowly, patiently, and deeply. As digital people, we need to be reminded that we are following an analog God.

Jesus spent thirty years largely unnoticed before three years of public ministry. Seeds are planted underground long before they break the surface. Transformation happens in hidden places – hearts, habits, minds – often long before outcomes can be measured (if at all).

As we step into this new year, remember this: God is not behind schedule.  We are not late. We are not failing because the work feels unfinished.

Grace does not rush; it forms.

Faithfulness’s Long Obedience

The kingdom of God rarely announces itself with spectacle. More often, it whispers. It looks like ordinary obedience – showing up, loving people who are hard to love, forgiving when it costs us something, telling the truth when silence would be easier.

Faithfulness is profoundly countercultural in a world addicted to novelty and speed. Yet Jesus never calls his followers to be impressive. He calls them to be faithful.

In 2026, may you not feel called to do more. May you, instead, feel called to do more right things – again and again.  That counts.  That matters.  That is kingdom work.

Jesus Still Sets the Agenda

One of the great temptations of every new year is to baptize our plans and ask Jesus to bless them. But discipleship has always meant something more disruptive (and more freeing) than that.

Jesus does not simply improve our lives; he reorients them.

He invites us into a way of being human that runs counter to the anxious striving of the age. He calls us away from vengeance and toward forgiveness, away from accumulation and toward generosity, away from fear and toward trust.

As you discern the shape of 2026, ask not only “What do I want this year to look like?” but also, “What kind of person am I becoming?”  Because formation, not productivity, is the true measure of a life with God.

You Are Not Alone

If the last few years have taught us anything, it’s that isolation erodes the soul. We were not made to carry burdens alone, discern alone, or suffer alone. The Christian life has always been communal – people walking together, sometimes slowly, sometimes clumsily, always dependent on grace.

If you’re weary, name it.

If you’re carrying grief, don’t tuck it away.

If you’re unsure of what comes next, you’re not alone. God so often does his deepest work not in isolation, but in the shared space of our lives together. We need one another more than we know.

The Renewal of all Things

The Christian story is not one of escape from the world, but renewal within it. God’s promise has never been to discard creation, but to redeem it – to participate in healing what is broken and restore what has been lost.

That includes you and me, our relationships, and the places where we feel stuck, disappointed, or unsure.  Transformation rarely looks the way we expect. It often comes disguised as patience, endurance, and hope that refuses to die.

So as 2026 unfolds – with all its unknowns, challenges, and hopes – hold fast to this: God is present. God is faithful. God is at work, even when we cannot yet see it.

A Pauline Prayer for the Year Ahead

May this ancient prayer of the Apostle Paul carry you into the year ahead…

16 May He grant you out of the riches of His glory, to be strengthened and spiritually energized with power through His Spirit in your inner self, [indwelling your innermost being and personality], 17 so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through your faith. And may you, having been [deeply] rooted and [securely] grounded in love, 18 be fully capable of comprehending with all the saints (God’s people) the width and length and height and depth of His love [fully experiencing that amazing, endless love]; 19 and [that you may come] to know [practically, through personal experience] the love of Christ which far surpasses [mere] knowledge [without experience], that you may be filled up [throughout your being] to all the fullness of God [so that you may have the richest experience of God’s presence in your lives, completely filled and flooded with God Himself].  20 Now to Him who is able to [carry out His purpose and] do superabundantly more than all that we dare ask or think [infinitely beyond our greatest prayers, hopes, or dreams], according to His power that is at work within us, 21 to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations forever and ever. Amen. (Ephesians 3:16-21, AMP)

A Christmas Tradition: Barrington Bunny

A few years ago, I mentioned in a blog post Martin Bell’s short story, Barrington Bunny, from his 1983 book, The Way of the Wolf: The Gospel in New Images. Here’s the story, should you want to read it this Christmas season…

ONCE upon a time in a large forest there lived a very furry bunny.  He had one lop ear, a tiny black nose, and unusually shiny eyes.  His name was Barrington.

Barrington was not really a very handsome bunny.  He was brown and speckled and his ears didn’t stand upright.  But he could hop, and he was, as I have said, very furry.

In a way, winter is fun for bunnies.  After all, it gives them an opportunity to hop in the snow and then turn around to see where they have hopped.  So, in a way, winter was fun for Barrington.

But in another way winter made Barrington sad.  For, you see, winter marked the time when all of the animal families got together in their cozy homes to celebrate Christmas.  He could hop, and he was very furry.  But as far as Barrington knew, he was the only bunny in the forest.

When Christmas Eve finally came, Barrington did not feel like going home all by himself.  So he decided that he would hop for a while in the clearing in the center of the forest. 

Hop.  Hop.  Hippity-hop.  Barrington made tracks in the fresh snow.

Hop.  Hop.  Hippity-hop.  Then he cocked his head and looked back at the wonderful designs he had made.

“Bunnies,” he thought to himself, “can hop.  And they are very warm, too, because of how furry they are.”

(But Barrington didn’t really know whether or not this was true of all bunnies, since he had never met another bunny.)

When it got too dark to see the tracks he was making, Barrington made up his mind to go home.

On his way, however, he passed a large oak tree.  High in the branches, there was a great deal of excited chattering going on.  Barrington looked up.  It was a squirrel family!  What a marvelous time they seemed to be having.

“Hello, up there,” called Barrington.

“Hello, down there,” came the reply.

“Having a Christmas party?” asked Barrington.

“Oh, yes!” answered the squirrels.  “It’s Christmas Eve.  Everybody is having a Christmas party!”

“May I come to your party?” Said Barrington softly.

“Are you a squirrel?”

“No.”

“What are you, then?”

“A bunny.”

“A bunny?”

“Yes.”

“Well, how can you come to the party if you’re a bunny?  Bunnies can’t climb trees.”

“That’s true,” said Barrington thoughtfully.  “But I can hop and I’m very furry and warm.”

