Helen Paynter
Around this time last year, my cousin had a baby. This, of course, is hardly unusual in itself, and it might not be considered worthy of comment beyond our family.
But there was something unusual about my cousin’s pregnancy—because it was entirely unexpected, much longed for, and undiagnosed until she was six months pregnant. I wonder if she was pleased or disappointed to have missed out on those first months of secret hope. I imagine she wasn’t upset to have skipped the morning sickness.
I recall my own pregnancies with great fondness. Human pregnancy is a long one, and with modern pregnancy tests, it really is a full nine months of expectation. I confess I did love the wait. I enjoyed the anticipation, imagining the growth of the baby and its development. Impatient though I was to meet the new arrival, there was so much joy in the waiting.
And, of course, those waiting months are hugely important for preparing: getting the house ready, knitting or buying baby clothes, making plans at work. Preparing our minds and hearts for the utter chaos that this new person will bring into our lives. There is much value in our waiting.
And then there are the early scans. I wonder if my cousin is a bit sad that she doesn’t have any of those early, utterly indistinct photos—where the radiographer points things out to you and says, “There’s the spine,” or, “Oh look, baby’s waving at you,” and you nod wisely and pretend that it doesn’t just look like a random blob.
But, difficult to decipher though they may be, the scans give us glimpses of what the child will be like. They are a foretaste of the future. And though the birth is the glorious climax, there is value in the waiting.
It is important not to jump too quickly to the arrival of the child.
The Waiting Time
It is very tempting to hurry on towards Christmas at this time of year. To rush through Advent, to hurry to the day itself. Even if we are focused on the manger rather than the mince pies, even if it is the Savior that we anticipate rather than Santa, it is tempting to hurry on past. To cut quickly to the arrival of the child.
But though this is the glorious climax, there is preparation and joy and learning in the waiting time. It is in the waiting time that we gain a glimpse of what the child will be like, that we experience again that thrill of anticipation. And it is in the waiting time that we prepare our hearts to join in with what God will be doing when the day arrives.
Two biblical writers who understand the value of waiting for the child are Isaiah and Luke. It takes ten minutes to read the first chapter of Luke aloud, and Jesus is not born until chapter 2. Luke is quite content to build up the story slowly. He lingers on what we might imagine are irrelevant details—like Jesus’ family tree and the songs of Mary and Zechariah. And he does this for a reason: Luke understands that as we wait, we will prepare, learn, and worship.
We’ll return to Zechariah’s song in Luke 1 shortly, but first we’ll turn to Isaiah. On Christmas Eve, Isaiah 9 will be broadcast to the English-speaking world from the chapel of King’s College, Cambridge, in the annual Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols. But in the century in which that service has been going, it has shaped our collective understanding of this passage, by skipping directly from verse 2 to verse 6. And therefore, in carol services around the world this year, when this passage is read, the vast majority will skip directly from verse 2 to verse 6. In the Authorised Version, used in the Festival, it reads like this:
The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined. For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given…
But if we hurry to the announcement of the birth of the Son—if we skip over verses 3, 4, and 5—we lose out on something of the preparation, the learning, and the wonder. What we will miss, if we scurry from verse 2 to verse 6, is a great crescendo. A great swelling chorus of reasons to rejoice.
Isaiah first gets our attention with these glorious words of “light into darkness,” of dawn at the end of a long night (v. 2). He wouldn’t have known, of course, about nations at the extreme north and south of the globe, where the night of winter lasts for 3 months and the first dawn of spring truly brings the light of life. He wouldn’t have been able to imagine the tiny tongue of light creeping over the horizon, pushing back the shadows, awakening creatures from hibernation, beginning the long thaw, warming the earth, enlivening nature itself.
But if Isaiah had known of such things, he could not have more clearly captured the joy of the moment:
The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
those who lived in a land of deep darkness—
on them light has shined.
You have multiplied the nation,
you have increased its joy;
they rejoice before you
as with joy at the harvest,
as people exult when dividing plunder. (vv. 2–3)
It’s like a harvest celebration! It’s like a battle victory, says Isaiah.
But he doesn’t rush immediately to the arrival of the child. And if we do, we will miss his gathering crescendo. The clue is the three times repeated word “for,” or “because.” Why are the people celebrating?
Because the yoke of their burden has been broken (v. 4).
Because the equipment of war will be burned (v. 5).
Because a child is born (v. 6).
The Broken Yoke
For the yoke of their burden,
and the bar across their shoulders,
the rod of their oppressor,
you have broken as on the day of Midian. (Isa 9:4)
First, then, Isaiah recalls the days of old, the days of Moses, “the yoke of their burden, the bar across their shoulders.” He reminds the people how they once were slaves in Egypt: the forced labor, their bitter suffering under the rod of oppression. And, as they well remember, God saved them then with a mighty act of power—a sovereign act, rendered through the voice of Moses and no military might.
Isaiah also recalls the days of the judges, “as on the day of Midian.” In those days every harvest was plundered and the nation lived in fear (Judges 6). God saved them then with a mighty act of power—a sovereign act, rendered through his servant Gideon and just a handful of men.
Like that, says Isaiah. It will be like that. The dawning of the new light that calls the people to celebrate will be like that—a sovereign, saving act of God. The end of oppression. The breaking of the yoke.
And this, too, is what Zechariah recalls (Luke 1:67–79), hundreds of years later, while he waits for the birth of the child, and while Luke makes his readers wait for the birth of the child. Celebrating “the tender mercy of God, whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death” (vv. 78–79), Zechariah prophesies,
Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,
for he has looked favourably on his people and redeemed them.
