I laugh, I rejoice, I weep with wonder when I comprehend the accessibility of the gospel during the Christmas season. In the cacophony of carols there it is, set to a tune everyone finds familiar though the holy infant remain a stranger. He remains foreign to many longing hearts, but not for distance.
He is present in the clamor, in the noise of the money making and the money spending. His presence is evident in the trappings. We reenact year after year, like unaware mimes in a drama, the prompting of God’s very heart to give, to bring delight, to make merry, to banish loneliness, to heal sorrow. And upon God’s arrival to our terrain, the same instinct was felt by the Wisemen, who in their giving, worshiped, and through their generous celebration provided the monetary means for the Christ child to flee for his life.
We give while unseeing, unbelieving. We light the tree buried in our darkness. We feel empathy for those who have not, never grasping Love condescending to our own poverty. And should we upon entering the forest of conifers to select an evergreen for lassoing with lights, discover every tree to be harvested, would never doubt our destination. We’d blame our own delay. The heavy carpet of fallen needles, the lingering fragrance of pine would lend evidence to their domain.
And so it is, the sales, the feasting, the ribbons, the Santas, the music that plays in every retail venue the same time every year, they are the needles on the forest floor, the scent of a Savior among us, reminders of whose domain we’re stepping on. This is my Father’s world, the world that He so loved. The world He penetrated with a miraculous entry unlike any other for the sake of drawing us near to His side. How appropriate for His world to turn so others minded at the darkest season of the calendar year. In our preparation to share our bounty and blessings, we imitate what He initiated, tolling like bells the joyous occasion, Christ has come!
And He remains. His nearness is continually trumpeted from the glory of the heavenlies. It is shouted through the din of our existence. I heard it, I witnessed again this morning coming across the air in the voice of Ray Conniff:
1The heavens proclaim the glory of God.
The skies display his craftsmanship.
2 Day after day they continue to speak;
night after night they make him known.
3 They speak without a sound or word;
their voice is never heard.
4 Yet their message has gone throughout the earth,
and their words to all the world. (Psalm 19)
“…Even without having heard it…they demonstrate that God’s law is written in their hearts, for their own conscience and thoughts either accuse them or tell them they are doing right.” (Romans 2:14,15)
