Babylon to Jerusalem

In the Christmas season, you will hear me mention Behold the Lamb of God probably every other sentence. This incredible show has really defined Christmastime for me ever since I was first introduced to it several years ago by my boss friend John. You really must listen to it, which you can do here, in its entirety, for free! The song “Labor of Love” isn’t really my favorite song from the album, but it does contain a verse that has been more moving to me than almost any other. I cannot hear this part of the song without immediately tearing up, and it’s because of its reference to the miracle of the Incarnation that it affects me so. The song, sung each year by Jill Phillips, talks about Mary and Joseph as Mary is preparing to give birth to Jesus. It points to the hardships they faced and the miracle of what was accomplished through their plight. Here is the part that gets me every.single.time.

Noble Joseph by her side,
calloused hands and weary eyes
There were no midwives to be found
on the streets of David’s town
in the middle of the night
So he held her and he prayed,
shafts of moonlight on his face
but the baby in her womb
He was the Maker of the moon
He was the Author of the faith that could make the mountains move

I won’t go on and on about this, since I have done that in other posts, but I will say that the picture painted here of the miracle and mystery of the Incarnation just about knocks the breath out of me every time that I hear it. It is astonishing to imagine a tiny baby, not even yet born, being the maker of the moon - the author of my faith. Thanks to Andrew Peterson once again for penning these poignant and moving lyrics. Merry Christmas!


Labor of Love

It was not a silent night
There was blood on the ground
You could hear a woman cry
in the alleyway that night
on the streets of David’s town
and the stable was not clean
and the cobblestones were cold
and little Mary, full of grace,
with the tears upon her face,
had no mother’s hand to hold

It was a labor of pain
It was a cold sky above
But for the girl on the ground in the dark
every beat of her beautiful heart
was a labor of love

Noble Joseph by her side
calloused hands and weary eyes
There were no midwives to be found
on the streets of David’s town
in the middle of the night
So he held her and he prayed
shafts of moonlight on his face
But the baby in her womb
He was the Maker of the moon
He was the Author of the faith that could make the mountains move

It was a labor of pain
It was a cold sky above
But for the girl on the ground in the dark
every beat of her beautiful heart
was a labor of love
For little Mary, full of grace,
with the tears upon her face
it was a labor of love

This is a new song I just encountered this week that paints a really interesting picture of the Incarnation. It was co-written by Andy Gullahorn and Jason Gray, and is based on a short story by Walt Wangerin. I heard Andy Gullahorn perform it live this week, and I wasn’t really sure what I thought about it at the time. Quite honestly, it didn’t make sense to me. There are several metaphors running throughout the song, and that’s something you don’t encounter much. Usually a song won’t jump between metaphors without closure or connection. But in an interview about the song, Andy Gullahorn says:

"I have been playing this song most nights on this Christmas tour. Every night that I play it, at least one person finds me after the show to ask me about it. The standard comment I get is “I really like the song but can’t figure out what it means.” The funny thing is that in some ways I feel the same way about the original Wangerin story as well as the song - and that is part of why I think it is special. I mean, on one hand I can easily say what the song is about - the Incarnation. On the other hand, none of the metaphors in the story tie up neatly. It is about a battered woman - but it isn’t. It refers to Mary - but it doesn’t. All I know is that when I read the story I am deeply moved - but it isn’t a movement I can easily explain. It is like the truth in the story completely bypassed my brain and my reasoning to take up residence somewhere deeper. So although I can’t really explain it, it feels more true to me than some things that are more easily explained."

This is a great assessment of the song, because I come to the same conclusion. This song doesn’t resonate with me as much on a logical level as it does on an emotional one. I do love some of the ideas in the song, particularly when God (whose point of view narrates the song) admits that he could just break down the door and carry the woman away, but she might die from the fear. I love how this demonstrates the complete power and freedom God has to encounter his people, yet it shows that his desire is to come to us in a very specific, unique way that we wouldn’t expect and that in many ways defies logic. When you think about it, why in the WORLD God would choose to redeem his people by becoming one of us, dwelling among us, and taking our well-deserved punishment is beyond me. It certainly doesn’t seem like the most direct or simple choice of methods. But, of course, it is perfect.

Anyway, if you’d like to know more about the song, I’d encourage you to check out the rest of the interview on the Rabbit Room. And everything else on the Rabbit Room site.

Here are the lyrics, as well as a video of Andy performing the song live.