“We’re sorry,” called the squirrels.  “We don’t know anything about hopping and being furry, but we do know that in order to come to our house you have to be able to climb trees.”

“Oh, well,” said Barrington.  “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” chattered the squirrels.

And the unfortunate bunny hopped off toward his tiny house.

It was beginning to snow when Barrington reached the river.  Near the river bank was a wonderfully constructed house of sticks and mud.  Inside there was singing.

“It’s the beavers,” thought Barrington.  “Maybe they will let me come to their party.”

And so he knocked on the door.

“Who’s out there?” called a voice.

“Barrington Bunny,” he replied.

There was a long pause and then a shiny beaver head broke the water.

“Hello, Barrington,” said the beaver.

“May I come to your Christmas party?” asked Barrington.

The beaver thought for a while and then he said, “I suppose so.  Do you know how to swim?”

“No,” said Barrington, “but I can hop and I am very furry and warm.”

“Sorry,” said the beaver.  “I don’t know anything about hopping and being furry, but I do know that in order to come to our house you have to be able to swim.”

“Oh, well,” Barrington muttered, his eyes filling with tears.  “I suppose that’s true – Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” call the beaver.  And he disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

Even being furry as he was, Barrington was beginning to get cold.  And the snow was falling so hard that his tiny, bunny eyes could scarcely see what was ahead of him.

He was almost home, however, when he heard the excited squeaking of field mice beneath the ground.

“It’s a party,” thought Barrington.  And suddenly he blurted out through his tears, “Hello, field mice.  This is Barrington Bunny.  May I come to your party?”

But the wind was howling so loudly and Barrington was sobbing so much that no one heard him.

And when there was no response at all, Barrington just sat down in the snow and began to cry with all his might.

“Bunnies,” he thought, “aren’t good to anyone.  What good is it to be furry and to be able to hop if you don’t have any family on Christmas Eve?”

Barrington cried and cried.  When he stopped crying he began to bite on his bunny’s foot, but he did not move from where he was sitting in the snow.

Suddenly, Barrington was aware that he was not alone.  He looked up and strained his shiny eyes to see who was there.

To his surprise, he saw a great silver wolf.  The wolf was large and strong and his eyes flashed fire.  He was the most beautiful animal Barrington had ever seen.

For a long time, the silver wolf didn’t say anything at all.  He just stood there and looked at Barrington with those terrible eyes.

Then slowly and deliberately the wolf spoke.  “Barrington,” he asked in a gentle voice, “why are you sitting in the snow?”

“Because it’s Christmas Eve,” said Barrington, “and I don’t have any family, and bunnies aren’t any good to anyone.”

“Bunnies are, too, good,” said the wolf.  “Bunnies can hop and they are very warm.”

“What good is that?” Barrington sniffled.

“It is very good indeed,” the wolf went on, “because it is a gift that bunnies are given, a free gift that bunnies are given, a free gift with no strings attached.  And every gift that is given to anyone is given for a reason.  Someday you will see why it is good to hop and to be warm and furry.”

“But it’s Christmas,” moaned Barrington, “and I’m all alone.  I don’t have any family at all.”

“Of course you do,” replied the great silver wolf.  “All of the animals in the forest are your family.”

And then the wolf disappeared.  He simply wasn’t there.  Barrington had only blinked his eyes, and when he looked – the wolf was gone.

“All of the animals in the forest are my family,” thought Barrington.  “It’s good to be a bunny.  Bunnies can hop.  That’s a gift.”  And then he said it again.  “A gift.  A free gift.”

On into the night, Barrington worked.  First, he found the best stick that he could.  (And that was difficult because of the snow.)

Then hop.  Hop.  Hippity-hop.  To beaver’s house.  He left the stick just outside the door. 

With a note on it that read: “Here is a good stick for your house.  It is a gift.  A free gift.  No strings attached.  Signed, a member of your family.”

“It is a good thing that I can hop,” he thought, “because the snow is very deep.”

Then Barrington dug and dug.  Soon he had gathered together enough dead leaves and grass to make the squirrel’s nest warmer.  Hop.  Hop.  Hippity-hop.

He laid the grass and leaves just under the large oak tree and attached this message: “A gift.  A free gift.  From a member of your family.”

It was late when Barrington finally started home.  And what made things worse was that he knew a blizzard was beginning.

Hop.  Hop.  Hippity-hop.

Soon poor Barrington was lost.  The wind howled furiously, and it was very, very cold.  “It certainly is cold,” he said out loud.  “It’s a good thing I’m so furry.  But if I don’t find my way home pretty soon even I might freeze!”

Squeak.  Squeak. . . .

And then he saw it – a baby field mouse lost in the snow.  And the little mouse was crying.

“Hello, little mouse,” Barrington called.

“Don’t cry.  I’ll be right there.”  Hippity-hop and Barrington was beside the tiny mouse.

“I’m lost,” sobbed the little fellow.  “I’ll never find my way home, and I know I’m going to freeze.”

“You won’t freeze,” said Barrington.  “I’m a bunny and bunnies are very furry and warm. 

You stay right where you are and I’ll cover you up.”

Barrington lay on top of the little mouse and hugged him tightly.  The tiny fellow felt himself surrounded by warm fur.  He cried for a while but soon, snug and warm, he fell asleep.

Barrington had only two thoughts on that long, cold night.  First, he thought, “It’s good to be a bunny.  Bunnies are very furry and warm.”  And then, when he felt the heart of the tiny mouse beneath him beating regularly, he thought, “All of the animals in the forest are my family.”

The next morning, the field mice found their little boy, asleep in the snow, warm and snug beneath the furry carcass of a dead bunny.  Their relief and excitement was so great that they didn’t even think to question where the bunny had come from.

And as for the beavers and the squirrels, they still wonder which member of their family left the little gifts for them that Christmas Eve.

