Have You Room for Him? Chapel Advent Series



Tomorrow begins the season of Advent: the anticipation of the incarnation of our Lord and Savior as Man.

The men, women and children of Wiser Lake Chapel will be sharing writing daily on a new theme:

“There was no room for them in the inn, but how can I make room for Him?” 

Join us over the next 25 days in thinking about how we too might open the door to the coming of Christ into our lives.  Please feel free to share these meditations with your friends and family.



The manger and the cross standing at the two extremities of the Saviour’s earthly life seem most fit and congruous the one to the other, lie is to wear through life a peasant’s garb; he is to associate with fishermen; the lowly are to be his disciples; the cold mountains are often to be his only bed; he is to say, “Foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man hath not where to lay his head;” nothing, therefore, could be more fitting than that in his season of humiliation, when he laid aside all his glory, and took upon himself the form of a servant, and condescended even to the meanest estate, he should be laid in a manger.
~Charles Spurgeon from his sermon: “No Room for Christ in the Inn”

Advent at the Chapel: Jesus is Human

Jesus is Human.

by Ruth Siebring

“Come Thou Long Expected Jesus, born to set thy people free; from our fears and sins release us, let us find find our rest in Thee.”

I don’t know about you, but I take great comfort in knowing that Jesus walked this earth. 

Jesus came in the lowliest of ways, born to poor parents, born in borrowed, lowly accommodations, and was, no doubt, the subject of much gossip back home in Nazareth. 

He experienced all the normal childhood maladies. He stepped on thorns, bled when he fell down, he caught cold, became tired, and felt the normal range of human emotions: joy and sorrow, friendship and loneliness, frustration and satisfaction. 

And He knows us. He knows that we are dust. He made us, knows our innate weaknesses, our strengths, our struggles, our triumphs, our failures, our passions. He knows when we’ve reached the end of our rope. And because He loves us, He knows just how to best encourage us to hang on.

He knows that our hearts struggle to find rest. He knows what temptation is all about. And He knows how to overcome it. We can rest in Him in our trials, for He is sympathetic to them. And when we fail, we can rest in His forgiving love. He isn’t stingy, he loves and forgives in abundance, poured out, overflowing. 

Come, Lord Jesus; may we truly find our rest in Thee.


For Advent devotions this year, we are using Pastor Tim Keller’s themes in his new book  Hidden Christmas

Anticipating Advent: Holiness Descended

Excerpt from “Descending Theology: Christ Human” by Mary Karr:

Such a short voyage for a god,
And you arrived in animal form so as not
To scorch us with your glory.
Your mask was an infant’s head on a limp stalk,
Sticky eyes smeared blind,
Limbs rendered useless in swaddle.
You came among beasts
As one, came into our care or its lack, came crying,
As we all do, because the human frame
Is a crucifix, each skeleton borne a lifetime.
Any wanting soul lain
Prostrate on a floor to receive a pouring of sunlight
Might—if still enough, feel your cross buried in the flesh.
One has only to surrender,
You preached, open both arms to the inner,
The ever-present hold,
Out-reaching every want. It’s in the form
Embedded, love adamant as bone.

Amidst the peppy Christmas carols and scents of pine and peppermint, it’s easy to ignore the fact that the very first Christmas sounded and smelled very different from our festivities. I’m sure that the stable smelled pungently of manure and other body odors and was filled with the grunts and rustles of weathered animals. Jesus’ entrance into our midst was messy and raw and corporeal. He lacked the human trappings of royalty but was holiness descended. Mary Karr’s poem reminds me of both the earthiness of Christ’s birth and the phenomenon of his presence among us.

May we see Immanuel, God with us, the babe whose love is as “adamant as bone.”
~Hilary Gibson

Our Hope in a Baby

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders.
Isaiah 9:6a

It is amazing to me that God would choose to come into this world as a baby.  He could have come like some kind of mighty superman, or a Greek god with wings on his feet, or something else that fits our image of God’s power.  However, he chose to come as a weak, delicate baby.  God chose to become an infant.  Jesus is LORD, but a baby cannot walk or talk.  A baby is completely dependent on its parents for protection.


In Japanese, “child” can be translated as “Midori-go”.  “Midori” means “green” and “go” means “kid”.  Green brings up the image of sprouts or young leaves—this is the image of new life, of budding potential.  With this in mind, the choice to become a baby is one filled with tremendous hope.  But this hope was not for His own sake—it was for ours.  Christ was born for us.


Christ came to serve us.  If He came as a muscular superhero, we would struggle to understand and recognize His service.  Because He became a lowly baby, because He became one of us, we can better appreciate the way in which Christ served.  Praise the LORD that He came down to this world in a form that would have the deepest impact on us!


As I read our Japanese-English Bible with its side-by-side translations, I noticed something very interesting.  The English NIV translated the verse as “and the government will be on his shoulders”, but the Japanese used the word “shuken” rather than “government”.  “Shuken” translates more closely to “sovereignty” or “dominion”.


This passage is trying to impart the fact that Christ reigns over all the earth; in the birth of this baby boy, God shows us how powerful He truly is.

Written by Tomomi Gibson in Japanese, translated by Nate Gibson, with help from Tomomi.

Lenten Observance: Comfort My People

Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.  – Isaiah 40:1

Heidelberg Catechism Q. and A. 1

  1. What is your only comfort in life and death?
  2. That I am not my own, but belong—body and soul, in life and in death—to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ . . .

By now, with sixty years and more in my rearview mirror, I have watched and waited at the bedside of my father and then, ten years later, my mother as each by death passed from this life.  They had both lived well and long and were faithful followers of Christ.  Yet death for each was a battle, and those of us children present at their sides sought to comfort the dear one who was dying.  The sustained grip of hand on hand, the caress of the forehead, the moistening of dried lips and mouth with cool water, the soft yet firmly spoken words of love—we were intent to comfort:  you are dear to us, all will be well, we will be together yet again . . . . Then, as one by one they passed beyond our labor to comfort and we were left bereft and alone to witness the flash-freeze pallor of death, we sought comfort for ourselves.

Thus when God speaks comfort to his people through his prophet Isaiah, we are more than ready to identify ourselves with that people.  We have witnessed death’s hard labor, our hearts have been torn by separation from those we have loved, we carry within the purses of our own souls the wages of sin even as we await the final, fatal payday, so God knows we crave comfort.

God commands his prophet Isaiah in this verse to bring comfort. These words are presented to us not as mere wish or fond hope. They are the certain words of command, albeit as Handel draws it out in the opening recitative of The Messiah, a command steeped in lyric beauty. Ah, but is there any basis in reality for such words with their plaintive beauty?  Or is such comfort simply empty promise of a long-gone prophet? Right here is where the Incarnation is in full play.  It is in Christ, the Ancient of Days become babe who grows to manhood to embrace the cross, that God himself has delivered comfort to us and made us his very own.  On account of his mercy our wish is his command. We by faith are made his dear family, his children, his brothers and sisters—and he alone is our comfort, in life and in death.

~Dan Gibson