I Will Find A Way
JGray & Andrew Gullahorn
At the end of this run down tenement hall
Is the room of a girl I know
She cowers behind all the dead bolt locks
Afraid of the outside world

So how should I come to the one I love
I will find a way

Many thieves and collectors have used that door
But they only brought her shame
So she won’t even open it anymore
Still I will find a way

I could call out her name with love through the walls
But condemnation is all she hears
I could break down the door and take her into my arms
But she might die from the fear

So how should I come to the one I love
I will find a way, I will find a way
How should I come to the one I love
I will find a way

No hiding place ever kept her safe
So she hides inside herself
Now to reach her heart the only way
Is to hide in there as well
I will hide in there as well

She gave up on love waiting for a change
But a change is coming soon
Cause how could she not love the helpless babe
Who is waking in her womb

I found a way

She’ll know I am coming before I am here
When she hangs her head she’ll see me there
And then when I come she won’t turn away
All the beauty and joy will return to her face
And what of the loneliness? Now it is gone
Lost in the bond of the mother and son
Every sin that she suffered at the hands of men
Every single disgrace will be washed clean again
I will love her completely and when I am grown
I will carry her out of that tenement room
I am doing a new thing and soon you will see
I am coming among you and my name shall be
Emmanuel, Emmanuel

The Incarnation of Christ is perhaps the most moving theological concept to me. Its incomprehensible mystery and beauty often knock the breath out of me when I take the time to contemplate it. Since becoming a mother, there is now another layer of complexity and miraculousness in the Incarnation for me to consider. It is such a miracle that the Almighty Creator would be pleased to come to his people in the form of a tiny, human baby. It’s unexpected, unprecedented, and profoundly beautiful -a perfect example of God using the foolish things of this world to shame the wise (1 Cor 1:27). Even in this season of my life where I feel callous and question God’s love for me, I cannot help but be moved by the tenderness of a God who would leave the throne of Heaven to dwell among us in our broken world in weak, human form. The idea alone renews my awe and wonder of God’s wisdom and mercy.

So, in the spirit of Advent, I’m going to post songs over the next few days that particularly reflect the mystery and miracle of the Incarnation. I have always been especially touched by music, and so sharing other people’s songs is a great way for me to express myself when I feel inarticulate (which is often, regrettably). I’m so thankful that talented, thoughtful writers have put these words to music.

Today I’m posting a song that I didn’t discover until a few years ago. It’s not a conventional Christmas song, but it is one of the best songs about the Incarnation I’ve ever heard. It’s written by the brilliant Chris Rice, and I am struck by it each time I hear it. The Youtube video below is the only one I could find where Chris Rice is performing the song, although sadly it does not include the beautiful piano accompaniment I’m accustomed to on his album Deep Enough to Dream, and the video ends abruptly before the song is finished. Still, I couldn’t post another artist singing this beautiful song, since in my mind it will always belong to Chris Rice. Anyway, have a listen, and I hope you are blessed by the miracle of the Incarnation this Christmas season.

Tears are falling, hearts are breaking
How we need to hear from God
You were promised, we’ve been waiting
Welcome, Holy Child
Welcome, Holy Child

Hope that You don’t mind our manger
How I wish we would have known
But long-awaited, holy stranger,
Make Yourself at home
Please make Yourself at home

Bring Your peace into our violence
Bid our hungry souls be filled
Word now breaking Heaven’s silence
Welcome to our world
Welcome to our world

Fragile fingers sent to heal us
Tender brow prepared for thorn
Tiny heart whose blood would save us
Unto us is born
Unto us is born

So wrap our injured flesh around You
Breathe our air and walk our sod
Rob our sin and make us holy
Perfect Son of God
Perfect Son of God
Welcome to our world

I went to see the great Behold the Lamb of God concert last night, which has become somewhat of a required Christmas event. I love this show for so many reasons, and while I won’t go into them right now because that’s not the point of this post, I cannot encourage you enough to check it out. It’s an amazing piece of work.

But anyway.

One of the regulars on the Behold the Lamb tour is Jill Phillips. My very first Christian music album (WOW 2000) included a song by Jill ("I Am") which has always been very close to my heart. After seeing last night’s show, I decided to pull out some of my old Jill Phillips albums and listen to them, since they never really got much play before (no particular reason...I just liked other things more). Today I was cleaning up the downstairs while my little monkey was napping, and a song came on that made me sit down to write this post. Because I’ve been thinking about this for months, but it seems like I never find the time. So here goes.

