Saint Lucia's Day: From Ancient Martyr to Swedish Tradition and Missionary Legacy

Hello, and welcome back to Nations 4 Jesus. Today I want to share something that's very special to me—the story of Saint Lucia’s (Loo See A) Day. When our family lived in Hungary from 2011-2015 with the U.S. Air Force, we had many wonderful Swedish friends who introduced us to the beauty of Saint Lucia Day traditions. The songs, the candles, the special food—it was such a wonderful way to begin the Christmas season, and it opened my eyes to a rich Christian history I'd never known.

But Saint Lucia's Day is more than just a beautiful Scandinavian tradition. It's a story that connects a 3rd century Christian martyr in Sicily to the powerful missionary movement that once came out of Sweden. It's a story of light shining in darkness, of faithfulness unto death, and of how one nation went from paganism to Christianity to becoming one of the world's great missionary-sending forces.

Today I want to tell you about Saint Lucia of Syracuse, about how her story became intertwined with Swedish Christianity, about Sweden's remarkable missionary legacy, and about both the challenges and the small signs of hope in Swedish Christianity today.

Let me start at the beginning with Saint Lucia herself. Lucia—whose name means "light"—was born around 283 AD in Syracuse, Sicily, into a wealthy Christian family. This was during the reign of Roman Emperor Diocletian, who launched one of the most severe persecutions of Christians in Roman history.

According to early church tradition, Lucia had consecrated her virginity to God and wanted to devote her life to serving Christ. But her mother, Eutychia, who didn't know about Lucia's vow, arranged for her to marry a pagan nobleman. Lucia prayed for a way out of this marriage, and when her mother was miraculously healed of a hemorrhage after they visited Saint Agatha's tomb together, Lucia convinced her mother to allow her to distribute her dowry to the poor instead of marrying.

But here's what makes Lucia's story particularly relevant to our focus on missions and the persecuted church: During the Diocletian persecution, when Christians were being hunted and killed, many believers were forced to hide in the catacombs beneath Rome and other cities. These underground believers were hungry, scared, and desperate for encouragement.

Lucia took it upon herself to bring food to these hiding Christians. She would go down into the dark catacombs carrying supplies, and to keep her hands free to carry as much as possible, she wore a wreath of candles on her head to light her way. Can you imagine the courage that took? She was risking her own life to feed believers who were being hunted by the Roman authorities.

When Lucia's rejected suitor discovered that she had given away her dowry and was serving Christians, he reported her to the Roman authorities as a Christian. She was arrested and ordered to renounce her faith and offer sacrifice to the Roman gods. Lucia refused, declaring that she would never deny Christ.

According to tradition, the authorities tried to force her into prostitution, but miraculously she could not be moved—it was as if she was rooted to the ground. They tried to burn her, but the flames would not harm her. Finally, they killed her with a sword on December 13, 304 AD. She was only about 21 years old. As she lay dying, she prophesied that persecution would soon end and peace would come to the church—a prophecy that was fulfilled when Constantine legalized Christianity just a few years later.

Now here's why the date matters for understanding the Swedish tradition. December 13th, according to the old Julian calendar used when this tradition developed, was considered the winter solstice—the longest, darkest night of the year. So Lucia's feast day on December 13th became associated with bringing light into darkness, which perfectly matched her name and her story of wearing candles to bring food to Christians hiding in dark catacombs.

This symbolism of light conquering darkness resonated deeply in Scandinavia, where winter nights are extraordinarily long. In northern Sweden, the sun barely rises in December, and darkness dominates. So the image of a young woman wearing a crown of candles, bringing light and sustenance in the darkest season, became incredibly meaningful.

So how did Saint Lucia's story travel from Sicily to Sweden? To understand that, we need to look at how Christianity came to Scandinavia. Christianity reached Sweden relatively late compared to southern Europe. The first known Christian missionary to Sweden was Saint Ansgar, a Frankish monk who arrived around 829 AD. But Sweden remained largely pagan for centuries afterward, with the old Norse gods still dominant.

