Joseph and Julianna Burdon know all about that. Kids need food. Clothes. Furniture, for cryin’ out loud. And when teen son, Daniel, starts thinking about college? Well, might as well lop off an arm and leg and try to sell them on the secondary limbs market.

Joseph loves his family, and he does his best to provide for them. Why, he’s working on an account that just might move the family financial ledger in the right direction. More than that, he believes passionately in what he’s developing: a campaign to support the National Association of Firefighters. Joseph’s father had been a firefighter for decades. So for Joseph, this campaign is important on a host of levels. In a way, it’s about family.

And if that means ignoring his own family members for a few days—or weeks, or maybe months—well, that’s the price a dad must pay right?

No, wife Julianna says. She’s had it up to her eyeballs with Joseph’s job. It’s not like she doesn’t appreciate his work ethic. She knows that on some level, he’s doing it for her and the kids. But fatherhood’s about more than putting meat on the table: It’s about meeting your wife and kids at that table. It’s about going to soccer games and school plays. It’s about going fishing and taking long walks filled with conversation.

And it’s especially about engaging in a small family reunion with Joseph’s mom and dad on the family ranch. It’s especially about spending Easter weekend with each other—particularly when it might be the last Easter they ever have together.

Joseph’s dad, known as Poppa to the grandkids, sick. While no one talks about it much, Joseph and Julianna know he might not have much time left. To spend one last glorious Easter weekend together—boating, fishing, maybe playing a game or two of charades—that’s what’s important, Julianna believes. This is time the family won’t ever get back. The job can wait.

Yeah, yeah, Joseph says. But he’s on the home stretch with this all-important project. He’ll just work a few more hours Easter weekend. Just a few more phone calls. A few more finishing touches on his presentation, scheduled for … Saturday.

The same Saturday that Poppa was going to take the boat on the lake with everyone—maybe for the last time.

Joseph could use a little help with his priorities. Everyone else in the family sees that clearly. But how can they help him see it for himself?

Maybe a little book that Poppa wrote can help—one about a man who always had His priorities straight. Poppa called it Forty-Seven Days With Jesus, and Joseph loved hearing it when he was young. Maybe it’s time that Joseph passed the story onto his own kids. Maybe it’s time he internalized the story’s deeper messages himself.

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So, when two thuggish individuals pull a gun on him in a hotel lobby and call him by the name of Kaplan, Roger immediately thinks it must be a joke. Maybe the boys at the club have set up this hoodlum bit for a laugh.

But after a forced cab ride to a local estate, Roger isn’t quite sure what’s going on. It certainly isn’t amusing him.

Then he’s ushered into the library of another man, a Mr. Townsend, who also calls him by the name of George Kaplan. And this Townsend fellow seems to think he’s nothing less than a spy, a government agent. And he wants to bribe him to cooperate.

Now, Roger is ready to laugh, except for the fact that his kidnappers are all so deadly serious and holding guns. He earnestly tries to explain that’s it’s a simple case of mistaken identity, but his captors won’t hear a word of it. Must we continue these games, Mr. Kaplan, Townsend dryly murmurs. Then he orders his thugs to quietly take care of the matter.

Which means what, exactly? What is this “matter,” Roger wonders, and how do they intend to “take care” of it? One of the men pulls out a bottle of bourbon and intimates that he intends to see Roger drink the whole thing. Roger’s always up for a cocktail, but this is ridiculous.

The suave and always well-pressed advertising exec is now convinced that his evening isn’t going to end up at the theater as he was planning.

And he’s absolutely right.

In fact, Roger Thornhill is about to embark on the mystery-filled rollercoaster ride of his life.

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Yes, there’ve been exceptions. Add a little code here, twist a little wire there, and you could “jailbreak” a robot and allow it to run wild. And while sometimes those unimpeded robots make trouble—no one needs to be reminded of the Novgorod Insurrection—most are so excited about their newfound sentience that rebellion is the last thing on their newfound minds. Why fight when you can party?

So why did this robot—seemingly in a pleasant state of inactivity in this Mars university laboratory, and with no one fiddling with it in any way—suddenly rip off its restraints, leap from the table and threaten tech student Jun Chow? Why would it ignore all commands to shut down? And why would it then just … scamper away?