After the field mice had left, Barrington’s frozen body simply lay in the snow.  There was no sound except that of the howling wind.  And no one anywhere in the forest noticed the great silver wolf who came to stand beside that brown, lop-eared carcass.

But the wolf did come.

And he stood there.

Without moving or saying a word.

All Christmas Day.

Until it was night.

And then he disappeared into the forest.

The Visited Planet*

Once upon a time…

…a very young angel was being shown round the splendours and glories of the universes by a senior and experienced angel. To tell the truth, the little angel was beginning to be tired and a little bored. He had been shown whirling galaxies and blazing suns, infinite distances in the deathly cold of inter-stellar space, and to his mind there seemed to be an awful lot of it all.

Finally he was shown the galaxy of which our planetary system is but a small part. As the two of them drew near to the star which we call our sun and to its circling planets, the senior angel pointed to a small and rather insignificant sphere turning very slowly on its axis. It looked as dull as a dirty tennis-ball to the little angel, whose mind was filled with the size and glory of what he had seen. 

“I want you to watch that one particularly,” said the senior angel, pointing with his finger. 

“Well, it looks very small and rather dirty to me,” said the little angel. “What’s special about that one?” 

“That,” replied his senior solemnly, “is the Visited Planet.” 

“Visited?” said the little one. “You don’t mean visited by —–?

“Indeed I do. 

That ball, which I have no doubt looks to you small and insignificant and not perhaps overclean, has been visited by our young Prince of Glory.” And at these words he bowed his head reverently. 

“But how?” queried the younger one. “Do you mean that our great and glorious Prince, with all these wonders and splendours of His Creation, and millions more that I’m sure I haven’t seen yet, went down in Person to this fifth-rate little ball? Why should He do a thing like that?” 

“It isn’t for us,” said his senior a little stiffly, “to question His ‘why’s’, except that I must point out to you that He is not impressed by size and numbers, as you seem to be. But that He really went I know, and all of us in Heaven who know anything know that. As to why He became one of them – how else do you suppose could He visit them?” 

The little angel’s face wrinkled in disgust. “Do you mean to tell me,” he said, “that He stooped so low as to become one of those creeping, crawling creatures of that floating ball?” 

“I do, and I don’t think He would like you to call them ‘creeping, crawling creatures’ in that tone of voice. For, strange as it may seem to us, He loves them. He went down to visit them to lift them up to become like Him.” 

The little angel looked blank. Such a thought was almost beyond his comprehension. 

“Close your eyes for a moment,” said the senior angel, “and we will go back in what they call Time.” 

While the little angel’s eyes were closed and the two of them moved nearer to the spinning ball, it stopped its spinning, spun backwards quite fast for a while, and then slowly resumed its usual rotation. 

“Now look!” 

And as the little angel did as he was told, there appeared here and there on the dull surface of the globe little flashes of light, some merely momentary and some persisting for quite a time. 

“Well, what am I seeing now?” queried the little angel. 

“You are watching this little world as it was some thousands of years ago,” returned his companion. 

“Every flash and glow of light that you see is something of the Father’s knowledge and wisdom breaking into the minds and hearts of people who live upon the earth. Not many people, you see, can hear His Voice or understand what He says, even though He is speaking gently and quietly to them all the time.” 

“Why are they so blind and deaf and stupid?” asked the junior angel rather crossly. 

“It is not for us to judge them. We who live in the Splendour have no idea what it is like to live in the dark. We hear the music and the Voice like the sound of many waters every day of our lives, but to them – well, there is much darkness and much noise and much distraction upon the earth. Only a few who are quiet and humble and wise hear His Voice. But watch, for in a moment you will see something truly wonderful.” 

The Earth went on turning and circling round the sun, and then quite suddenly, in the upper half of the globe, there appeared a light, tiny but so bright in its intensity that both the angels hid their eyes. 

“I think I can guess,” said the little angel in a low voice. “That was the Visit, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes, that was the Visit. The Light Himself went down there and lived among them; but in a moment, and you will be able to tell that even with your eyes closed, the light will go out.” 

“But why? Could He not bear their darkness and stupidity? Did He have to return here?” 

“No, it wasn’t that” returned the senior angel. His voice was stern and sad. “They failed to recognise Him for Who He was – or at least only a handful knew Him. For the most part they preferred their darkness to His Light, and in the end they killed Him.” 

“The fools, the crazy fools! They don’t deserve ——” 

“Neither you nor I, nor any other angel, knows why they were so foolish and so wicked. Nor can we say what they deserve or don’t deserve. But the fact remains, they killed our Prince of Glory while He was Man amongst them.”

“And that I suppose was the end? I see the whole Earth has gone black and dark. All right, I won’t judge them, but surely that is all they could expect?” 

“Wait, we are still far from the end of the story of the Visited Planet. Watch now, but be ready to cover your eyes again.” 

In utter blackness the earth turned round three times, and then there blazed with unbearable radiance a point of light. 

“What now?” asked the little angel, shielding his eyes. 

“They killed Him all right, but He conquered death. The thing most of them dread and fear all their lives He broke and conquered. He rose again, and a few of them saw Him and from then on became His utterly devoted slaves.” 

“Thank God for that,” said the little angel. 

“Amen. Open your eyes now, the dazzling light has gone. The Prince has returned to His Home of Light. But watch the Earth now.” 

As they looked, in place of the dazzling light there was a bright glow which throbbed and pulsated. And then as the Earth turned many times little points of light spread out. A few flickered and died; but for the most part the lights burned steadily, and as they continued to watch, in many parts of the globe there was a glow over many areas. 

“You see what is happening?” asked the senior angel. 

“The bright glow is the company of loyal men and women He left behind, and with His help they spread the glow and now lights begin to shine all over the Earth.” 

“Yes, yes,” said the little angel impatiently, “but how does it end? Will the little lights join up with each other? Will it all be light, as it is in Heaven?” 

