It’s Christmas night. The midnight hour has chimed and I should be asleep, but I’m awake. I’m kept awake by one stunning thought. The world was different this week. It was temporarily transformed.
The magical dust of Christmas glittered on the cheeks of humanity ever so briefly, reminding us of what is worth having and what we were intended to be. We forgot our compulsion with winning, wooing, and warring. We put away our ladders and ledgers, we hung up our stopwatches and weapons. We stepped off our racetracks and roller coasters and looked outward toward the star of Bethlehem.
It’s the season to be jolly because, more than at any other time, we think of him. More than in any other season, his name is on our lips. And the result? For a few precious hours our heavenly yearnings intermesh and we become a chorus. A ragtag chorus of longshoremen, lawyers, illegal immigrants, housewives, and a thousand other peculiar persons who are banking that Bethlehem’s mystery is in reality, a reality. “Come and behold him” we sing, stirring even the sleepiest of shepherds and pointing them toward the Christ-child.
All of sudden he’s everywhere. In the grin of the policeman as he drives the paddy wagon full of presents to the orphanage. In the emotion of the father who is too thankful to finish the dinner table prayer. He’s in the tears of the mother as she welcomes home her son from overseas. And he’s in the solemn silence of the crowd of mall shoppers as the elementary school chorus sings “Away in a Manger.”
Immanuel. He is with us. God came near.
It’s Christmas night. In a few hours the cleanup will begin—lights will come down; trees will be thrown out. Size 36 will be exchanged for size 40; eggnog will go on sale for half price. Soon life will be normal again. December’s generosity will become January’s payments and the magic will begin to fade.
But for the moment, the magic is still in the air. Maybe that’s why I’m still awake. I want to savor the spirit just a bit more. I want to pray that those who beheld him today will look for him next August. And I can’t help but linger on one fanciful thought: If he can do so much with such timid prayers offered lamely in December, how much more could he do if we thought of him every day?
Gracious Father, I thank you that there are no limits to when you will come to us. You still come near, every day, when we come and behold you. Help me to focus the eyes of my heart on you today and take your presence with me wherever I go. In Jesus’ name, amen.
