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Sight for sore eyesFriday, December 27, 2013
1 John 1:1-2 On Christmas Eve it is easier to believe. To believe in Jesus the baby who is God and man. Fully God and fully man. The theology of the Nicene Creed is kind of ... beside the point. Almost unnecessary. Jesus just is. The four Advent candles are extinguished, but the Christ candle brightens the church, and in the darkness it provides the fire that we carry to each other, to each other's fragile candle. The candle glows, we sing and sing, and my heart rests. It's a little touchy, holding a candle for very long. It tips, and wax falls on my hand. The breezes in the room brush up on the flame and it threatens to go out. I cover it with my other hand, and have to be careful so I won't get burned. So we move on. We create kerosene lanterns, and gas lights, and electric lights, and fluorescence, and lasers, and LEDs ... and here we are. So many choices about how we light up our life. Candles are mostly a romance, or a last resort, or stored for emergency warmth and light in a snowbound car. But on Christmas Eve candles are the light of choice. Because one light in the middle of the darkness can multiply quickly, oh so quickly, until all of us can look around and see just a glimpse of Jesus in each other's face. And believe. Light of the world, you step down in our darkness, and open our eyes and let us see. It is tempting to close my eyes to this bright light. Open my eyes again and again, Lord. Your blessing never ends. |
On Christmas Eve I am easily amazed. I think many of us are easily amazed. I don't mean that in a bad way; what I mean is that we are more like open-minded children and less like seasoned or jaded adults. We put up fewer mental barricades to magic, to the naturally supernatural.