His senior shook his head. “We simply do not know,” he replied. “It is in the Father’s hands. 

Sometimes it is agony to watch and sometimes it is joy unspeakable. 

The end is not yet. But now I am sure you can see why this little ball is so important. He has visited it; He is working out His Plan upon it.” 

“Yes, I see, though I don’t understand. I shall never forget that this is the Visited Planet.” 

* J.B. Phillips, 1957. New Testament Christianity

Gabriel, Mary, and Zechariah

In the last post, I mentioned that the prophetic songs of Mary and Zechariah are well worth pondering. With that in mind, here are the full texts of the Magnificat and the Benedictus. I’ve also included Gabriel’s Annunciation – his announcement to Mary of the Incarnation, a pivotal moment in salvation history. These passages have become regular Advent texts for me this year. Enjoy!

Gabriel to Zecharaiah…

“Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to call him John. He will be a joy and delight to you, and many will rejoice because of his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord… he will be filled with the Holy Spirit even before he is born. He will bring back many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God.  And he will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the parents to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous – to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.” (Luke 1:13-17, NIV)

Annunciation, Jan van Eyck, circa 1435

Gabriel to Mary…

“Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you… Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. 31 You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. 32 He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, 33 and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.” (Luke 1:28-33, NIV)

Mary’s Song (The Magnificat)…

46My soul glorifies the Lord
47     and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
48 for he has been mindful
    of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,
49     for the Mighty One has done great things for me—
    holy is his name.
50 His mercy extends to those who fear him,
    from generation to generation.
51 He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
    he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
52 He has brought down rulers from their thrones
    but has lifted up the humble.
53 He has filled the hungry with good things
    but has sent the rich away empty.
54 He has helped his servant Israel,
    remembering to be merciful
55 to Abraham and his descendants forever,
    just as he promised our ancestors. (Luke 1, NIV)

Zechariah’s Benedictus…

68Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel,
    because he has come to his people and redeemed them.
69 He has raised up a horn of salvation for us
    in the house of his servant David
70 (as he said through his holy prophets of long ago),
71 salvation from our enemies
    and from the hand of all who hate us—
72 to show mercy to our ancestors
    and to remember his holy covenant,
73     the oath he swore to our father Abraham:
74 to rescue us from the hand of our enemies,
    and to enable us to serve him without fear
75     in holiness and righteousness before him all our days.

76 And you, my child, will be called a prophet of the Most High;
    for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him,
77 to give his people the knowledge of salvation
    through the forgiveness of their sins,
78 because of the tender mercy of our God,
    by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven
79 to shine on those living in darkness
    and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the path of peace. (Luke 1, NIV)

Addendum 12/22/2025. While reading the account of Jesus’ presentation at the temple (Luke 2:22-40), it occurred to me to include the man Simeon’s declaration…

29 “Sovereign Lord, as you have promised,
    you may now dismiss your servant in peace.
30 For my eyes have seen your salvation,
31     which you have prepared in the sight of all nations:
32 a light for revelation to the Gentiles,
    and the glory of your people, Israel.” (NIV, my emphasis)

The First Advent Songs: The Magnificat and the Benedictus

The Advent season is upon us, and as is my habit, I’ve returned to the birth narratives in Matthew and Luke. Every time I read Luke’s account, I’m struck by both the parallels and the contrasts of the angel Gabriel’s visits – first to Zechariah, John the Baptist’s father, and then to Mary.

When we enter the stories of John’s and Jesus’ births, we sometimes move too quickly, missing the richness woven into the details. Luke is doing more than giving us two birth stories – he’s showing us how God breaks into human history, not once, but twice, through two very different people. Gabriel’s visit to Zechariah and his visit to Mary sit side by side, and I think for a reason. Together, they paint a picture of God’s faithfulness in surprising ways.

Zechariah’s story begins in the center of Israel’s religious life. He is an elderly priest, serving in the Temple, standing at the altar of incense. Everything about the scene is steeped in holiness, memory, and sacred tradition. This is the place where you would expect God to act. And God does. Gabriel appears with astonishing news: Zechariah and Elizabeth – long past the age when children were possible – will have a son. He will be named John, a child filled with the Spirit from his mother’s womb, a child destined to prepare the people for the Lord’s coming.

Mary’s story could not feel more different. Far from the Temple courts and priestly garments, we find a young, betrothed girl in the quiet obscurity of Nazareth. No incense. No crowds. No liturgy. Just the daily simplicity of a Galilean village. And yet, here too, Gabriel appears. God steps not only into the sacred space of the Temple, but also into the ordinary space of a teenage girl’s life. The message is even more astonishing: Mary will conceive a child by the Holy Spirit, and this child will be Jesus – the Son of the Most High, the One whose kingdom will never end.

We must note that God moves in both the center and the margins. He speaks in Jerusalem’s Temple and in Nazareth’s simplicity. The priest in sacred robes and the young girl with no social status both find themselves swept up in God’s redemptive work. We learn that God is not contained by our expectations. He is as present in the quiet places as He is in the holy places.

We should also note that Zechariah and Mary respond differently, and Luke invites us to reflect on that, too. Zechariah asks, “How shall I know this?” His question, borne out of years of disappointment, carries the weight of doubt. Mary also questions, but her “How will this be?” is a question of wonder, not unbelief. She wants to understand, not to resist. And while Zechariah is rendered silent for a season, Mary is invited to step deeper into God’s mystery. Her final posture – “I am the Lord’s servant” – remains one of the most beautiful responses in Scripture.

But Luke doesn’t leave us with the announcements alone. He gives us the songs – the Spirit-inspired utterances that reveal what these events mean for the world.

Mary’s Magnificat  is the first to rise – a song that proclaims the upside-down nature of God’s kingdom:

He has brought down rulers…
but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things…
but has sent the rich away empty.

