Christmas: the richness of presence

It’s now the second Christmas of COVID. Last year, celebrations were curtailed. We saw our daughter and son-in-law only briefly, distanced around a fire-pot in our wide-open garage, eating a Christmas breakfast we’d each cooked separately in our own kitchens. Memorable, but not ideal. From those depths of isolation orders and social distancing, we learned (in an inverted way) the goodness of being together. We learned the richness of presence.

Which then brings two Old Testament prophecies to mind. One is typically “Christmas”, the other is obscure. One is a short sentence, the other shorter yet (I’d wager it’s the shortest prophecy in the whole of scripture).

The first (the familiar one) comes from Isaiah 7:14: “The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son and will call him Immanuel.”  We’ll come back to that shortly.

The other comes from an Old Testament book we don’t often visit, the book of Haggai, a record of prophecies given to God’s people during a four-month period in 520 BC. The people had returned from exile with the goal of rebuilding the Jerusalem Temple. They completed the foundation, but then stalled, slowed by opposition from hostile neighbours, as well as their own increasing lethargy. The Lord rebuked them. Haggai spoke it. The people – chastened – responded with obedience to the Lord’s command. They returned to building.

Haggai then brought another message. It came with a full-blown drumroll (“Then Haggai, the Lord’s messenger, gave this message of the Lord to the people”). We lean forward, expecting something big. It is, but, oh so short. Here’s what he spoke: 

“‘I am with you,’  declares the Lord” (Haggai 1:13).

I almost feel that I, too, could be a prophet, if that’s all it takes. “I am with you.” How simplistic. How concise. How unadorned. 

But, yet, when I reflect on it, how deeply profound. Back then the people had been experiencing opposition, discouragement, sluggishness, and the removal of the Lord’s blessing as they focused on themselves, rather than him. Now they’d repented and re-engaged. But was it enough? Were they back in the Lord’s good graces? How could they know?

The Lord spoke. “I am with you.” It was the gift of presence. The Sovereign God of all universe was making himself present with this specific group of people huddled in Jerusalem. His eye was upon them, his blessing with them. Indeed, he chose to set aside their waywardness and embrace them in renewed relationship. This, then, is a slogan to hang on your wall, to trumpet abroad, to stake your life upon. “I am with you.”

Which then brings us to the more familiar prophecy from Isaiah. The virgin’s child will be called “Immanuel,” a Hebrew name which literally means: “with us, God.” So, years later, when Matthew records for us the arrival of a child, born of a virgin, in the small town of Bethlehem, it is deeply significant that he attaches this prophecy to the event. “I am with you” is no longer a message for only a small group huddled in Jerusalem. Now, the message is birthed into the whole world, the Sovereign Lord declaring that he chooses to make himself present, to engage in relationship with us all. Simeon, holding this child in his arms, declared, “My eyes have seen your salvation … a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel” (Luke 2:30-32). “God with us,” one and all!

But how can it be? The whole of humanity has its own issues of waywardness, rebellion and sin. How can we enter into God’s good graces? It all turns on this “Immanuel” child, who also bears the name “Jesus,” meaning “the Lord saves.” Matthew tells us further: “he will save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1:21). Yes!

One final, simple illustration. My Dad passed away last year at age 94, but one of my enduring memories embraces this promise: “I am with you.” As an eight-year-old, I was playing British Bulldog across the street in my friend’s backyard. They had a huge, seemingly unending stretch of grass, perfect for the game. The only obstacle was a single, scrawny crab-apple tree right in the middle of the pitch. You guessed it – I ran square into it. I can still see the stars. That night, suffering a concussion, lying in bed, sick to my stomach, my Dad sat by the bedside, his presence providing a comfort no medication was able to touch. “I am with you” – that’s what I needed.

It’s what we always need. COVID made it clearer than ever on a human plane. But there is an isolation that wounds our soul eternally if not rectified. Augustine said, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless till they find their rest in you.” We need the antidote to isolation. Powerfully, it’s right here in the message of Christmas, spoken loud and clear from the Bethlehem manger, ringing through the present and into all eternity. 

“I am with you.”