Celebrate the Nativity

Seated at the great desk, the Author opens the large book. It has no words. It has no words because no words exist. No words exist because no words are needed. There are no ears to hear them, no eyes to read them. The Author is alone.
And so he takes the great pen and begins to write. Like an artist gathers his colors and a woodcarver his tools, the Author assembles his words.
There are three. Three single words. Out of these three will pour a million thoughts. But on these three words, the story will suspend.
He takes his quill and spells the first. T-i-m-e.
Time did not exist until he wrote it. He, himself, is timeless, but his story would be encased in time. The story would have a first rising of the sun, a first shifting of the sand. A beginning...and an end. A final chapter. He knows it before he writes it.
Time. A footspan on eternity's trail.
Slowly, tenderly, the Author writes the second word. A name. A-d-a-m.
As he writes, he sees him, the first Adam. Then he sees all the others. In a thousand eras in a thousand lands, the Author sees them. Each Adam. Each child. Instantly loved. Permanently loved. To each he assigns a time. To each he appoints a place. No accidents. No conincidences. Just design.
The Author makes a promise to these unborn: In my image, I will make you. You will be like me. You will laugh. You will create. You will never die. And you will write.
They must. For each life is a book, not to be read, but rather a story to be written. The Author starts each life story, but each life will write his or her own ending.
What a dangerous liberty. How much safer it would have been to finish the story for each Adam. To script every option. It would have been simpler. It would have been safer. But it would not have been love. Love is only love if chosen.
So, the Author decides to give each child a pen. "Write carefully," he whispers.
Lovingly, deliberately, he writes the third word, already feeling the pain. E-m-m-a-n-u-e-l.
The greatest mind in the universe imagined time. The truest judge granted Adam a choice. But it was love that gave Emmanuel, God with us.
The Author would enter his own story.
The Word would become flesh. He, too, would be born. He, too, would be human. He, too, would have feet and hands. He, too, would have tears and trials.
And most importantly, he, too, would have a choice. Emmanuel would stand at the crossroads of life and death and make a choice.
The Author knows well the weight of that decision. He pauses as he writes the page of his own pain. He could not stop. Even the Author has a choice. But how can a Creator not create? How can a Writer not write? And how can Love not love? So he chooses life, though it means death, with hope that his children will do the same.
And so the Author of Life completes the story. He drives the spike in the flesh and rolls the stone over the grave. Knowing the choice he will make, knowing the choice all Adams will make, he pens, "The End," then closes the book and proclaims the beginning.
"Let there be light!"
-Max Lucado, A Gentle Thunder


Who recognized him? Who expected him? Who accepted him? Who listened and followed?

It was not the religious establishment.
Not the elite.
Not the highly respected.
Not even the scholars (except those few from Persia).
It wasn't the high priest.
Not the pious who were righteous in their own eyes.
Not those making a name for themselves.
Not those seeking power and fortune.

It was the lowly.

The humble in heart.

Those who knew how big God is, and how small they were.

The hearts that sought truth honestly.

The nobodies.

The ignored.

The working class: the carpenters, the fishermen.

The shunned, the silent: the women.

The needy.

We hope that you and your families are remembering with joy

that Immanuel came to walk among us that day long ago. And that He's coming again!

Merry Christmas!!

I'll leave you with a favorite carol...

O come, O come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free

Thine own from Satan's tyranny

From depths of Hell

Thy people save

And give them victory o'er the grave

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer

Our spirits by

Thine advent here

Disperse the gloomy clouds of night

And death's dark shadows put to flight.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Key of David, come,

And open wide our heavenly home;

Make safe the way that leads on high,

And close the path to misery.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, O come, Thou Lord of might,

Who to Thy tribes, on Sinai's height,

In ancient times did'st give the Law,

In cloud, and majesty and awe.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.