This is the kingdom we’ve been tracing in recent posts – the kingdom that arrives not with power but with humility, not in the halls of Caesar but in the heart of a young Jewish girl. Mary’s song proclaims a God who sees the lowly, remembers His covenant, and upends the world’s value systems. She interprets her own story through the larger story of Israel: this is Abraham’s God, keeping His promise to bless the nations.

Later, when John is born and Zechariah’s tongue is finally loosed, the Benedictus flows out of him – a priestly blessing shaped by Scripture and steeped in hope:

Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel,
for He has visited and redeemed His people.

Zechariah sees clearly now: John will be the forerunner, the one who prepares the way for God’s inbreaking of the kingdom. The whole song is saturated with kingdom imagery – redemption, forgiveness, covenant mercy, and the breaking of darkness by light. He speaks of God’s mercy and love (hesed), the sunrise from on high, the guidance into peace. This is kingdom language. This is God restoring what has been fractured since Eden.

New Creation!!

Taken together, Mary’s Magnificat and Zechariah’s Benedictus give us two lenses on the same kingdom: one from the margins, one from the priesthood; one celebrating the Great Reversal, the other celebrating the Great Rescue. Both declare that God is acting decisively, faithfully, graciously – just as He promised.

And perhaps that is the heartbeat of Luke. God is not merely delivering babies; He is delivering His people. He is inaugurating His kingdom, one that lifts the lowly, fulfills ancient promises, confronts darkness with light, and invites ordinary people into extraordinary grace.

So, ponder the messages of Mary and Zechariah. They are certainly “ponder-worthy” during Advent!

Thanksgiving 2025

Happy Thanksgiving!!

This will be a short read. About sixty-five years ago, I received my third-grade King James Bible. There were a few hoops to jump through, one of which was the memorization of Psalm 100.

A few weeks ago, nudged by my friend Angie Polejewski, I committed to reading Psalm 100 every day – each day in a new translation. As Thanksgiving (in the United States) arrives, I’m grateful for how rich and meaningful the experience has been.

For the sake of posterity – and your enjoyment – I’m sharing a few translations of Psalm 100 that I found particularly edifying…

1Make a joyful shout to the Lord, all you lands!
2 Serve the Lord with gladness;
Come before His presence with singing.
3 Know that the Lord, He is God;
It is He who has made us, and not we ourselves;
We are His people and the sheep of His pasture.

4 Enter into His gates with thanksgiving,
And into His courts with praise.
Be thankful to Him, and bless His name.
5 For the Lord is good;
His mercy is everlasting,
And His truth endures to all generations. (NKJV)

1Shout joyfully to the Lord, all the earth.
2 Serve the Lord with gladness and delight;
Come before His presence with joyful singing.
3 Know and fully recognize with gratitude that the Lord Himself is God;
It is He who has made us, not we ourselves [and we are His].
We are His people and the sheep of His pasture.

4 Enter His gates with a song of thanksgiving
And His courts with praise.
Be thankful to Him, bless and praise His name.
5 For the Lord is good;
His mercy and lovingkindness are everlasting,
His faithfulness [endures] to all generations. (AMP)

1Let the whole earth shout triumphantly to the Lord!
2 Serve the Lord with gladness;
come before him with joyful songs.
3 Acknowledge that the Lord is God.
He made us, and we are his—
his people, the sheep of his pasture.
4 Enter his gates with thanksgiving
and his courts with praise.
Give thanks to him and bless his name.
5 For the Lord is good, and his faithful love endures forever;
his faithfulness, through all generations. (CSB)

1Shout out praises to the Lord, all the earth!
2 Worship the Lord with joy.
Enter his presence with joyful singing.
3 Acknowledge that the Lord is God.
He made us and we belong to him,
we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.
4 Enter his gates with thanksgiving,
and his courts with praise.
Give him thanks.
Praise his name.
5 For the Lord is good.
His loyal love endures,
and he is faithful through all generations. (NET)

John at the Jordan: A Familiar Act, a Radical Message

As we discovered in the previous post, when John appeared along the Jordan River, calling people to be baptized, he wasn’t inventing something new. Ritual washing was already woven into Jewish life. From the Temple mikva’ot in Jerusalem to the purifying baths found in nearly every Galilean village, immersions were familiar acts of cleansing – acts that symbolized a person’s desire to approach God with purity.

But John’s baptism was different. He took a familiar ritual and reoriented it – not around the Temple, not under priestly oversight, but around a message: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near” (Matthew 3:2). What had long been an act of purification became a call to transformation.

A Baptism Outside the System

In the first century, ritual washings were part of the rhythm of faith. These washings – tevilah in Hebrew – were repeated again and again as needed. They prepared one externally for worship, but didn’t change the heart.

John’s setting was the first sign that something new was happening. He wasn’t at the Temple. He wasn’t officiating under the watchful eye of priests. He was out in the wilderness – at the Jordan, the river that once marked Israel’s entry into the Promised Land. There, at the symbolic border of new beginnings, he called people not to repeat a ritual, but to prepare for a divine encounter.

“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!” — Pieter de Grebber, “St. John the Baptist Preaching Before Herod,” 17th century )

Repentance: More Than Regret

John’s call was simple yet seismic: “Repent.” The Greek word metanoia literally means “to change one’s mind,” but it carries far more than intellectual reconsideration. In Hebrew thought, repentance – teshuvah – means turning around.

There is an order to repentance. Before one can turn around and change direction, they must first come to a realization that they might, in fact, be going the wrong way – a change of mind.. What did the people have to change their minds about? About God? About His nature? About their role as God’s kingdom people? About justice and mercy?

Turns out, the first-century Jewish people had a lot to change their minds about. Likely that’s why John (and later, Jesus) called the religious leaders a brood of vipers (Matthew 3:7, Matthew 12:34). The religious leaders (priests, Pharisees, Sadducees, zealots, etc.) were actually leading people away from God by misrepresenting his character, relying on their own national ideologies.