He has raised up a mighty saviour for us
in the house of his servant David,
as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old,
that we would be saved from our enemies
and from the hand of all who hate us. (Luke 1:68–71)
What are the enemies that face us today? I venture to suggest that they are not primarily people, but forces, systems and structures, diseases and accidents. The ills of the ruined planet. The ills of our ruined hearts. Our own brokenness and sin.
But Isaiah urges us to remember what God has done in the past, and to hope for what he has promised to do in the future. And Zechariah joins his voice: We will be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us.
What is this great light that causes God’s people to sing for joy? It is the coming redemption of his people, the great act of salvation that God is bringing about.
These are the first notes of Isaiah’s great song of promise. This is the first of the three great “becauses.” And we must not miss it by hurrying too quickly to the birth of the child.
Burning the Warriors’ Boots
Because all the boots of the tramping warriors
and all the garments rolled in blood
shall be burned as fuel for the fire. (Isa 9:5)
Most of us have been fortunate enough not to have experienced such things first hand, but we have watched enough films, I suspect, to be able to imagine the frisson of fear that comes with the sound of an approaching army, whether it is the tramping of infantry or the distant rumble of tanks or war planes.
I was in Berlin last year, and as I walked the streets, where the history is still so very visible, I couldn’t help but remember a book I read a few years ago, A Woman in Berlin.1 The book told how the women of Berlin prepared themselves in dread for the approach of the Russian army at the close of the Second World War. It portrayed the cold terror that preceded the arrival of those tanks—and the men who drove them. And it described how those men enacted systematic, sustained rape upon the women of Berlin, as they had foreseen.
The tramp of a warrior’s boot is a terrifying sound.
So here is reason for joy indeed:
Because all the boots of the tramping warriors
and all the garments rolled in blood
shall be burned as fuel for the fire.
Isaiah has moved, now, beyond the lifting of oppression. He’s gone further than simply recalling the great acts of redemption of the past. Now he’s anticipating a future action, a future peace—not just a battle victory, but a destruction of military apparatus. And this dismantling of military apparatus is not intended for the enemies of Israel and Judah alone but is a worldwide phenomenon.
Isaiah is envisioning all the boots of war, all the bloodstained cloaks. He is not anticipating a great inversion, where the former oppressor is now oppressed, where the victimizer becomes the victim. No, this is a promise of global disarmament.
This is Isaiah straining towards something that we have not yet seen, but surely we long for—the day when all military equipment will be destroyed. The day when all that has been built with the billions of pounds and dollars and yen and shekels and rubles that have been poured into the military machine will be broken up and sold for scrap.
And Zechariah, patiently waiting like Isaiah and Luke for the birth of the child, adds his voice: “He will guide our feet into the way of peace” (Luke 1:79).
What is this great light that causes God’s people to sing for joy? It is the final destruction of the war machine, the great kingdom of peace that God is bringing about.
These are the second notes of Isaiah’s great song of promise. This is the second of the three great “becauses.” And we must not miss it by hurrying too quickly to the birth of the child.
A Son is Given
But then, at last, we get to the birth of the baby. In verse 6, Isaiah gives us his third great “because.” Why are the people to celebrate, as if seeing the first dawn of spring?
Because a child has been born for us,
a son has been given to us…
His authority shall grow continually,
and there shall be endless peace
for the throne of David and his kingdom.
He will establish and uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
from this time onward and forevermore. (Isa 9:6–7)
Isaiah anticipates the coming of a son—a son who will reign, who will govern with justice. A son who will both establish a kingdom and uphold it in wisdom and peace. The establishment of that kingdom will be the sovereign act of God in redeeming his people. And upholding it will not depend on the weapons of war.
Isaiah can only strain towards this. As he writes, there is an unjust king on the throne of Judah. Ahaz cannot save the people, he who does not govern wisely. As Isaiah writes, the mighty Assyria is flexing its military muscles, preparing to make the first of many military expeditions against the people of Israel and Judah. The war machine is very much in operation.
But with the eyes of faith, Isaiah sees the coming fulfilment of the promises of God. Look! he says. Behold the dawn! The day is coming when God will act decisively, redemptively, for his people. The day is coming when he will demilitarize the entire earth. And he will do both of these things through the birth of a son.
Hundreds of years later, Zechariah still can only feel his way towards these things. He, like Isaiah, is held in the middle ground, caught in the pregnancy moment, anticipating but not yet seeing the birth of the Son.
But Isaiah and Zechariah see with the eyes of faith. They see what is and what will be. They anticipate the joy and remind us of our need for joy. They diagnose the pregnancy and hold out a sort of ultrasound scan that shows us, in wavy, blurry, indistinct lines the new thing that God is doing. The coming of the Son.
Awaiting the Son
And so, as we wait a little longer for Christmas Day, let’s not rush too quickly to the birth of the child. Let’s allow these moments to draw us into wonder, to teach us what to look for, to prepare us to respond faithfully.
And as we await the second and final coming of that same Son, not this time as a baby but as judge, let us allow this waiting time to shape us in wonder, to teach us God’s ways, and to prepare us for the moment of his coming.
Helen Paynter is a Baptist minister and the founding director of the Centre for the Study of Bible and Violence at Bristol Baptist College in Bristol, UK. She is the author of God of Violence Yesterday, God of Love Today? Wrestling Honestly with the Old Testament (The Bible Reading Fellowship, 2019) and Telling Terror in Judges 19: Rape and Reparation for the Levite’s Wife (Routledge, 2020).
Image: Gustave Dore, The Prophet Isaiah
- Anonymous, A Woman in Berlin: Eight Weeks in the Conquered City, A Diary, trans. Philip Boehm (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2000).[↩]