Dear companions. As we close out yet another advent season, I want to encourage you all, along with myself, not to let the reality of "God With Us" slip away with the season. It's easy in this world of skeptics and mockers of the supernatural to take Christ's birth as only a symbol or a nice story. To keep it at arms length lest we be laughed at or not taken seriously.
The fact is, in spite of today's declarations of relativity, everyone believes some sort of truth, and bows down to it. You will not find a person alive who doesn't believe fully and absolutely in something. So what will you believe in? Some people believe in themselves. For me, I've only found in myself a disappointing circus of failures. Some believe in money and physical wealth. I've found that in no way can wealth bring people together, or fill the void in someone's heart. Some believe in people, but people betray, kill, steal and commit such atrocities that tear apart rather than bind in healing. At some point or another, every single person I've ever known has let me down, disappointed me, betrayed me, or otherwise shown himself to be less than human. Still others turn to nature for salvation, but nature is a hard mistress which shows no pity to the broken, the weak, the powerless.
In the end, only in God have I found a power capable of taming my stubborn heart, of pulling me outside myself, of helping me understand beautiful things, of giving me a reason to keep on keeping on. His power is real, and I can't demonstrate that to you by any scientific method, or quantify it with any sort of mathematical equation, but it's a power so real that I'd stake my life on it. I'd give up everything I own, everything on this earth I love rather than part with Christ. Maybe that sounds foolish to you, maniacal, even, but maybe that just proves just how real God is, especially those of you who know me as the coldly rational person that I am. I'm not afraid to say no. I scoff at airy theories, and it's rather difficult to scam me.
Yet, what can I do but kneel before a power that transcends all others and a love that begets all true loves.
This is the truth, the one, the only truth, my friends. I can't convince you through physical senses, but I hope that maybe, somewhere, if it hasn't already, God's truth will touch you tonight. For those of you who are in my boat, rejoice with me this lovely Christmas day as we celebrate God's glorious gift to mankind.
This is indeed a wond'rous truth. Merry Christmas, my dear friends, and may God bless us, every one.
We've all had hard things happen in our lives. I know I haven't had many trials to speak of, but still, I don't think any of can say we've led a painless life, untouched by the sin that ravages our world. This afternoon as I was reading the world magazine and getting myself tied up into a knot by all the crazy madness that is going on in this world of angst, I suddenly had to lay it down and remind myself that it wasn't my job to worry about what every politician was scheming and what every country was plotting against its citizens. My job is to be faithful in the sphere in which God has put me. To do the best I can to water my own square of ground. To weed the garden plot over which I've been given oversight.
Still, though, the cares of life just seem to always creep in nonetheless. I wonder sometimes, how we are able to actually have joy when we truly comprehend the sin and evil that is perpetrated every day on our planet. How can we say that all is well?
We couldn't, not truly at least, until God's Son was born that night so many Christmases ago. Only when we received the precious gift of redemption, the fulfillment that everything would be made right, that was the moment when we could again lift our heads with true joy.
It's a glorious thought, because, honestly, my friends, in order to keep going on in this difficult world, I have to know that things will come round right, that all will be well. And it is. Christ's birth made that possible.
I never thought I'd be sharing a Michael Smith song, I'm not usually keen on his music, but this song, "All Is Well," is not only musically magnificent, but deeply true as well.
Christ has come, let's go tell the world that all is well.
Christmas should be joyful. It should be one of the happiest seasons of the year. Perhaps that first Christmas was not only heralding joy but bringing a promise of real joy to come; that joy of which we we have now is only a shadow.
Fear not! Today's carol is not "Joy to The World" we've all heard it too many times this season.
Instead, a song that's a little less performed and far newer, but absolutely beautiful.
You may have heard of a Christian song called "In Christ Alone." written by Stuart Townend and Keith Getty. Well, this magnificent and triumphant Christmas hymn was written by the same duo.
"Joy Has Dawned" is so rich lyrically that I'm posting the lyrics below. Let me know if you've heard it and if not, what you think.
Joy has dawned upon the world, Promised from creation— God’s salvation now unfurled, Hope for ev’ry nation. Not with fanfares from above, Not with scenes of glory, But a humble gift of love— Jesus born of Mary.
Sounds of wonder fill the sky With the songs of angels As the mighty Prince of Life Shelters in a stable. Hands that set each star in place, Shaped the earth in darkness, Cling now to a mother’s breast, Vuln’rable and helpless.
Shepherds bow before the Lamb, Gazing at the glory; Gifts of men from distant lands Prophesy the story. Gold—a King is born today, Incense—God is with us, Myrrh—His death will make a way, And by His blood He’ll win us.
Son of Adam, Son of heaven, Given as a ransom; Reconciling God and man, Christ, our mighty champion! What a Savior! What a Friend! What a glorious myst’ry! Once a babe in Bethlehem, Now the Lord of hist’ry.
With only two days left 'till Christmas and tensions of family and comercialism ever yapping at your heels, don't forget to rejoice.