And most importantly, why would Jun and her roommate disappear, just hours later?

Private investigator Aline Ruby wants to know. She and her android partner, Carlos, are on the case.

Normally, Aline’s work is more straightforward. Why, her last case was a simple piece of work: Catching a so-called robot “emancipator” and sending her off to jail. Well, the sending-her-off-to-jail part didn’t work that well, actually; the warrant for the woman’s arrest somehow disappeared off the network. But other than that little hiccup, everything worked like a charm.

But this case feels different. It feels more weighty, somehow, than a straightforward missing person investigation. Jun’s disappearance must have something to do with that surprisingly independent robot.

But the more she and Carlos dig, the more interesting—and the more convoluted—the case becomes. And while they don’t know it, every step forward just might put them a step closer to their own very terminal ends.

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In the decades since her death at age 87 in 1997, however, unexpected details have emerged to flesh out this recently canonized Catholic saint’s secret struggle with spiritual darkness.

Mother Teresa & Me tells the story of this woman’s selfless service and her inner battle with searing spiritual doubts.

Mother Teresa’s dramatized biographical story is interwoven with a purely fictional one in the present. Here, we meet Kavita, a young British Indian woman who discovers she’s pregnant and who subsequently experiences an existential crisis of her own.

And it’s a crisis that’s ultimately reshaped by her own encounter with Mother Teresa’s legacy.

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Even in 1942, these little pocket-sized devices were practically taken for granted. They tick as they should, tock as they ought, keeping track of the minutes and hours as if ’twas no big deal.

But open a watch up—take a look at the guts—you’ll see what a big deal it is. The gears! The springs! Each playing its own part, each moving in unison, as if listening to secret music. We see the hands move. But rarely do we witness this hidden ballet, the design behind this prosaic piece of timekeeping.

But the ten Booms do.

For more than a century, the ten Boom family has made and repaired watches in Haarlem, Netherlands, delicately placing each gear and lever where it ought to be to ensure the thing works. It’s old Casper’s shop now, though oldest daughter Corrie is practically running the place these days. Betsie helps, too—though her real gifts lie not in metal gears and gizmos, but in soft earth and gentle petals. She loves her flowers. And she, like her beloved blooms, brings fresh color whenever she enters a room.

But now, with the world in war and the Netherlands under Nazi Germany’s thumb, the ten Booms are faced with some unexpected visitors.

For starters, Casper has taken a new apprentice under his wing: Otto, a severe young German who seems as much machine as man. “I work as efficiently as possible, and I expect my time to be treated likewise,” he snaps. He certainly has no use for Betsie’s flowers, which he sees as useless clutter. But the ten Booms are determined to shower every guest with hospitality—even suspected Nazis. So Betsie merely puts the flowers on another table: “You can use them whenever you find them most efficient for you,” she gently chides.

But soon, other visitors come: Jews, hungry and scared. Word of the ten Booms’ hospitality has gotten around. And even though pragmatic Corrie has concerns about drawing unwanted attention, Casper insists on keeping the door open.

“In this house, God’s people are always welcome,” he says.

For those familiar with the story of Corrie ten Boom, you know what follows: lives lost, lives saved. Broken hearts and buoyant hope. A powerful story of sacrifice, forgiveness, redemption and purpose.

When Otto first came through their door, Corrie said, “I cannot see what good can come of it.” When the Jews came, too, she struggled to see her own worry.

But behind it all, something—Someone—was at work, moving the gears to create a wonder.

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Those who are familiar with The Chosen might already know that “The Shepherd” isn’t really even an episode of the series proper at all. More like a “proto-pilot” or proof of concept. In the introduction to this presentation, Jenkins talks about how he filmed this new look at the Christmas story for his church in Illinois back in 2017. It was such an unexpected hit that it became the catalyst for The Chosen’s production.

Two Stories, Woven Together

Back in 2021, we reviewed Christmas With The Chosen: “The Messengers.” It gives us an intimate, gritty and profoundly tender glimpse into what Joseph and Mary’s desperate attempt to find lodging before Jesus’ arrival might have been like.

