The Paradox of Christmas

...on this Christmas Eve.

As the blizzard is winding down, we’re gearing up to spend Christmas Day driving 11+ hours to Iowa. An upside to the bomb cyclone storm-of-a-generation was that I managed to finish a first draft of what might end up being my favorite chapter of Live Laugh Love, and write and submit the paper I’m giving on that chapter for the annual meeting of the ASCH (American Society of Church History) in Philadelphia the week after Christmas. Which is to say, I’m bleary-eyed after days of intense writing (plus last-minute Christmas shopping) and looking forward to taking some time away from this computer.

Before I sign off, though, I thought I’d share a Christmas post.

Since I’m not really in the mood to write too many more words today, I’m borrowing from a post I wrote a few years back at The Anxious Bench where I shared one of my favorite Christmas carols, “Come and Stand Amazed You People.”

It’s an old Dutch song, and only recently did I discover that it’s largely unknown to those who didn’t grow up in the Christian Reformed Church, singing out of the gray psalter hymnal. Or rather it used to be largely unknown—there’s now a modern rendition that seems to be gaining in popularity, which you can find on YouTube. (Mars Hill has a version up as well, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to link to their channel.)

The hymn draws on Philippians 2:6-8, Luke 2:7, and John 1:5 and 14, and dates back centuries:

Come and stand amazed, you people,
See how God is reconciled!
See his plans of love accomplished,
See his gift, this newborn child.

See the Mighty, weak and tender,
See the Word who now is mute.
See the Sovereign without splendor,

See the Fullness destitute.

See how humankind received him;
See him wrapped in swaddling bands,
Who as Lord of all creation
Rules the wind by his commands.

See him lying in a manger
Without sign of reasoning;

Word of God to flesh surrendered,
He is wisdom’s crown, our King.

O Lord Jesus, God incarnate,
Who assumed this humble form,
Counsel me and let my wishes
To your perfect will conform.

Light of life, dispel my darkness,
Let your frailty strengthen me;
Let your meekness give me boldness,
Let your burden set me free.

Oh, Emmanuel, my Savior,
Let Your death be life for me!

I’ve always loved the paradox here, the profound truth that is the incarnation: the mighty, weak and tender; the Word who now is mute; a Sovereign without splendor; Fullness destitute.
I love that people—my people—have sung this across the centuries.

I like to imagine how Dutch folk sang these words around the time the lyrics were first published in 1645. (The words were likely penned not by my Protestant ancestors, but by the persecuted Catholic minority). Perhaps believers, facing the uncertainties of early modern life, found solace in the power of the Almighty: Light of life, dispel my darkness, Let your frailty strengthen me. Life was precarious, but as a nation the Dutch were just then reaching the peak of their imperial power. The Dutch East India Company (and later its counterpart the Dutch West India Company) had established commercial interests across the globe. This tiny nation, barely rising above the sea, had emerged as a world power. I wonder how the lyrics might have been heard in this context.

And then I think of the words that I know, in English translation. It wasn’t until the late 1960s, less than a decade before I was born, that the song was translated into English by Klaas Hart, a Dutch immigrant to Canada. According to the Psalter Hymnal Handbook, Hart was a pastor in the Netherlands who became active in the Dutch resistance during the Second World War. (His name stands on the “honor roll,” the list of those wanted by the German police.) After the war he served Christian Reformed churches in Ontario, Canada.

As the daughter of a Dutch immigrant who grew up in a Dutch immigrant community in Northwest Iowa, I was familiar with accounts of the Dutch resistance. The stories were told and retold with pride, and a devout, fearless faith always took center stage. We had all read Corrie TenBoom’s The Hiding Place, of course. (Just a couple of weeks ago, while researching my next book, I came across the book’s backstory in terms of the evangelical publishing industry, which is fascinating in its own right.) It seemed as though every family with Dutch ancestry could claim a relative or two who fought in the resistance. (Only later, as a professional historian, did I come to wonder if some of these claims might be embellished.).

But some stories were indisputably true. A professor of mine at Dordt College, James Schaap (who also happens to be a relative of my husband because that’s how things work in Dutch CRC circles), helped write a beautiful book telling of Diet Eman’s daring efforts to save Jews as part of the Christian underground resistance.

Reading these stories, I grew up believing that Christianity was a countercultural force for good, the source of strength in the face of tyranny. And it is—or at least it can be. But I realize now that I was missing something. Because, of course, the vast majority of German Nazis were Christians as well.

Were the Dutch simply better Christians? More courageous? Did they have a better theology? Perhaps.

But what really distinguished Dutch and German Christians at the time seems to center around the question of Christian nationalism. For Germans, their faith was thoroughly intertwined with their nationalist impulses. Like the Dutch, many Germans were devout Christians, but their faith fueled unimaginable atrocities committed against those deemed outside the fold. For many Dutch Christians, their faith was also intertwined with nationalism. But under Nazi occupation, Dutch nationalism stood in opposition to the Nazi horror.

Reflecting on this history, I’m left pondering what sort of faith equips one to speak a prophetic voice, a voice that can cut through nationalism, particularly when nationalism is turned to unchristian ends?

What Christianity can strengthen believers to refuse to seek their own interest first, to refuse to place others outside the fold?

Perhaps the words of this ancient song point the way.

Christianity is a faith centered around the incarnation, the greatest paradox. It is about divesting of power, not claiming power. Of emptying oneself. Of sacrificial love.

This Christmas season, may these words be a prayer for all followers of Christ:

O Lord Jesus, God incarnate,
Who assumed this humble form,
Counsel me and let my wishes
To your perfect will conform.

Light of life, dispel my darkness,
Let your frailty strengthen me;
Let your meekness give me boldness,
Let your burden set me free.

I’ll leave you with a photo of Paco, our little Christmas miracle, who was scheduled to be put down 5 weeks ago but to everyone’s great surprise (especially the vet’s), rebounded. We celebrated by buying him a Christmas bow tie.