John’s message of repentance wasn’t merely to feel sorry or guilty. It meant rethinking about God, His character, and especially the nature of His kingdom…

…because it was breaking in!

Preparing the Way

John’s ministry echoed the words of Isaiah:

“A voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him’” (Isaiah 40:3).

To “prepare the way” meant to ready the heart for God’s arrival. Just as ancient workers leveled roads for a coming king, John’s preaching cleared the inner landscape – removing obstacles of pride, hypocrisy, and indifference.

His baptism was a symbol of readiness. Those stepping into the Jordan weren’t simply washing away ritual impurity; they were acknowledging their need for renewal and pledging themselves to hear a new narrative.

This is why tax collectors and soldiers came, confessing their sins (Luke 3:10–14). It’s why Pharisees, used to controlling religious access, bristled at John’s independent authority (Matthew 3:7–9). John’s message cut through social boundaries and religious assumptions. He was leveling the ground for the coming King.

The Wilderness as God’s Classroom

I suspect the wilderness wasn’t accidental. Throughout Israel’s story, God met His people in desolate places – calling them out of comfort to confront their need. From Moses’ encounter at the burning bush to Israel’s forty years of wandering, the wilderness was where God stripped away illusion and invited trust. 1

By situating his baptism there, John was signaling a return to dependence on God. The wilderness was a place of renewal and recalibration – a spiritual reset for those willing to leave old thinking behind.

And the Jordan itself carried deep memory. This was the river Joshua crossed when Israel finally entered the land of promise (Joshua 3). To stand in those waters again was to reenact a moment of covenant renewal – to step forward in faith toward God’s future.

A Radical Message in Familiar Waters

So when John called Israel to the Jordan, he wasn’t rejecting tradition – he was fulfilling it. He transformed an external practice into an internal awakening, a ceremonial act into an ethical summons, and a repeated ritual into a watershed moment.

John’s baptism didn’t cleanse in order to make one fit for Temple sacrifice; it cleansed to make one ready to meet the Lamb of God who would take away the sin of the world (John 1:29).

And that was radical.

The Heart of the Matter

Repentance, then, was not a demand to do better but an invitation to be changed. It was not a self-improvement program but a surrender to God’s transformative work.

The act of entering the water symbolized death to the old self and emergence into new life. It prefigured the deeper baptism Jesus would later offer – baptism with the Holy Spirit (Mark 1:8), an inner renewal only God could accomplish.

John’s message pressed toward that truth. “I baptize you with water for repentance,” he said, “but after me comes one who is more powerful than I… He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (Matthew 3:11).

The familiar act pointed beyond itself – to a greater cleansing, a truer renewal, a living relationship with the King Himself.

A Call That Still Echoes

John’s voice still echoes across the centuries. In a world that often substitutes religious performance for heart change, his message calls us back to the Jordan – to the place of turning, of release, of preparation.

Repentance remains the doorway to encounter. It is the act of aligning our hearts with God’s kingdom and making room for His reign.

  1. I think of a statement credited to Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel: “It took one day to take the Israelites out of Egypt, but forty years to take Egypt out of the Israelites.” ↩︎

John the Baptist Didn’t Invent Baptism

Before John the Baptist ever called people to the Jordan, the Jewish world already knew something of water and washing. Immersion wasn’t a novelty. It was woven into daily life, into rhythms of purity, preparation, and belonging. John didn’t invent the idea — he simply took it out of the Temple courts and into the wilderness.

The Mikveh: Ritual Purity and Readiness

The Hebrew word mikveh means “a gathering” — often of water — and it came to describe a pool used for ritual immersion. These baths, carved into stone and fed by “living” water (rain or spring), appear throughout first-century Israel. Archaeologists have uncovered mikva’ot (plural) near the Temple Mount, around Qumran, and in Galilean villages — evidence of how normal immersion had become by the time of Jesus.

In Jewish life, immersion in the mikveh wasn’t about moral guilt but ritual status. It restored purity so one could reenter worship or communal life after contact with impurity — things like childbirth, disease, or death (see Leviticus 15; Numbers 19). Priests immersed before serving; ordinary people did so before festivals or Sabbath meals. It was familiar, repeatable, expected.

In other words, the mikveh wasn’t about forgiveness. It was about fitness — being fit to approach God’s presence.

A mikveh near the base of the Southern Steps of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem

Proselyte Immersion: From Outsider to Insider

By the first century, another form of immersion had emerged: that of Gentiles converting to Judaism. A convert underwent three steps — circumcision (for men), immersion, and a temple sacrifice. The immersion symbolized a transition from impurity to purity, from outsider to member of God’s covenant people.

Rabbinic writings later summarized, “By three things did Israel enter into the Covenant — by circumcision, immersion, and sacrifice.” The convert, it was said, became “like a newborn child.” It was a fresh start — but again, a ceremonial one.

Prophets, Purity, and the Promise of Cleansing

Long before mikva’ot were carved in stone, the prophets had used washing language symbolically:

“Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean,” Isaiah pleaded (1:16). “I will sprinkle clean water on you,” promised Ezekiel, “and you shall be clean … I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you” (36:25–27).

Water had always hinted at something deeper — not just the washing away of dust, but the cleansing of the heart.

Groups like the Essenes took this seriously. The Dead Sea Scrolls describe daily immersions tied to covenant faithfulness and inner purity. For them, water symbolized moral renewal — a visible act expressing invisible obedience.

A Familiar Form, a Coming Shift

So when John began calling Israel to the Jordan, he wasn’t performing a strange ritual. He was using a symbol everyone already understood. Immersion was a language his hearers spoke fluently.

What was new was the location — outside the Temple system — and the message behind it. But we’re not there yet. For now, it’s enough to see that John’s work grew out of a long Jewish conversation about cleansing, belonging, and readiness before God.

