The Church must refuse the cultural catechisms of our age—those liturgies of grievance, identity tallies, and the competitive race to victimhood. These frameworks dress themselves in a form of righteousness but produce only bitterness and perpetual hunger. Advent bids us away from such a fast masquerading as a lack of justice. Advent beckons us to eat, drink, and be merry of heart in the finished work of our conquering King. The King’s table is graced with the red beef of the fatted calf and the strong wine of a wedding feast. It would be shameful to pout at His feast.

A response to A Call to Prayer & Lament

Advent ought to arrive like a royal trumpet blast, calling the Church to lift her head from the dust and behold her King. The greatest gift given is not an idea, a movement, or a therapeutic method—but Christ Himself. The blesser is the blessing. The Lord of glory marched into the world accompanied by songs of angels, yet with a divine humility that shattered the dominion of sin, declared His decisive victory, and put His enemies to open shame. Nothing the world can manufacture rivals the wealth of what He has already accomplished. The victor’s feast has been set by the King; only folly turns back to scavenge crumbs from the world’s table or refuses to eat its fill.

The Church must refuse the cultural catechisms of our age—those liturgies of grievance, identity tallies, and the competitive race to victimhood. These frameworks dress themselves in a form of righteousness but produce only bitterness and perpetual hunger. Advent bids us away from such a fast masquerading as a lack of justice. Advent beckons us to eat, drink, and be merry of heart in the finished work of our conquering King. The King’s table is graced with the red beef of the fatted calf and the strong wine of a wedding feast. It would be shameful to pout at His feast. Though if you feel so compelled at such a joyful party, He is the kind of King who lifts the heads of the brokenhearted and meets their tearful gaze with rebuke, compassion, or both. Put your mind at ease, knowing that whatever is needed to heal, the King of mercy will do and is doing. We can be confident that He can discern weaponized empathy from genuine heartache.

Among the many mercies worth celebrating are the steadfast women of our congregations—the quiet towers of strength. Saints who keep churches nourished with grace when the world isn’t watching. Their labor is not a campaign for visibility. Their reward is not found in demanding seats of authority. They have no need of such earthly crowns. Their joy, beauty, and compassion spring from Christ Himself. He sees them, names them, and crowns their ordinary and plain faithfulness with His own eternal glory. His grace is sufficient for them; they are clothed in it, and it suits them well. Their work needs no Book of Church Order amendments to make it—or them—valuable. They have already been honored by the King of Advent Himself, and that is a weightier honor than any title we could strive to bestow with mortal effort.

We also ought to rejoice in the unity forged in our denomination at its founding—imperfect, yes, as our 2016 repentance openly acknowledged, but real and sturdy. Our faithful forefathers built on confessional bedrock rather than the cultural sand of equality or inclusion. Today, men from all parts of creation gladly labor together because they share a single allegiance: the absolute authority of Scripture and the supremacy of Christ the King. In many wonderful ways, this is already a wide-ranging fellowship of brothers and sisters laboring in harmony to advance the kingdom. The Lord has been gracious and blessed our mutual efforts. We are such a merry gathering of people that it could not have been engineered by ethnic metrics, quotas, or bureaucratic tinkering, but simply by the loving grace of the King. It is unity baptized in grace and truth, not assembled by sociological pressure. The Lord gathers His people to His table and bids them share in His festal blessing, without worry of inclusivity-demographics, but simply out of love for Him and love of neighbor.

If we desire this loving unity to continue bearing rich fruit, then we must remember something simple: the Church cannot nominate ghosts. Committees and boards do not populate themselves. Faithful men who sense a calling to serve the wider Church must say so. Not with campaign slogans or laments, but with the straightforward humility of Isaiah: “Here am I.” This is not demographic ambition; it is obedience. Can a Nominating Committee discern unspoken willingness? A silent Presbyterian man is as useful for warming hearts to the gospel as an empty, cold fireplace; no wood, no flame, no heat. Offer your gifts in humility. Lay them on the table to be feasted on. Let the Church taste and see, and then serve them as she sees fit. No unbecoming whining if the sample does not complement the feast of grace already prepared and shared.

And let us give honor to the brothers and sisters who refuse the siren song of resentment. In an age drunk on self-pity, their steadfastness is an alluring beauty. They acknowledge genuine wounds yet refuse to let those wounds become their identity. They live in the bright, happy contentment of the tension that is the “already and not yet.” Their fortitude is built on hope in Christ rather than a harvest of leveraged grievances. These blissful saints adorn the gospel far more beautifully than any official initiative ever could.

So let us feast. Not as escapists, not as doleful injured victims, but as Advent rebels to the sinful world—defying the tyranny of the age with a joy that cannot be manufactured or canceled. The Child born in Bethlehem is the King of Kings, and His victory is not pending. Advent reminds us that joy and grace are beautiful weapons, gratitude is a banner, and feasting is a declaration of war against the despair that stalks the nations.

Merry Christmas. The King has come, the work is finished, partake of the bountiful table of grace it is for all.

Tyler Hendley is a Minister in the Presbyterian Church in America and is Pastor of Grace Presbyterian Fellowship in Farmington, Missouri.