It wasn't until the 11th and 12th centuries that Sweden gradually converted to Christianity, often through a mix of missionary efforts, royal conversions, and sometimes force. By the 13th century, Sweden was officially a Christian nation, and Catholic traditions—including veneration of saints like Lucia—became part of Swedish culture.

The tradition of celebrating Saint Lucia's Day on December 13th took root in Sweden during the Middle Ages. Swedish families would observe the day with special foods, and the legend of Lucia bringing food in darkness particularly resonated in a land where winter darkness was so oppressive. Over time, uniquely Swedish customs developed around the celebration.

Let me describe what the modern Swedish Lucia celebration looks like, based on what our Swedish friends in Hungary taught us. On the morning of December 13th, the oldest daughter in the family dresses in a white robe with a red sash, symbolizing Lucia's purity and martyrdom. She wears a crown of candles on her head—today usually battery-powered for safety, but traditionally real candles.

She wakes the family early in the morning, often around 4 or 5 AM when it's still dark, carrying a tray of special saffron buns called "lussekatter" (Lucia cats) and coffee. She's often accompanied by younger siblings dressed as attendants—girls in white with tinsel in their hair, and boys dressed as "star boys" wearing cone-shaped hats.

They sing traditional Lucia songs, the most famous being "Sankta Lucia" set to the beautiful Neapolitan melody "Santa Lucia." The lyrics celebrate Lucia as a light-bringer in the darkness. When our Swedish friends invited us to their Lucia celebration in Hungary, I'll never forget how moving it was—the night time downtown setting, the candles glowing, the sweet voices singing, the aroma of saffron buns. It was a beautiful way to mark the beginning of the Christmas season and remember that Jesus is the Light of the world who came into our darkness.

Now here's what's remarkable: Sweden, which received the Gospel through missionaries like Saint Ansgar in the 9th century, became one of the world's great missionary-sending nations. By the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Swedish missionary societies were sending thousands of missionaries around the world.

Swedish missionaries served in China, India, Africa, and many other places. Organizations like the Swedish Evangelical Mission, the Swedish Alliance Mission, and others sent workers to some of the hardest, most remote mission fields. Swedish missionaries were known for their commitment, their willingness to learn local languages, and their emphasis on both evangelism and social service—education, healthcare, agricultural development.

At its peak in the mid-20th century, Sweden—with a population of only about 7-8 million—was sending out thousands of missionaries. Swedish mission organizations pioneered work among several unreached people groups. Swedish Christians gave generously to support missions, and many Swedish young people considered missionary service as a normal calling to consider.

One thing that's unique about Sweden, even today, is that Christianity and church history are taught as part of the regular school curriculum. Swedish students learn about the Bible, Christian traditions, and church history—including stories like Saint Lucia—as part of their education. Even in public schools, students study Christianity not as religious indoctrination, but as cultural heritage and historical literacy.

This means most Swedes, even if they're not practicing Christians, have a basic knowledge of Christian history, biblical stories, and traditions like Saint Lucia's Day. They understand the symbolism, they know the songs, they participate in the celebrations—even if they don't personally have faith in Christ. It's woven into the cultural fabric of Swedish identity.

But here's the heartbreaking part: Despite this rich Christian heritage, despite once being one of the world's great missionary-sending nations, Sweden today is one of the most secular countries on earth. According to recent surveys, only about 20% of Swedes believe in a personal God. Weekly church attendance is estimated at less than 5% of the population. The Church of Sweden, once a powerful state church, has seen dramatic decline—many historic churches now sit largely empty except for tourists.

What happened? How did a nation that sent thousands of missionaries to the ends of the earth become so secular in just a few generations? Several factors contributed: the official state church became increasingly liberal theologically, often accommodating cultural trends rather than proclaiming biblical truth. Prosperity and social welfare programs created a sense that people didn't need God—the government would provide for all needs. Education became increasingly secular. And perhaps ironically, the very success of Christian social ethics created a society that felt it could maintain Christian values without Christian faith.

As Swedish Christianity declined, so did the missionary movement. The thousands of missionaries Sweden once sent dwindled to hundreds. Mission organizations merged or closed. Young Swedes stopped considering missionary service. The churches that had once supported missions generously now struggled to keep their own doors open.