I won’t revisit that part of the story here, but rather point you back to our original review, as that story in its entirety is woven in here.

What may be new to many fans, however, is “The Shepherd.” This part of the story introduces us to Simon, who is, you guessed it, a poor and truly lowly shepherd.

Simon, you see, is lame in one leg, walking with a limp and a cane to support himself. He’s the butt of dismissive jokes, even among his fellow earthy sheep-minders. They want little to do with him, telling him to go sleep with the sheep while they joke coarsely (mostly making fun of Romans and Pharisees’ foibles) around a campfire in the countryside.

We also witness Simon’s painful attempt to bring a lamb to sacrifice at the temple—a sacrifice that’s rejected harshly by a Pharisee there who spots a blemish on the animal.

Indeed, blemish is the watchword here. Like the rejected animal not worthy of sacrifice, Simon, too, is rejected by everyone.

But Simon is closest to the miraculous events that transpire next. As Mary gives birth to Jesus in a dingy stable, a fierce wind snuffs out the shepherds’ torches, followed by a radiant display of heavenly light in the distance.

Lame leg notwithstanding, Simon runs to the source of the light: that equally lowly manger, where he and his fellow shepherds meet the baby Jesus.

When Simon and the shepherds spontaneously rush into their village to share what they’ve witnessed, Simon runs smack into the Pharisee who rejected him. “You!” the man says. “I told you not to come back here. So where is it? Have you found a spotless lamb for sacrifice?”

Simon simply smiles.

Sing We Now of Christmas

As was the case with the first Chosen Christmas special, this one likewise includes a number of artists singing Christ-focused Christmas carols, including: Andrea and Matteo Bocelli; Brandon Lake; Zach Williams; Matt Maher; Phil Wickham; Maverick City Music; Bryan and Katie Torwalt; Jordan Feliz; The Bonner Family; and the One Voice Children’s Choir.

Two monologues bookend the performances and story, one from Amanda Jenkins (Dallas’ wife), the other from Chosen writer Tyler Thompson. Both reflect upon the River Jordan as a metaphor for spiritual growth as well as an ever-present geographical touchstone in the life of Christ.

“Like the rippling currents of an ever-changing river,” Jenkins says, “God is on the move. And that means we must move, to make space in our hearts. Is there room in yours?”

Thompson later adds, “Wherever you are this Christmas, whether in the fresh pool of your own version of a promised land, or caught in the riptide of salt tears that won’t stop falling from your eyes, or somewhere in between, the living Christ, who walked along these very banks, sees you. … No matter what it looks like now, there will be peace in you, and around you, in mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled.”

From Quiet Desperation to Living Hope

Henry David Thoreau famously wrote, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” You can feel that desperation at times in this story. In Joseph. In Mary. In a lame shepherd trying so hard to find acceptance but experiencing only rejection.

Perhaps you feel that quiet desperation, too. I know I do.   

We live amid unceasing hustle and desperation. Pressure and deadlines. Demands and expectations. Secret hurts, hidden in our hearts, even as we go about our mostly mundane tasks: We work, we love, we sleep, we wonder. Sometimes we weep. And then we do it all over again the next day.

Our stories, they are each different. Yet each, paradoxically, is also the same: We make our way through our days, looking for meaning and purpose, aware in tender moments of those quiet aches in our joints, in our souls, in our relationships.

Watching Christmas With The Chosen: “Holy Night,” I felt all of that. And I was confronted anew with the startling story at the core of our faith: Jesus came into our world—our sweaty, bloody, weary world—to give us an anchor beyond the desperation that stalks our long days and sometimes longer nights. His first cries pierce the night, even as the shepherds burst through a barn door to witness His tiny majesty, knowing that this babe’s plaintive wails herald hope.

More than once watching this story, I felt tears welling up. Tears of my own tiredness, my own longing for hope, my own recognition of how easy—oh, how perilously, ridiculously easy—it is to lose track of what matters most.

But there He is, the one born in a lowly manger to two scared but beautifully trusting kids: Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us. Christmas With The Chosen: “Holy Night” imagines what that precious night might have looked like, pointing us once more toward Jesus. 

