They say miracles don't ever happen. So when it comes time to celebrate one, they stuff it with other things--things with no meaning, no significance. Like gaudy, ribbon-bedecked wrapping paper on an empty carboard box, they manage to dance around the realness, the aliveness, the gloriousness of this special season with songs of gifts and happiness and everything being so perfect.
But there are two things that can't be danced around. We aren't perfect, and miracles happen.
Have you ever seen anything more messy, more broken, more strangled by darkness than us?
O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie, above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by...
What if they're right? What if miracles don't exist? What if nothing ever broke our deathly silence?
In that case, forget all about it. Just let us sleep, tossing uneasily, slipping back into the shadows until we stop twitching and finally let our breath die away. Let our hearts grow cold as they slow. Let death's grip tighten.
Because without a miracle, no little glimmer of light would ever shine. Nothing would bring us to life, no warmth would ever wash over us.
Funny thing is, it did.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light. The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.
The people walking in great darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned. --Isaiah 9:2
Merry Christmas, everybody!
No comments:
Post a Comment