It's a sobering reminder that even the strongest Christian movements can decline within a generation or two if faith isn't passed on vibrantly to the next generation. Sweden went from sending missionaries to needing missionaries in less than a century.

But here's where I want to inject some hope, because God is not done with Sweden! Despite the overall decline, there are genuine believers in Sweden—a faithful remnant who love Jesus, who pray, who share their faith, who send missionaries. There are small but growing immigrant churches, particularly among Ethiopians, Eritreans, and other African Christians who've brought vibrant faith to Sweden.

There are also some signs of renewed interest in Christianity among young Swedes, particularly as they see the emptiness of pure secularism. Some Swedish young people are rediscovering the faith of their grandparents. Small house church movements are growing. And interestingly, some Swedes who encounter vibrant Christianity while traveling or living abroad—like our Swedish friends in Hungary—return home with renewed faith and vision.

There are also Swedish Christians working to revitalize the missionary movement. While the numbers are smaller than they once were, there are still Swedish missionaries serving in hard places, and some Swedish churches are rediscovering their missionary heritage and calling.

So what can we learn from Sweden's story? First, past missionary success doesn't guarantee future faithfulness. Sweden was once a missionary powerhouse, but that legacy didn't automatically preserve Swedish Christianity. Each generation must embrace faith for themselves.

Second, prosperity can be more dangerous to faith than persecution. Sweden's high standard of living, comprehensive welfare state, and comfortable lifestyle made it easy for Swedes to feel they didn't need God. We in America should take warning—our prosperity may be eroding our faith just as it did Sweden's.

Third, state churches can become spiritually dead. When the church is too closely aligned with government and culture, it often loses its prophetic voice and biblical distinctiveness. The Church of Sweden accommodated cultural trends rather than calling people to biblical faith.

Fourth, teaching Christian history and traditions isn't enough if personal faith isn't cultivated. Swedish students learn about Saint Lucia and Christian heritage, but knowledge about Christianity is different from knowing Christ. We can't rely on cultural Christianity—we need genuine conversion and discipleship.

And fifth, immigrant Christians can revitalize declining churches. God is bringing believers from Africa and other places to Sweden, and these believers are breathing new life into Swedish Christianity. This is part of how God is humbling the Western church and showing us that the Global South church is now the vibrant center of Christianity.

But perhaps the most important lesson comes from Saint Lucia herself. She lived in one of the darkest periods of Christian history—the Diocletian persecution, when being a Christian could mean torture and death. Yet she brought light into that darkness, literally and figuratively. She risked her life to feed hungry Christians hiding in catacombs. She refused to deny Christ even when it cost her everything. She became a light that has shone for 1,700 years, inspiring millions.

Today, Sweden may be in spiritual darkness, but Saint Lucia's example reminds us that one faithful light-bearer can make a difference. It only takes a few faithful believers, willing to risk everything for Christ, to spark revival. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it—just as Jesus promised in John 1:5.

When our Swedish friends in Hungary invited us to celebrate Saint Lucia's Day with them, I don't think I fully understood the weight of what I was experiencing. Here were Swedish friends, living as expatriates in a foreign country, keeping alive a tradition that connected them to their Christian heritage—a heritage that much of Sweden has abandoned.

As they sang "Sankta Lucia" in the candlelight, as they shared saffron buns and coffee in the darkness, they were doing exactly what Lucia herself did 1,700 years ago—bringing light and sustenance in a dark time. Each year that my family and I celebrated with them, I was remembering that Jesus is the Light of the world, no matter how dark the culture around us becomes.

So here's my challenge to you: Don't take your Christian heritage for granted. Don't assume that because your nation was once Christian, it will remain Christian. Each generation must embrace faith personally and pass it on passionately to the next. Pray for Sweden and other nations in Europe that have lost their Christian vitality. Support the faithful remnant there. And consider supporting Swedish missionaries who are still serving in hard places.

And as we approach Christmas, remember what Saint Lucia's Day teaches us: Jesus came as the Light of the world into the darkness of our sin. Just as Lucia wore candles on her head to bring food to hungry Christians in dark catacombs, Jesus came into the darkness of this fallen world to bring us the Bread of Life. Let's be light-bearers like Lucia, willing to risk everything to bring Christ to those in darkness.

