. . . blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord. Luke 1:45.

One of the first things I learned about pastoral care was to be very, very careful about making promises. The few times I did, it seemed like everything in my life conspired to make me break them. Better to be vague-I’ll see you next time-than to promise someone who’s lonely, or sick, or depressed that you’ll be back tomorrow, then stand them up because the water heater blew up or the car won’t start. And for the dying woman, even the off-hand “see you soon” has the weight of a sworn oath. Do you really want her to linger in suffering to fulfill your expectations of a “next time”?

It’s often at our most vulnerable we are most prone to believe. And this, in spite of so much evidence to the contrary. Think of one night’s advertising: the right car will make you adventurous; our toilet bowl cleaner will make you joyous and content; this breakfast cereal will make your kid smarter. Promises made to be broken, every single one. 

A messy business, promises. And yet Scripture is jammed with them. The prophets spread judgment and expectation in equal measure, and the world waits, breathless, for coming of a new Kingdom. When God arrives, in a backwater town to an unwed mother, he comes as a baby-a baby! Vulnerable, dependent, needful. This is our Savior, the fulfillment of God’s promise.

There are days when our story seems improbable-when the suffering we witness seems to deny all that has ever been spoken by God, every last word. And yet, it is in the brokenness, the ridiculous cruelty of the world, that we often discover moments of grace. In the bleak midwinter, we sing, earth hard as iron, snow on snow on snow. In these long nights, God comes among us, his Word fulfilled.