In an earlier post, Baptism, Pickles, and Steel Poles, we compared baptism to both the preserving of cucumbers and the strengthening of steel. Ordinary materials — transformed by immersion. That’s what was happening in Israel’s ritual life long before John: familiar practices pointing toward deeper transformation.

John didn’t invent baptism; he reinterpreted it. He stood in a long tradition of washing and readiness — but instead of pointing people to the Temple, he pointed them toward repentance and the coming King (and His kingdom).

Before the new could begin, the old had to be remembered. And the old, as it turns out, had always been whispering: “Get ready.”

For those who love to learn more, some sources…

On the Mikveh:

On Proselyte Baptism:

Nazareth and the Hidden Years of Jesus

If Galilee was the wider landscape of Jesus’s early life, Nazareth was its heart. Tucked away in the hill country of Lower Galilee, this small, unassuming village became the home of the One through whom God would redeem the world. Yet for thirty years – three decades of mostly silence – Jesus lived an ordinary life in an ordinary place. The Gospels tell us almost nothing of those years, and perhaps that quiet is itself the point – an unassuming Messiah from an unassuming village.

A Village Off the Map

Nazareth barely registered on the radar of ancient historians. Josephus, who chronicled the Galilean region in detail, never mentioned it. Neither did the Hebrew Scriptures nor early rabbinic writings. It was, by all appearances, a backwater – a tiny agricultural settlement, perhaps 60 to 100 people at most, perched on the lower slopes of the Galilean hills. Archaeological excavations suggest that simple homes were constructed of stone and mudbrick, featuring small courtyards, cisterns, and terraced fields. Life there revolved around family, faith, and the daily labor required to survive.

The village lay only a few miles from Sepphoris, a bustling Greco-Roman city rebuilt by Herod Antipas as his regional capital.1 The contrast was striking: Sepphoris boasted colonnaded streets, mosaics, theaters, and trade, while Nazareth remained a rural hamlet. Yet the proximity mattered. Many scholars suggest that Joseph, described as a tekton (craftsman or builder), may have found work in Sepphoris.2 If so, Jesus likely accompanied him, learning the rhythms of labor, the smell of wood and stone, and perhaps hearing Greek spoken in the market.

Growing Up in the Margins

When Nathanael in John’s Gospel asked, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” (John 1:46), he voiced what many thought. Nazareth was small, obscure, and geographically removed from the centers of power and learning. Yet it was precisely there that the Son of God grew up – in a community of faith, humility, and hard work.

Nazareth’s people were devout Galileans. They attended the local synagogue, observed the Sabbath, kept the feasts, and recited the Shema: “Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one” (Deuteronomy 6:4). The home was the first classroom of faith. Parents taught Scripture orally, embedding the commandments of God into daily life: “Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road” (Deut. 6:7).

Jesus’s formative years, then, would have been steeped in the rhythms of Jewish life – work, worship, and family. He learned not in palaces or academies, but in the carpenter’s shop and synagogue school, where boys memorized the Torah and learned to pray the Psalms.

Young Jesus in the Temple, Heinrich Hofmann, 1881

Silence and Preparation

The Gospels are notably quiet about these years. Luke’s brief summary is all we have: “And the child grew and became strong; he was filled with wisdom, and the grace of God was on him” (Luke 2:40). A few verses later, Luke adds, “And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man” (Luke 2:52).

That’s it – no miracles, no speeches, no recorded events – just steady growth in body, wisdom, and divine grace. The silence itself speaks volumes. The Son of God entered fully into human development, living an authentic human life. Before he taught in synagogues, he listened in one. Before he proclaimed good news to the poor, he worked among them. Before he called others to follow him, he learned obedience at home.

This long hidden season reminds us that God is often at work in obscurity. The kingdom’s story began not in spectacle but in ordinariness. Jesus’s waiting years were not wasted years. They were the years in which humility, patience, and wisdom were forged – the quiet formation before public calling.

The World Around Him

During those years, Galilee continued under Herod Antipas’s rule, marked by Roman presence, economic strain, and cultural mixture. Sepphoris became a regional hub of administration and trade. Roman roads improved communication across the Galilee, bringing both opportunity and temptation. The reach of the empire was never far. Yet Nazareth remained poor, agrarian, and pious, largely insulated from the bustle of Hellenistic cities.

The synagogue in Nazareth would have been the center of its communal life. Archaeological evidence from similar Galilean villages suggests a simple rectangular building with benches along the walls – a place for Scripture reading, prayer, and local gatherings.3 It was likely here that Jesus first stood to read Isaiah’s prophecy: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me…” (Luke 4:16-20). That later moment in his ministry was the unveiling of what had been forming in silence all along.

Faith in the Ordinary

Nazareth challenges our assumptions about significance. The Savior of the world did not grow up in Jerusalem among priests and scholars but in a village of farmers and builders. He did not attend elite schools or dine with rulers. He lived the life of a villager – working with his hands, obeying his parents, learning the Scriptures, and worshiping in the local synagogue.

When he finally stepped into public ministry, his words and actions bore the imprint of those hidden years: his parables drawn from soil and seed, his compassion for the poor, his reverence for the Father, his knowledge of the Scriptures. All of it was shaped in Nazareth’s quiet hills.

The hidden years of Jesus remind us that God’s redemptive work often begins unnoticed. Nazareth teaches that faithfulness in the small things matters – that obscurity can be sacred ground. Before the crowds and miracles, there was waiting, working, and growing. And perhaps the most astonishing truth of all is this: God Himself once lived a humble village life, sanctifying the ordinary and making it forever extraordinary.

And in this, we get a glimpse of the nature of God’s Kingdom

References

  1. Josephus, Antiquities 18.27; War 2.511.
  2. Kenneth E. Bailey, Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes (IVP Academic, 2008), 32–34.
  3. Lee I. Levine, The Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years (Yale University Press, 2000), 40–46.