Thank you for joining me today. I hope Saint Lucia's story and Sweden's history have both challenged and inspired you. The light shines in the darkness—and we're called to be bearers of that light.

Until next time, remember—keep your eyes on the nations and be a light-bearer in the darkness!

You can listen to this in podcast form at Spotify podcast

Peace Child: A Christmas Story of God's Ultimate Gift

Hello, and welcome back to Nations 4 Jesus. We're in the Christmas season, and today I want to share a story that will give you an entirely new appreciation for what God did when He sent His Son into the world. It's a story about a tribe that celebrated treachery, practiced cannibalism, and admired Judas as the hero of the Gospels. And it's a story about how Christmas—the very heart of Christmas—became the key that unlocked their salvation.

I need to warn you—this episode is going to challenge you. It's going to disturb you. And I pray it's going to show you the power of the Gospel in a way you've never seen before.

Imagine a group of people who honor treachery as an ideal—the way we honor friendship, sacrifice, and loyalty. Imagine telling bedtime stories to your children, but instead of heroes like Daniel or David, the stories celebrate men who formed friendships with the express purpose of later betraying their friend so that they could be killed and eaten. They had a phrase for it: "to fatten with friendship for the slaughter."

Now imagine that it's your husband, or your father, or your son who has been not only killed by his enemies, but then roasted, eaten, and his skull used as a pillow by his murderer. Can we even begin to imagine such horror?

Now put yourself in this scenario: You are a missionary, sent by God to tell these headhunting, cannibalistic tribes that Jesus loves them. That God sent His Son to die for them. That His desire is for them to spend eternity with Him in Heaven. You share stories from the Bible, expecting some response. But there's nothing. They have no concept of God—only demons. They don't understand sacrifice or love or redemption.

And then you realize something absolutely chilling: The only person in any Bible story they relate to is Judas. In fact, they admire Judas because of his betrayal of Jesus. In their eyes, Judas did something brilliant—he fattened Jesus with friendship for the slaughter!

Friends, how do you share the Gospel with people who think the villain of the story is the hero?

Now here's what I need you to understand: This isn't fiction. This isn't ancient history. This describes the Sawi people—a tribe living in what was formerly Netherlands New Guinea, now part of Indonesia, known as West Papua. And this took place in the 1960s—within our parents' lifetime!

These were people so deeply entrenched in darkness that treachery was their highest value. Cannibalism was their practice. Violence was their way of life. And from a human perspective, they seemed completely unreachable with the Gospel.

But here's what I love about our God: He does not leave anyone alone, no matter how barbaric or scary their lifestyle may be. No matter how tightly Satan's grip seems around them. No one is lost to Him. There is no darkness too dark for the Gospel to penetrate.

According to current missions data, there are still over 7,400 unreached people groups in the world, representing about 3.3 billion people. And every single one of them—no matter how resistant, how violent, how seemingly impossible—matters to God.

Romans 1:16 says, "I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes." Everyone. Not just the easy ones. Not just the civilized ones. Everyone.

So God sent Don and Carol Richardson to the Sawi people. Don Richardson himself wrote these powerful words about what they were facing:

"It had taken nearly two thousand years for the message of that new value system to range from Galilee to the miasmal swamps of southwest New Guinea. On its way, that message had already challenged, engaged and conquered barbarity in many forms in the minds of millions of people, for it was an extremely mettlesome message. It was not cowed by earthly obstacles, for its strength was supernatural."

He continued: "The message would not back away from any form of darkness, for it was light itself! That message was the gospel of Jesus Christ. Its purpose was nonnegotiable—to persuade men from 'every kindred, and tongue, and people and nation' to repent and be reconciled to God through Jesus Christ."

But the Richardsons faced an impossible situation. The longer they stayed among the Sawi, the worse things seemed to get. Their presence had actually drawn multiple warring villages together—which only increased the violence and treachery between them. The situation was deteriorating rapidly.

Then, as Christmas approached in the early 1960s, full-scale tribal war broke out. The Richardsons were caught in the middle. Don and Carol seriously considered leaving. How could they continue? Their presence seemed to be making things worse, not better. The violence was escalating. People were dying.

