Such a lovely room

Such a lovely room

Thursday, December 24, 2020

Christmas Eve


Well, we’ve finally arrived at the home stretch.  We’ve been planning and waiting and starting and cancelling and  . . . so many things to get to now.  Of course, I am writing this to you from more than a month ago.  A lot will have changed between now and then.  But what has not changed is God’s insistence on sending good news into our troubled world and lives.  No matter what happens, God is always sending the Savior.  Now matter what we do, God is always saying, “I can work with that.”  The baby whose birth we are celebrating is the yearly reminder that God is present in our lives, and always will be, year, after year, after year, after year . . .

The woodblock print above is by Eric Gill, one of my favorite artists.  It hangs above the desk in my office.  A tiny little print in a huge oversized frame.  And that seems fitting on so many levels.  A tiny little event like the birth of a baby, born among animals, behind a sold-out motel, plays out on the backdrop of entire scope of human history as something of immense importance.  This baby is born, and this world will never be the same. 

On this day, Christmas Eve, we typically have one of the biggest gatherings of our church year.  Hundreds of people usually gather in our sanctuary to sing familiar carols, listen to our choir in top-notch form, light candles, and sing Silent Night, while staring at the glistening lights on the Christmas trees flanking the High Altar.  It’s a big canvas to display a tiny event—just like the woodcut above my desk.

But this year, we don’t have the canvas.  We don’t have the frame.  We only have the woodcut.  Which is exactly the thing that matters.  This baby is born, and this world is changed.  Keep your eyes on the woodcut, because the frame is just a frame.  There will be other frames in the years ahead, but there is only one woodcut. 

Oh come, let us adore him!

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