Oh, I love the tree, the lights, the music, the food, but I do not like the pressure of making everyone happy for the sake of the season. The gift has to be perfect, the meal has to be just right, everyone has to get there on time. All that ceremony until the sound of ripping paper fades away. Everyone then retreats to their corners to fondle their treasures until the food comes out. We eat too much for comfort, drink too much to keep our heads, and sometimes stay to long.
Then we head home with selective memories of "how wonderful" a Christmas we've had, comparing it to the nostalgic, magical Christmas' we may have had as a child. The tree was bigger then, the lights brighter, the smells richer. However, as a Web friend of mine says, "Nostalgia is a seductive liar."
Hopefully, in the year ahead, we'll reflect on the intention that went into the gifts we unwrapped as we fold the into the fabric of our daily lives. Some gifts will be eaten, others read/watched then given away, some stored out-of-sight until Aunt Whose-It comes back to visit. Still more may end up on a garage sale table to become the neighbor's bargain treasure.
Only 363 shopping days left till Christmas!
Augh! Leave me in my ignorant bliss until at least Halloween. After all, isn't that when the ghosts of Christmas-yet-to-come decorate the shelves of Walmart?
What I miss most at Christmas is the personal solitude and time for reflection. Christmas in America has become so high octane that, when asked about our reason for the season, we unroll a list of to-do's that makes Santa's toy list pale in comparison. Family activity, holiday cheer, and presents are used to upstage the personal Gift which awaits us; this Gift requires unwrapping in the stillness of a quiet heart.
If we're not careful we will miss this plainly packaged Gift. Tradition has attempted to robe it in mystique and wonder. It's been dressed in unsoiled clothing, center-pieced in Christmas pageants, relegated to fireplace mantel's once-a-year, surround by plastic, lighted figurines in front yards and before churches. By making the story and it's players so "sacred" we make the Gift unapproachable.
As I write this, I am looking at a six-inch nail which hangs near the trunk of our Christmas tree. It's not gold, silver, or gilded; just plain rusty iron, hanging from a blood-red ribbon. That spike is a reminder to me of the ultimate purpose the Gift was given. Starry-eyed wise men, singing angels, smelly shepherds, a murderous king, a no-vacancy hotel, and a newborn's cry are nothing more than another touching holiday story without the shadow of the spike and the cross. That is why He came to our planet, and Roman torture was where He was headed.
Why should I consider this MY Gift? In a world of little wonder, little hope, and little future, He wanted us to know He was not only for us but WITH us. One of the Gift's names was Immanuel. In it's original language it means, "God with us." Not 'God above us', or 'somewhere in the neighborhood God'; not 'God with the religious' or 'God with the rich.'
As far as Earthmaker was concerned, prophets weren't enough. Miracles and messages needed more. Apostles wouldn't do. Angels didn't fit the bill. He sent Himself, "he took on flesh and bone and lived among us." (John 1:14)
This is a tough concept to wrap my mind around. As the writer Max Lucado puts it;
"He swims in Mary's womb. Wiggles in the itchy manger straw. Totters learning to walk. Bounces on the back of a donkey. God with us. He knows hurt . . . His siblings. He knows hunger . . . Eats raw wheat. Knows exhaustion . . . Sleeps in a storm-tossed boat. Knows betrayal . . . Invests 3 years in Judas and get a kiss. Experienced pain . . . Felt the whip, the nail and the tiara of thorns."And when the Gift endured Earthmaker's rejection . . . "Papa, Papa, why have you turned your back on me?" . . . He did it so it would be my experience ONLY if I rejected the Gift.
Jesus may be the Gift given to the World 2000 years ago, but He had me in mind. He may be "GOD with me", but wants to be "God WITH me;" with my family conflicts, with my time at work, with my leisure musing, with my creativity, with my concerns and challenges. It's not meant to be intrusive or guilt-laden, but a comfort. He is with me and for me.
That is the message of the season for me. He is the Gift that keeps on giving in February, in July, in October.
"The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood. . . Generous inside and out, true from start to finish." (John 1:14 The
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