But the Sawi didn't want the Richardsons to leave. They had come to value having these strange foreigners among them. So the tribal leaders did something remarkable—they called for peace negotiations.

And here's where the Christmas story intersects with the Sawi story in the most powerful way. During these peace negotiations—near Christmas—Don Richardson witnessed something that would change everything.

The only way to ensure lasting peace between warring Sawi tribes was if the tribes exchanged children—a son from one tribe for a son from another. A father would have to give up his own infant son to live permanently with the enemy tribe, and receive an enemy's son in return. As long as these peace children lived, there would be peace. The peace child was literally the embodiment of peace—purchased at the highest cost a parent could pay.

Don watched as a Sawi father made the agonizing decision to give up his own baby boy to secure peace. The scene was heartbreaking—a father holding his infant son, knowing he would never raise him, never see him grow up. The mother weeping as her child was placed into the arms of strangers who had been their enemies.

And in that moment, near Christmas, God opened Don's eyes. The Lord showed him how this cultural practice was a perfect picture—a redemptive analogy—of what Christmas is really about: God the Father gave up His own Son to make peace between God and humanity!

This is the heart of Christmas! John 3:16—"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son." God didn't just send a message. He sent His Son. He gave Him up. He placed His beloved child into the hands of His enemies—that's us—to secure eternal peace.

Finally, the Richardsons had a way to communicate the Gospel that the Sawi could understand! They began to teach: "God is like the greatest Father. And humanity—all of us—we were His enemies because of our sin. There was war between us and God. But God loved us so much that He gave His own Son, Jesus, as the ultimate Peace Child. Jesus came to live among His enemies. And as long as Jesus lives, there is peace between God and man."

Friends, when the Sawi heard this, everything changed! Suddenly the Gospel made sense in their cultural framework. They understood sacrifice in a way that most comfortable Western Christians never will. They understood what it cost God the Father to give up His Son. They understood the permanence of peace purchased through the Peace Child.

And here's what absolutely amazes me: The same people who had celebrated Judas's betrayal now understood why Jesus's death was different. Jesus wasn't fattened for slaughter—He was given willingly by the Father as the Peace Child. And anyone who harms the Peace Child destroys the peace. Suddenly, Judas wasn't a hero—he was the ultimate betrayer of the most sacred thing in their worldview.

The light had penetrated the darkness, and the darkness could not overcome it! Tribe members began to come to faith in Christ. The practice of cannibalism stopped. The cycles of violence and treachery began to break. Enemies became brothers. Darkness gave way to light.

According to more recent reports, the Sawi tribe today is predominantly Christian. They've translated Scripture into their own language. They have their own pastors and churches. And some Sawi believers have even become missionaries to other unreached tribes in Papua!

Friends, the cannibals became missionaries! The people who celebrated treachery now celebrate Jesus!

Don Richardson's prayer so beautifully expresses the wonder of what God did: "I thank You, my Father, for laying the groundwork for our ministry to these people. The Sawi were strangers to our Judeo-Christian heritage, yet You so providentially ordained these redemptive analogies within their culture ages ago, so that one day we would find and use them for Your glory."

He continued: "As You prepared the Hebrews and the Greeks, so also the Sawi were not too insignificant or too pagan to receive this much of Your providence. I see now more than ever why You are called the God of wisdom and the God of love and the God of power. I praise You!"

Friends, this is why the Sawi story is ultimately a Christmas story. Christmas isn't just about a baby in a manger. It's about a Father giving His Son. It's about the ultimate Peace Child being sent into enemy territory. It's about God paying the highest price possible to make peace with us.

When you celebrate Christmas this year, remember the Sawi. Remember that the same truth that transformed cannibals who admired Judas is the truth we celebrate every December. God gave His Son. The Father made the agonizing sacrifice. Jesus became the Peace Child who secures eternal peace for all who receive Him.

And remember that there are still people groups out there who need to hear this message in a way they can understand. God has placed redemptive analogies in their cultures too—bridges to the Gospel just waiting to be discovered. The question is: Will we go? Will we learn? Will we find the keys God has hidden?