That is the message here. And oh how we need to be reminded of the hope that his birth still brings.

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That fact alone would seem completely miraculous, especially since the Pharoah had specifically declared that all first-born male Hebrews must be put to death. But that was only the beginning of the miraculous things that would happen to Moses.

Of course, they didn’t seem so wonderful or miraculous when they were happening.

When he ran across his real sister, Miriam, for instance, and she said that God had given her visions that Moses would be their people’s deliverer, Moses simply turned away. Why should Moses do anything to spoil the good fortune of being from the house of the Pharoah?

Moses’ close bond with his brother, Ramses, and his love for his father the Pharoah were far more valuable than any connection he might have with a Hebrew past.  

So then when he (almost accidentally) kills an Egyptian guard for mercilessly beating a slave, Moses is beside himself.

That foolish choice would be nothing but his own ruin. A child of Pharoah cannot be seen as a murderer. So he must leave Egypt. And how could anyone see the miraculous in something like that? But indeed, that is only one more step in a preordained path. Moses doesn’t want what’s in front of him. He never wanted it. But he will, some forty years hence, be empowered to return to Egypt as a messenger, one who will deliver the captive Hebrews from bondage.

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Throughout 2023, Taylor’s ticket sales and her own recent concert film dominated the music headlines. Meanwhile, Beyoncé’s faithful followers—the Beyhive, as they’re known—flocked to that singer’s equally outrageous stadium tour. It might not have made the news like Taylor’s tour did. But Queen Bey likely out-earned Swift, taking in as much as $4 billion according to estimates.

Watching this film, one could be forgiven for thinking it might have cost Beyoncé a couple billion dollars to bring her immense creative vision to life onstage. Unlike Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour, this film—written, directed and produced by Beyoncé herself—features documentary-style, behind-the-scenes footage and commentary.

In the film, we glimpse the brainstorming, the planning, the inner workings and the construction of this undeniably remarkable stage production. Ultimately, the film (like the stage show) is a love letter to fans. And more so than Taylor’s film, it’s also about the fans. The camera pictures them frequently. And they’re often weeping in worshipful joy at being in the proximity of their idol. Better than The Era’s Tour film, Renaissance captures the ecstatic experience of attending this show and its riveting performance by a generational powerhouse with very few peers.

Beyoncé is a tour de force here, singing, dancing, planning, plotting and loving everyone around her. That said, despite her artistic prowess, this documentary concert film embraces a surprising amount of problematic content, as we’ll see. 

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Frances Longfellow turned to her husband and told him that he should write a poem about Christmas.

“Christmas is already a poem, Fanny,” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow told her. “It doesn’t need my help.”

Most of America would’ve sided with Fanny, though.

Henry, who penned “Paul Revere’s Ride” And Evangeline, was the rare poet who mattered. His works were known not just by Ivy League literature professors, but by the guy who cleaned the professor’s chimneys. Back in the day, some said that Longfellow wasn’t just the country’s most famous poet: He might be its most famous person.

That Christmas, it would indeed seem as though America’s poet and his family had everything that could be wished or hoped for. Henry’s income paid for necessities and luxuries alike. Henry and Fanny were still deeply in love. Their home echoed with laughter and song.

But it was the last Christmas they would know such joy.

If you listened carefully underneath those peeling bells, you could hear the thunder of war drums. Abraham Lincoln had been elected President just the month before—a leader that the slave-owning South would not tolerate. The Civil War was only months away. Charley Longfellow, Henry’s oldest son, would love to join the Union army, if only his father would let him. But Henry once lost a daughter. He’s not about to lose a son, too.

And while Henry couldn’t know it then, another sort of devastation would visit him in the year to come—one that would scar him physically and emotionally, one that would leave him in a state of despair.

Christmas is already a poem, Henry said. But the Christmas of 1861 would be a very different day. Christmas that year needed all the help it could get.

And Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was in no shape to give it.

Editor’s Note: While the events documented in this movie took place more than 150 years ago, they’re not necessarily that familiar to most folks. And some are critical to the content sections that follow. There will be spoilers ahead.

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