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Lilies from Heaven

The Christmas Story Told by an Angel

12/26/2013

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To say that His birth was opposed is to touch the limits of mortal language.  The mighty one has been hated since the pride of the bright one led many away.  Your world war comes close, but even then, believe me, you have no idea.

We sang that night as we had never sung before.  Those shepherds believed they were the primary audience.  True, they were important — the Mighty One has always favored the lowly.  But there was much going on that night.  The other reason we sang in the fields was to hallow the ground where Rachel would weep over her sons.  There the graves would be dug, the graves for the little boys of Bethlehem. 

Herod’s rage soon stripped dozens of firstborns from the breasts of their mothers.  Those so fresh from heaven, so quickly silenced.  Slaughtered like animals.  So much blood.

The town had no room for Mary, and Herod’s heart had no room for another king.  He would not share his glory.

Although we do not exist in time, there are moments when the affairs of earth are hard to endure.  Even Angels desire vengeance. 

“Vengeance is Mine,” declared the Mighty One.  “Justice is coming.  I need you to sing.”

And so we sang. What the shepherds heard as an anthem the innocents would hear as a lullaby.  We sang as we had never sang before. A song to bring Him safely into the world, a song to guide them safely from it, and a song to help Mary endure it:

Glory to God in the heavenly heights,                             
Fly, fly to the breast of the Father,                                     
This wrong will be righted,     
Jesus is here,                      
Peace to all men and women on earth                               
who please Him.                   
Rest, rest in the arms of the Father,                                  
His fury remembers,                
His love holds you dear.   

Many do not sing of this horror at Christmas.  That is understandable; it was an unspeakable deed.  But I remind you that His birth was opposed.  You have no idea.

(This version of the Christmas Story has been adapted from Touching Wonder: Recapturing the Awe of Christmas by John Blasé)

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The Christmas Story from Joseph's Perspective

12/23/2013

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This story brings out Joseph's humanity...

Do you know who reminds me of me these days?  It’s old Job, the faithful, the sufferer. He lived according to the will of the Almighty, yet all was taken away.  I, also, have lived by the commandments.  No one had forced me; it was my decision.

Before that dream, I had other dreams.  Those dreams were without angels.  They were dreams of Mary and children.

In the days after Mary confirmed what I had been told, I thought of the lines from Job’s drama: “Curse God and die.”  If you do not be lieve there were moments when that invitation was tempting, then you make me out to be something I am not. I am just a man.  A carpenter.

But curse the mighty one? I would not, for I‘d had that dream. A carpenter works with what he can see and feel: a corner angle and the heft of wood.  But here, I was chasing a dream.  The afternoon of my life looked nothing like the morning.

So, on to Bethlehem it was.  We had known the census was coming, but the timing was horrible.  While we were there, Mary had gone into labor.  It was time. In that moment my dreams of always being able to provide for my family were snatched away.  I could not find a decent place for her to deliver this child.  Voices of shame raged against me.  “You are just a carpenter Joseph.  Who are you to accompany the only Son of God?  He is not even your son.  Why are you walking away from all you’ve built just because of a dream?”

“No room.”

“We have no room.”

“Look, son. I see your need.  There is room in my stable and that’s all I can offer.  Take it.  You should have made better plans.”

I am dismayed at how that night is remembered.  It was not a production, a staged affair.  That is blasphemous.  It was a birth.  I was scared.  She was scared.   I had witnessed cattle being born, but never a child.  There were no bright lights, no animals moving on cue, no singing. 

He came as all come, bathed in the lifeblood of His mother.  His conception was divine, but his birth was of the earth. 

The dream I chased had my back against a stable wall, my fiancé asleep in blood-red hay, skittish animals as onlookers, and my hands filled with a son not my own.


Adapted from Touching Wonder: Recapturing the Awe of Christmas by John Blasé.

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The Christmas Story From Mary's Perspective

12/22/2013

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May the following story bless you this Christmas season as we begin again to understand God with us, Emmanuel.

Gabriel has said, “Mary, you have nothing to fear.”

As I lay on my back, I searched the openings of light for an angelic return.  I needed to hear those words again, but I could not.  My hearing was dulled by all the noise, but I smelled everything.  Wet hay.  Joseph’s sweat.  The dung of oxen and sheep.  And I smelled my own fear.

I felt everything as well.  The hay prickling my calf.  Joseph’s hand steadying me.  The body heat of animals nearby.  The brooding between my legs.  And the fear.

“Joseph, help me to my knees.”

When you are afraid, you reach out for the familiar.  In that moment I wanted to feel my knees.  When Gabriel first stood before me, I was holding my knees.  Now that the time was coming, I wanted to feel them once more, get my bearings.  If this Son would truly hold the throne of David, then I would birth Him on bended knee. 

A part of me had expected divine intervention, a lightening of the birth.  But it never came.  For the Son of the Highest to be also the Son of Man, He had to be tested in all the ways as we are, including His birth.

“Let … it ..”

“I’m here Mary.  Just a little more.” My dear Joseph’s voice.

“Let … it … be … to …”

“His head, Mary.  I see it.”

“Let … it … be … to … me.”

Then a sound pierced my heart.  His cry.

Still on my knees I reached between my legs and raised my newborn son.  “Truly, this is the Son of God.”

Adapted from Touching Wonder: Recapturing the Awe of Christmas by John Blasé.

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Calm and Bright

12/5/2013

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The first week of Advent has been a flurry of activity.  Students are handing in assignments, last minute homework checks, christmas ornaments on the tree, stories being shared with the children, and very little reflection on HIM.

Flurries, busyness, activities, meals, and only a little of HIM.

Isn't that how it goes?  The season is planned, cookies are baked, prayers are said, meals are shared, and yet we seem to reflect only a little on the baby in the manger.

Advent is this season of waiting.  We are always waiting for Christ but the ache is more apparent in this season.

And then I heard "Silent Night".  For the first time, I was struck by the lines, "All is calm, All is bright."  These words do not seem in sync with one another at all.  They contrast, but it isn't jarring.  Together they evoke a longing and a curiosity.  

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Whisper them together now, under your breath.  Really.  No one is listening.  "Calm and bright.  Calm and bright."  What do you feel?

Calm.  I feel peace.  Peace in His Presence.  Bright.  I feel light and lightness.  Together.  Calm and bright.  I feel peace, hope, and welcome.  I am expectant.  Another moment of immanence and transcendence.  

The calming peace of Christ lies in his nearness.  He has come.  He is here. He is close by. 

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The brightness of hope is, in baby form, not too much too overwhelm.  His transcendence is a flame that could incinerate and stupefy the merest man or woman - but in the Christ child it is a bright gleam of hope that I am not afraid to be near.  Because "all is calm, all is bright," I can sleep in the heavenly peace of Christ.

Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you.  Do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful..." John 14:27 NASB

During this season of joyful waiting, longing for the birth of Christ and the world's rebirth, I am struck by the beauty of it all.  The waiting and the longing, this spiritual homing device that has been placed in our hearts by God to lead us back to Him.  

As Psyche realizes in Till We Have Faces (C.S. Lewis), "It almost hurt me...like a bird in a cage when the other birds of its kind are flying home...The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing...to find the place where all the beauty comes from...The longing for home."

Advent ache is real.  All is calm.  All is bright.  All is beautiful. As. We. Wait. For. Him.


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