Let me share five powerful lessons from this story. First, no one is unreachable. If God could reach the Sawi—cannibals who celebrated treachery—He can reach anyone.

Second, God prepares cultures before missionaries arrive. He embeds redemptive analogies that can become bridges to the Gospel.

Third, cultural understanding is essential for effective evangelism. Don Richardson couldn't have reached the Sawi without deeply learning their language and practices.

Fourth, the Gospel is powerful enough to transform the darkest darkness. His light is stronger than any evil.

Fifth, transformed people become transformers. The Sawi didn't just receive the Gospel—they became carriers of it to other tribes.

And friends, the need is still urgent. Indonesia has over 700 people groups, and more than 200 are still unreached. Worldwide, there are over 3.3 billion people in unreached people groups. Many have practices that seem incompatible with Christianity. Many appear impossible to reach. But God has redemptive analogies waiting to be discovered in every culture. He's already prepared the way.

Merry Christmas, friends. May you celebrate the ultimate Peace Child this season—and may His peace transform your life as it transformed the Sawi.

Until next time, remember—keep your eyes on the nations, and know that there is no darkness too dark for the Gospel to penetrate.

You can listen to this as a podcast at Spotify podcast

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day: Hope Born from Grief

 Hello, and welcome back to Nations 4 Jesus. We're in the Christmas season, and today I want to share the story behind one of the most beloved Christmas hymns ever written. It's a hymn that was born on Christmas Day itself—not in joy, but in the depths of grief. And yet it carries a message of hope that we desperately need to hear.

The hymn is "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day," and the man who wrote it was Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, one of America's most famous poets.

To understand this hymn, you need to understand what Longfellow was going through when he wrote it. In July 1861, his beloved wife Fanny died tragically in a fire at their home. Longfellow himself was severely burned trying to save her. The grief was devastating. He wrote in his journal, "How can I live any longer?" He couldn't even attend her funeral because of his injuries.

Then, in 1863, his oldest son Charles—just 18 years old—ran away to join the Union Army during the Civil War. In November of that year, Charles was shot through the shoulder, the bullet narrowly missing his spine. He would never fully recover. Longfellow rushed to Washington to bring his wounded son home.

So picture Longfellow on Christmas Day, 1863. He had lost his wife. His son lay wounded. The nation was tearing itself apart in civil war. Tens of thousands of young men were dying on battlefields. It was a season of profound darkness and despair.

On that Christmas morning, Longfellow heard church bells ringing out across the land. And in his grief, he picked up his pen and began to write. The poem he wrote that day captures the journey from despair to hope that so many of us experience.

He began by describing the bells ringing out the familiar Christmas message of "peace on earth, good-will to men." But then his thoughts turned dark. How could there be peace when cannon were thundering? How could there be good-will when brothers were killing brothers? He wrote of bowing his head in despair, feeling that there was no peace on earth and that hate was strong, mocking the song the bells were singing.

But then came the turning point—the moment when faith broke through the despair. As Longfellow listened to those bells pealing louder and deeper, he wrote words that have comforted grieving believers for over 160 years. He declared that God is not dead, nor does He sleep. He affirmed that wrong will fail and right will prevail, with peace on earth and good-will to men.

Do you hear the power of that? In the middle of personal tragedy and national catastrophe, on a Christmas Day that seemed to mock everything Christmas stood for, Longfellow declared: God is not dead. He's not asleep. He sees what's happening. And ultimately, His purposes will prevail.

I’d like to read the words of this well known Christmas song. 

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play;
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong, and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."

Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

This hymn matters because it's honest about suffering. It doesn't pretend that everything is fine. It doesn't offer cheap comfort. It acknowledges the darkness—the grief, the despair, the feeling that hate is winning and peace is impossible. Many of us have felt exactly what Longfellow felt that Christmas morning.

But the hymn doesn't end in despair. It moves through despair to hope. And that hope isn't based on circumstances getting better. It's based on the character of God. God is not dead. He's not asleep. He's working—even when we can't see it, even when everything seems to be falling apart.

Maybe this Christmas finds you in a season of grief like Longfellow's. Maybe you've lost someone you love. Maybe your family is broken. Maybe you're watching the world and wondering if peace will ever come. Maybe you're tempted to despair.

