All the world’s been praying; who will save?
It’s 2:30 a.m. and I’ve finally finished everything I needed to do before heading over to my parents’ house in (gulp) three and a half hours. Guess I won’t be getting any sleep. Why, exactly, are children programmed to wake up so early? Especially on Christmas?
My brother, sister and I were the same way when we were little. My brother and I got very little sleep. One of us would finally go in and wake up the other at around three or four in the morning, and then we’d eventually go get our sister, and we’d spend the rest of the time watching the minutes tick by slowly on the clock and seeing what kinds of shapes we could make out in the darkened living room. (Of course, we always swore we’d heard Santa. Or reindeer. Or both.) My parents had a rule on Christmas morning: we couldn’t wake them up until 6 a.m., and we couldn’t go into the living room until they had the coffee going.
Kailin and Emily have caught onto the Santa excitement. On Tuesday night, Emily told my father as he made a fire that he better not make one on Christmas Eve, or else Santa Claus would “get burned.” She told me the same thing. I just smiled and nodded and didn’t bother to tell her that I don’t have a fireplace, and even if I did, the odds I’d make a fire would be slim to none. I am terrified of fire. It’s a miracle I can even light a candle.
Anyway, I’ve always loved Christmas, but this year I have loved it even more. And yeah, sure, the decorations and the excitement and the food and the music are wonderful, but I have been really feeling Christmas’ true meaning. Christmas carols like “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” and “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” whose words I’d memorized as a kid but never really contemplated have taken on a whole new meaning.
Tonight at our Christmas Eve service, Jeff started things off by showing the last few minutes of Shawshank Redemption. The parallel about hope and journeys was awesome. Earlier while we were singing, after some of the traditional carols, we sang “How Great Is Our God.” I was holding Elijah, who was staring with rapt attention at all the lights on the stage, and occasionally clapping his little silent clap, and I was just overcome. I’m not sure how anyone can get through that entire song without breaking down, but it was especially meaningful for me tonight.
One of the things I’ve learned from reading Rob Bell is that yes, the Bible is the inspired, inherent word of God, but that it didn’t just fall out of the sky. It was written by men in context of their culture. Every single word is there for a reason. Nothing is by accident, and everything is parallelled and fraught with meaning.
Recently I was thinking about Mary.
The Jews had spent the majority of their existence in captivity or under some form of oppressive government. At the time of Jesus’ birth, it was the Romans who were exercising their power. The Jews yearned for Messiah to come and liberate them. They expected some swaggering warrior to come and immediately overthrow the Roman government.
Mary must’ve been no different. An average girl from an average family, and all of a sudden an angel appears out of the blue to tell her that not only is she going to be pregnant, but that she will be pregnant with Messiah.
A baby.
Last time I checked, babies weren’t exactly intimidating, and yet this was to be the rescuer of the Jewish people.
And yet Mary believed. It must’ve been surreal to think that the baby who you’re rocking to sleep in your arms, the baby who is dependent on you for his every need, is the Savior of the world.
Alyssa, Lauren and Becca Barlow contemplated something similar as they were putting together their Christmas CD, and they wrote a song from Mary’s point of view.
It is absolutely breathtaking. Even the New York Times raved about it. Alyssa’s voice is exquisite, and the harmony gives me chills.
My favorite line?
“Praise to God on high; He has heard our cry…”
Merry Christmas.
