“Among times there is a time that turns a corner and everything this side of it is new” –Tinidril (Perelandra) – C.S. Lewis
Traditionally I’ve always thought the Christmas season was just too long. I’m not sure when it started, but at some point I began to figure that more than a month was too much. I just didn’t get why it deserved to be commemorated so long. From my point of view, it seemed silly to celebrate the birth of Christ without celebrating his death. Yet it seemed we had a whole month just celebrating His arrival, an event I saw taking most of its meaning from the fact that it was necessary to lead to the cross. Basically, lent made sense to me, while advent did not. I didn’t think we needed both.
This year however, my thinking has been reversed, thanks in a large part to C.S. Lewis. I’ve been convinced that my previous characterizations had been based on a view that was not big enough. From an Earthly point of reference, it’s easy to see how the Resurrection might seem to trump the birth of Christ. His birth is, by worldly standards, admittedly miraculous, angels filling up the sky, stars flying through the heavens, and of course the virgin birth. But the end is something we’ve all see before, a crying baby. Even the most radical element of it, the virgin birth, yields a familiar occurrence, a pregnant women who will give birth after 9 months. The fact that we’ve removed a condition that was necessary for the event to occur is often just classed as kind of strange. I had never thought of it as one of God’s great miracles.
The Resurrection on the other hand is a stunning reversal the primary constant of life. From our Earthly reference frame this is completely revolutionary, a man was dead, in the grave, and now he’s walking around. This is something you can’t miss, something you can’t forget. It was this thinking that led me to the idea that Jesus’ death overshadows his birth in importance.
But thanks to Lewis, I saw I needed to take one more step back and observe both the Natural and the Supernatural, instead of just gauging the impact on the former. In this sense the Resurrection loses most of its clout. A great miracle to be sure, but Jesus wasn’t the first man to be raised from the dead. What made it different? The fact that He was God. The same thing happens with His death. Common by any standard, it draws its significance from the fact that He had led a sinless life. How was that possible if every man was bound to sin? Because he was not just a man, He was God. We seem to be going somewhere here. Heading back towards his birth, the angels, stars, and even the virginity of Mary at conception is nothing really ground-breaking from our new reference frame. God could have done all that for any child he wished. What makes this one so special? He was God.
With our new point of view, everything seems to be pointing back to one event, the Incarnation of Christ. All of the miracles of the Gospels derive their meaning from this happening. And how does this occurrence look from our new frame? Well you can tell me. The omnipotent, omniscient, timeless, necessary being, creator of all that is, self-existent in His own right, epitome of beauty, embodiment of justice, essence of love, manifested himself in a human nature to do what no other human could, for the purpose of redeeming His creation that was in constant rebellion to Him. Now that is beyond revolutionary. When you have the broader point of view you start to see that the story isn’t about you. It’s about Him, from beginning to end.
The Incarnation of Christ is so fundamental, so earth-shattering, so far-reaching, that everything in the universe points to this one event. At Genesis 3:15 we’re already looking forward to it, and at Revelation 22:14 we’re still looking back. The monks made no mistake when they chose the birth of Christ to be the benchmark by which we measure time. Lewis allegorically refers to it as the “corner of time” in his novel Perelandra. I think it’s the perfect label. So much more eloquent than “turning point”, it suggests that things are completely different, perpendicular, ninety degrees off. The Incarnation is the climax of a meta-narrative that has been being written since time began. When I came to this realization I could only use one word to describe it, beautiful, utterly beautiful. It is as if every sunrise, every symphony, every mountain range, every meteor shower, every child’s laugh, is an attempt to reflect how excessively beautiful what He has done from beginning to end is.
So what does this have to do with the Christmas song “Canticle of the Turning”? We sang this song for our advent celebration at church today, and each of the four stanzas has a reference to the world turning. I just love it because it picks up on what I’ve just been talking about, that the birth of Christ is center of all history. The song itself is from Mary’s point of view, taking text from the Magnificat, found in Luke 1:46-55. The lyrics are different from what you might expect in Christmas song, “Let the fires of your justice burn!” But put yourself in Mary’s shoes. Gabriel shows up and tells her that she will have a son that will reign on the throne of David. So Mary is thinking of the Davidic covenant, that his kingdom would last forever, and of Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, the stone that grew into a mountain. With the Jews under Roman rule, you might imagine what she first thought her son might be like.
Moreover, old testatment prophecy predicts the coming of Christ as well as his judgment and the times after it. The text in the song picks up on that as well. At this point Mary may be thinking that her son would be a ruling King. If so, she’s not wrong, she just doesn’t realize that God has an older covenant to fulfill first, the Abrahamic one, the promise that he would be a blessing to all nations. And luckily for all of us, God has been spending a long time allowing the full number of gentiles to come in.
But without further ado, my favorite Christmas song for this year:
Canticle of the TurningMy soul cries out with a joyful shout that the God of my heart is great, and my spirit sings of the wondrous things that you bring to the ones who wait. You fixed your sight on your servant's plight, and my weakness you did not spurn. So from east to west shall your name be blest. Could the world be about to turn?
My heart shall sing of the day you bring. Let the fires of you justice burn. Wipe away all the tears, for the dawn draw near, and the world is about to turn.
Though I am small, my God, my all, you work great things in me,And your mercy will last from the depths of the past to the end of the age to be. Your very name puts the proud to shame, and to those who would for you yearn, you will show your might, put the strong to flight, for the world is about to turn.
My heart shall sing of the day you bring. Let the fires of you justice burn. Wipe away all the tears, for the dawn draw near, and the world is about to turn.
From the halls of power to the fortress tower, not a stone will be left on stone. Let the king beware for your justice tears ev'ry tyrant from his throne.The hungry poor shall weep no more, for the food they can never earn;There are tables spread, ev'ry mouth be fed, for the world is about to turn.
My heart shall sing of the day you bring. Let the fires of you justice burn. Wipe away all the tears, for the dawn draw near, and the world is about to turn.
Though the nations rage from age to age, we remember who holds us fast: God's mercy must deliver us from the conqueror's crushing grasp.This saving word that our forebears heard is the promise which holds us bound, 'Til the spear and rod can be crushed by God, who is turning the world around.