If that's you, I want you to hear what Longfellow heard in those bells: God is not dead. He's not asleep. Christmas proves it! God sent His Son into a world of darkness, violence, and despair—and that baby in the manger would grow up to conquer sin and death and bring peace between God and man.

The same God who came at Christmas is still at work today. Wrong will fail. Right will prevail. Peace on earth, good-will to men—it's not just a wish. It's a promise that will be fully realized when Christ returns.

Merry Christmas, friends. May you hear the bells this season and remember: God is not dead, nor does He sleep. Peace on earth, good-will to men—it's coming.

Until next time, remember—keep your eyes on the nations, and keep your hope in the God who never sleeps.

Listen to this as a podcast at Spotify podcast

Christmas in Ravensbrück: Corrie ten Boom and Light in the Darkest Place

Hello, and welcome back to Nations 4 Jesus. We're continuing our Christmas-themed podcast series, and today I want to share a story that will break your heart and strengthen your faith at the same time. It's a story about celebrating Christmas in one of the darkest places on earth—a Nazi concentration camp called Ravensbrück.

This is the story of Corrie ten Boom and the women who found Christ's light shining in the midst of unimaginable horror.

Corrie ten Boom was born in 1892 in Haarlem, Netherlands, into a devout Dutch Reformed family. Her father, Casper ten Boom, was a watchmaker with a deep love for the Jewish people. The family had a long tradition of praying for and supporting Jews—going back 100 years before the Holocaust even began.

When the Nazis occupied the Netherlands in 1940 and began persecuting Jews, the ten Boom family couldn't stand by and watch. They turned their home into a hiding place—building a secret room behind a false wall in Corrie's bedroom. Over the next several years, they hid an estimated 800 Jews and resistance workers, helping them escape to safety. 

On a personal note, our family got to visit their home in 2014. Our children were even able to go inside the hiding place. 

In February 1944, they were betrayed by a Dutch informant. The Gestapo raided the ten Boom home, arresting Corrie, her sister Betsie, and their 84-year-old father. Several Jews were hiding in the secret room at the time of the raid, and they remained hidden for 47 hours before being rescued—the Gestapo never found them.

Casper ten Boom went to be with his Lord and Savior, Jesus,  just 10 days after his arrest. Corrie and Betsie were eventually sent to Ravensbrück, a notorious women's concentration camp in northern Germany.

Ravensbrück was one of the largest concentration camps for women. Over 130,000 women and children passed through its gates during the war. Tens of thousands died there from starvation, disease, overwork, medical experiments, and execution.

Corrie and Betsie arrived in September 1944. The conditions were horrific beyond description. The women were crammed into barracks infested with fleas and lice. They were given almost no food. They were forced into hard labor. They were beaten and humiliated. Death was everywhere.

By all human standards, Ravensbrück was a place utterly devoid of hope—a place where darkness seemed absolute.

But something remarkable happened in that darkness. Corrie and Betsie had managed to smuggle a Bible into the camp, hidden under Corrie's dress. They weren't caught during the searches—which Corrie later attributed to God's miraculous protection.

That Bible became a source of life for the women in their barracks. Corrie and Betsie began holding secret worship services, reading Scripture aloud and translating it into multiple languages for the women gathered around them. Dutch, German, French, Polish, Russian, Czech—the Word of God went out in whispers to women from across Europe.

The gatherings grew. Women who had lost all hope found themselves drawn to this message of a God who loved them, who saw their suffering, who promised redemption and eternal life. In the flea-infested darkness of Barracks 28, the light of Christ was shining.

Betsie even thanked God for the fleas—because the guards refused to enter their barracks due to the infestation, giving them freedom to hold their Bible studies without being caught. What seemed like a curse became a protection.

Just weeks before Christmas, on December 16, 1944, Betsie ten Boom died in Ravensbrück. She was 59 years old. Her body had simply given out from the starvation and abuse.

But Betsie's last words to Corrie were not words of despair. They were words of faith and vision. She told Corrie: "There is no pit so deep that God's love is not deeper still." She also told Corrie that after the war, they must tell people what they had learned—that no darkness is too dark for God.