Jill’s song, “By a Thread,” articulates a lot of my own feelings during this season of my life.

I can’t help but feel like there’s something missing
I hear the same old truth; this time it’s not convincing
All the promises are hard to swallow when
I’m hanging on by a thread
I still believe every word You said,
but I can’t get it down to my heart from my head

I remember the story of someone who needed
help with his unbelief even when he believed it
But You didn’t come to heal
the ones who never feel they’re hanging on by a thread
I still believe every word You said,
but I can’t get it down to my heart from my head

I need you to make a connection, make a connection, please

It’s foolishness to hide because You must know that
I am hanging on by a thread
I still believe every word You said
but I can’t get it down to my heart from my head


I have been wanting to write about this for a long time, because, well....there’s no better way to deal with a problem that you feel deeply troubled and ashamed by than just putting it out there for everybody to see. Talk about accountability! So here it is.

I am a Christian. I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of the Living God, sent to reconcile a sinful people to Himself. I have acknowledged my own depravity and my desperate need of Him. By the very definition, I am a Christian. But I don’t feel like one. I haven’t FELT like one for a very, very long time. There is a serious divide between what I know to be true and what I put into practice. And Jill’s song really says what I mean here. I still believe the Gospel, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I NEED it each and every minute of my life. I know what is required of a life sacrificed to Christ. I yearn for fellowship and communion with the one who redeemed me from my sinful nature. But there is something missing. I don’t know what it is, but it’s like there is a physical barrier between me and God, and even if I put it there myself, I have no idea how to remove it. Or, rather, I have ideas how to move it, but I can’t seem to make it happen.

For one, I need to be immersing myself in the Word of God. But am I? No. I had no idea how being the mom of a busy toddler would affect my ability to have personal devotions. Sure, there are (usually) naptimes. But I have found that, during his naptime, the last thing I ever end up doing is sitting down to read my Bible. Instead, there are always a million things that actually need to get done around the house, or decompression time on Facebook that I (at the time) feel is absolutely necessary. To just put it out there, again, I can probably count on one hand the number of times I have sat down to read the Bible in the last 6 months. That’s fewer than five times in SIX MONTHS! That’s the first part of my problem.

Also, I can’t seem to pray. I feel like I’m talking to a wall. And I feel like my prayers are all very me-centric. Which they are. Often the only times I remember to pray are when I’m gripped by fear over the safety or wellbeing of someone I love, which has a knack for instantly driving me to God. Corrie Ten Boom once asked something along the lines of, “Is God your steering wheel, or your spare tire?” (Some of my readers are groaning - I know who you are!- but despite the triteness, it makes my point). But anyway, it seems like I only pray in times like this. So, since praying is hard and awkward and seemingly ineffective, I just avoid it. Problem number 2.

I have begged God to just supernaturally lift this divide, to rip out my heart of stone and replace it with a heart of flesh. I know my desperate depravity is a state of being, not just a laundry list of sinful actions. My own natural desire is to be an enemy of God. But there is a war within me, because there is also a will in me to seek His forgiveness and mercy. I just can’t seem to get it through to my heart that this should be the most crucial priority in my day-to-day life. But why?

My goal with writing this post is to kind of reinvent my blog, give myself a reason to write, and in some ways restore the original intention of the blog’s title (it’s called Babylon to Jerusalem because I am trying to document my sanctification and journey from this broken world toward the restoration and perfection of Heaven, inspired by the return of the Jewish remnant from Babylon to Jerusalem in the book of Ezra). I plan to write about this and other things that are on my mind and heart. This season of my life has been long and seemingly without an end in sight. I have been far from God for so long I’ve almost forgotten what real communion and fellowship with Him feels like. But I like to remind myself that this is a season, which is an appropriate metaphor. As my dear pretend-blogger-friend Katie said, seasons have good days and bad. Some days in winter are cloudy and snowy, and others are bright and beautiful, but the season itself is still there. So, in line with that, not all of my posts will be full of despondency and desperation. Some will be full of hope and promises, because I still experience those too. But I need to be honest with someone, anyone (everyone?) about what’s really happening in my heart. Because I feel like this is one way I can start healing and breaking down this longstanding divide between me and God. In another song, Jill Phillips wisely writes, “Don’t whitewash the truth about yourself because nobody’s got it all together.”

So here's the truth about me. Thanks for listening.