Galilee: The Area From Whence Jesus Emerged

When one imagines Galilee at the time of Jesus’s birth, we picture a land of rolling hills, small towns and villages, agricultural fields, and fishing boats on the lake – peaceful! But the region was quietly humming with political tension, social unrest, and economic strain. It was not quite the tranquil countryside one sometimes envisions, but a place with deep roots in Jewish tradition, a mixed cultural environment, and a client-kingdom relationship with Rome.

A Charged Political Climate

Galilee was under the rule of the Herodian dynasty (see the previous blog post) as a client territory of the Roman Empire. After the death of Herod the Great (4 BC), his kingdom was divided. His son Herod Antipas became tetrarch of Galilee (and Perea), ruling for more than forty years.¹ Because Galilee was under a Herodian ruler rather than a direct Roman procurator (as was Judea, the region around Jerusalem), it retained a somewhat different feel from Judea proper.

Even so, Roman influence loomed large. Taxation, censuses, and imperial oversight shaped the daily experience of Galileans. Into that climate stepped Judas the Galilean. According to the book of Acts, Judas “rose up in the days of the census and drew away many people after him” (Acts 5:37). The historian Flavius Josephus also recorded the event. He described a man named Judas – called Gaulonite or Galilean – from the town of Gamala. Together with a Pharisee named Sadduc, Judas urged the people to resist the Roman census, insisting that submission to Rome was tantamount to slavery.2

Josephus considered this movement the beginning of a “fourth philosophical sect” among the Jews, alongside the Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes.3 This so-called Fourth Philosophy emphasized God alone as Israel’s ruler and rejected Roman taxation. The uprising was quickly suppressed, but it left a mark: Galilee was no stranger to resistance. Beneath the apparent calm, it carried the simmering tension between Roman control and Jewish longing for deliverance.

Galilee, then, was not merely a peaceful backdrop for Jesus’s childhood – it was a politically charged region, where national identity, economic burden, and hope for God’s kingdom intertwined.

Life Beyond Jerusalem

Culturally, Galilee stood at a crossroads. Its population was predominantly Jewish, speaking Aramaic and holding fast to ancestral customs. It was surrounded by Gentile territories – the Decapolis to the east, Phoenicia to the northwest. This mixture gave Galilee a unique texture: deeply Jewish, yet more open to outside influences than Jerusalem or Judea. It was, in many ways, Israel’s frontier – viewed by some southern Jews as less pure or refined.

Villages and small towns dotted the landscape, most clustered around fertile valleys or near the Sea of Galilee. Family and kinship formed the backbone of daily life. People worked hard to survive – farmers, fishermen, tradesmen, and laborers – many living at or near the subsistence level. Archaeological and historical studies suggest that nearly nine out of ten Galileans lived close to the poverty line, burdened by taxes and rents demanded by both local elites and Roman authorities.4

The Synagogue: A People Gathered

For Jews living far from Jerusalem, the synagogue was the heartbeat of community life. In places like Galilee, the Golan, and the Decapolis, it served as the local center of worship, study, and belonging. Few could afford the long pilgrimage to Jerusalem except on major feast days, but the synagogue kept the rhythms of faith alive in daily life.

While the Temple in Jerusalem was the only place for sacrifice, the synagogue was the place for Scripture. Its roots reached back to the Babylonian exile, when the people of God—displaced and without a temple – gathered to read the Law and pray. By the first century, synagogues dotted the landscape of Palestine. Archaeologists have uncovered remains in Gamla, Magdala, and Capernaum – towns where Jesus himself would one day teach.

In Galilee, the synagogue was far more than a house of prayer. It was a schoolhouse, a meeting hall, even a courthouse. Each Sabbath, the community gathered to hear the Torah and the Prophets read aloud, followed by teaching or discussion. We see this reflected in Luke’s account of Jesus reading from Isaiah in the synagogue at Nazareth (Luke 4).

Outside of worship, it remained the place where disputes were settled, announcements made, and stories shared. For those who lived far from the Temple, the synagogue brought God near. It grounded faith not in distant ritual, but in shared life—where Scripture was heard, lived, and passed on from one generation to the next.

Synagogue at Magdala

Work and Livelihood

Economically, Galilee benefitted from its fertile soil, regular rainfall, and proximity to the lake. Agriculture formed the backbone of the economy: wheat, barley, olives, grapes, and figs were staples. Fishing was another major livelihood, particularly around towns like Capernaum, Bethsaida, and Magdala.6 The fishing industry supported not just fishermen but also boatbuilders, net weavers, and merchants who salted or dried fish for trade.

Yet despite these resources, Galileans were far from affluent. Heavy taxation, land consolidation by wealthy elites, and debts often kept small farmers in a cycle of dependence. The Roman imperial system funneled much of the region’s productivity upward, leaving many families one poor harvest away from ruin.7

A Region Ripe for Hope

Putting it all together, Galilee at the time of Jesus’s birth was a land both blessed and burdened. It was rich in soil and tradition, yet pressed under Roman taxation. It was politically restless and spiritually expectant. Synagogues kept faith alive in small communities far from the Temple, while stories of resistance – like Judas the Galilean’s revolt – whispered of freedom and God’s kingship.

And into this world – rural, devout, weary, and waiting – Jesus was born. Long before his ministry began, he was shaped by the rhythms of Galilean life: the prayers of the synagogue, the struggles of ordinary laborers, and the quiet hope of a people longing for God’s redemption.

References

  1. Josephus, Antiquities 17.188–189.
  2. Ibid, 18.4–10.
  3. Ibid, 18.23–25.
  4. Justin K. Hardin, “The Socio-Economic World of Jesus,” HTS Theological Studies 72(4), 2016.
  5. Lee I. Levine, The Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years (Yale University Press, 2000), 40–46.
  6. Sean Freyne, Galilee, Jesus and the Gospels (Fortress Press, 1988), 55–63.
  7. Richard Horsley, Archaeology, History, and Society in Galilee (Trinity Press, 1996), 102–104.