Betsie even had a vision of what they would do after the war: They would open a home to help people heal from the wounds of hatred and war. They would tell people about Jesus and the power of forgiveness. She didn't know she wouldn't survive to see it—but Corrie would fulfill that vision.

Then came Christmas 1944. Think about the setting. Corrie had just lost her best friend and sister, Betsie. These women were starving. They were freezing. They were surrounded by death. Many had lost husbands, children, parents. They had no idea if they would survive another week. The Allied liberation was coming, but they didn't know that yet. All they knew was darkness and suffering.

And yet, they gathered to celebrate Christmas.

Corrie later wrote about that Christmas in Ravensbrück. Despite the starvation and cruelty, despite the absolute horror of their circumstances, she testified: "Christ's light shone in the darkest place on earth."

Think about that statement. The darkest place on earth—and Christ's light was shining there. Not because circumstances were good. Not because there was any human reason for hope. But because Jesus was present with His people, even in a Nazi concentration camp.

The women sang Christmas carols quietly so the guards wouldn't hear. They shared whatever tiny scraps of food they had. They read the Christmas story from Corrie's smuggled Bible—the story of God becoming a baby, born in poverty, coming into a dark world to bring light and salvation. They prayed together. They encouraged one another to hold onto faith.

In the midst of hell on earth, they celebrated the birth of the Savior.

Just days after, on December 28, 1944, Corrie was released from Ravensbrück. She later learned it was due to a clerical error—a week later, all the women her age in the camp were sent to the gas chambers.

Corrie returned to the Netherlands and did exactly what Betsie had envisioned. She opened a rehabilitation center for concentration camp survivors. And then, for the next 33 years until her death in 1983, Corrie ten Boom traveled the world telling her story—sharing about God's faithfulness in Ravensbrück, the power of forgiveness, and the light of Christ that shines even in the darkest places.

Her book "The Hiding Place" has sold millions of copies and been translated into dozens of languages. I had my high school English class read it and we had some beautiful discussions. Her message has touched countless lives. And it all traces back to those moments in Ravensbrück—including that Christmas of 1944—when Christ's light shone in the darkest place on earth.

One of the most powerful parts of Corrie's story happened after the war. She was speaking in Germany about God's forgiveness when she saw a man approaching her—a man she recognized. He had been one of the cruelest guards at Ravensbrück. He didn't recognize her, but she knew exactly who he was.

He reached out his hand and asked her to forgive him. He had become a Christian and knew that God had forgiven him, but he wanted forgiveness from a former prisoner too.

Corrie wrote that her arm froze at her side. She couldn't do it. She who had spoken so much about forgiveness could not forgive. So she prayed silently: "Jesus, I cannot forgive him. Give me Your forgiveness."

And as she prayed, she was able to take his hand. She felt a current of warmth and healing go through her. She forgave him—not in her own strength, but in Christ's.

That's the power of the Gospel. That's what the Christmas story ultimately leads to—not just a baby in a manger, but a Savior who enables us to forgive the unforgivable because He first forgave us.

So why does this Christmas story from Ravensbrück matter for us today? Let me give you three reasons.

First, it reminds us that no darkness is too dark for Christ's light. Whatever you're facing this Christmas—grief, illness, broken relationships, financial hardship, spiritual doubt—Christ's light can shine there. If He was present in Ravensbrück, He is present in your situation.

Second, it shows us the power of God's Word. Corrie's smuggled Bible brought hope and salvation to women in a concentration camp. The Word of God is living and active—it has power to penetrate any darkness. Are we treasuring it, hiding it in our hearts, sharing it with others?

Third, it challenges us to forgive. If Corrie could forgive a Ravensbrück guard, what excuse do we have for holding onto bitterness? Christmas is about God's forgiveness coming into the world. As those who have received that forgiveness, we're called to extend it to others—even when it feels impossible.

Merry Christmas, friends. May Christ's light shine in whatever darkness you face this season.

Until next time, remember—keep your eyes on the nations, and never forget that there is no pit so deep that God's love is not deeper still.

You can listen to this in a podcast at Spotify podcast