What is the heart of Christmas? Answers vary, I believe, but I think we can agree that love is at it's depths. It's part of the reason I hate the way people are trying to turn it into a day centered around Santa Claus and presents. It seems to be that we're losing, in that, most of the purpose of Christmas.
The night love came down as a babe in a manger. Love, the most powerful force on earth. One that is neither idealistic or make-believe, and yet cannot be contacted with any of the physical senses. Love is the authority to which all others bow, the conqueror of the mightiest kings, the deadliest sins. Love; a word so easily turned on its head and made to mean something contemptible. A word which only begins to touch a reality too deep for any of us to truly comprehend.
I don't think I have anything more to say on that score, so I'll give you your song now. You see, I've just been struck with a thought about the whole thing that I don't think I ever realized, but currently if I tried to vocalize it, I'm afraid you'd think me quite off my head so the above paragraphs will have to suit for the present. Let's just say I've been astounded afresh by the greatness God's love for us.
Do take a moment and think on it as you listen to what I might call a 'musing' on the meaning of Christmas.
God's love for us is so great, so all encompasing, how can we not follow where ever it leads!
Speaking strictly for myself. Fear is huge part of what drives life. Fear of failure, fear of disappointing people I care about, fear of rejection, fear of wasting my life and talents, fear of not being able to do what needs to be done, fear of how others will perceive me, fear of being wrong.
If I'm not careful these fears can almost completely rule my actions. It's something I've lived with so long that I begin to forget just how much fear is meshed into the very fabric of my moral character. That, in itself, is frightening. It's one thing to know one shouldn't fear those things, it's one thing to try to act in spite of those fears, it's another to actually get rid of them.
When the angel came to the Shepherds that night, he opened his speech with the one liner every angel in recorded history has had to say when dealing with people.
"Do not be afraid."
We can all sympathize with the Shepherds, I think. To be suddenly greeted by a being from a heavenly realm can't be something even the staunchest of people could take quietly.
What the angel follows up with, however, I think puts greater meaning into his first statement.
"Behold, I bring you good news of great joy, which shall be for all the people."
When you bring someone a piece of good news that's, in fact, good news for everybody, I think that would be the day we saw pink elephants dancing through the stratosphere.
The point is, usually, and I mean no cynicism when I say this, when someone gets good news, it's very often, in turn, bad news for someone else. You get accepted into the college of your dreams, it means someone else was bumped out. You receive that long awaited visa into the U.S. while someone else is told to wait another six months. You win that full scholarship, and someone else is given nothing to pay for his tuition. The list could go on. I don't want to dampen the joy of receiving good things, but just think, how glorious this news must have been, when, in one of today's shameful platitudes, "everyone's a winner."
It's interesting to think that, in this case, when the angel cried "fear not!" he wasn't simply assuring the Shepherds that he wasn't there to destroy them for their sins, but was also informing a whole generation of people that they no longer had to live in fear. We no longer have to fear that we won't be enough. Christ is enough. We don't have to fear failure, because in Christ we are more than conquerors. We don't have to fear that we'll waste our lives, because Christ who began a good work in us will complete it. We don't have to fear being wrong because in Christ we have victory. We don't have to fear what people think of us because if God is for us, none can stand against us.
What a glorious call, that night. The Shepherds had no idea, in some sense, none of us has more than the vaguest notion of what it means to fear nothing and no-one but God. And yet, I believe that in that one and right fear, we have freedom from the rest, and freedom to live our lives fully.
Dwell on that for a moment as you listen to this beautiful carol reworked for choir by Craig Courtney.
We no longer have to live in fear. When the angel commanded the Shepherds not to fear it was an echo of a greater reality, because Christ has come to set us free from all of it.
I think last year I mentioned something about European's fascination with mixing snow and Christmas carols. It's true that 'most every European Christmas carol in existence manages to sneak something in about either snow or the fact that it was a very cold winter night. And yet, the fact remains, that in the country of Israel depending on what time of year the incarnation actually took place, there was very probably no snow, and it's four to one that it wasn't a bitterly cold winter night. Regardless, I still sing these beautiful old carols, and a lot of them still contain very profound nuggets of truth, nonetheless.
I'm going to share with you one of my very favorite carols, up there with "Shepherd's Pipe Carol" and "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear."
This is "Es ist Ein Ros Einsprungen," or, as you will know it, "Lo How a Rose E'er Blooming."
I don't intend to say much about the carol this time about except the already stated fact can be applied as the unknown author managed to slip in "Amid the cold of winter" at the end of the first verse.
It's a beautiful carol and, quite profound in it's truth. I'll let you listen to it yourself, and tell me what you think. I'd love to know if you've ever heard this carol before.
My favorite versions are in German, but for your edification, I shall feature it here in my native tongue.
It is a curious fact that one of the most effective means of inspiring gratitude is by contemplating on the means of somebody worse off than oneself. Even more intriguing is the truth that almost all of us were better off in our earlier years than Christ was. I don't think any of us decked a manger as our first cradle. And I'd be rather surprised if you told me your parents had to flee the country shortly after you were born due to an evil king wanting you dead.
In this little known song I'm going to share with you, Isaac Watts, hymn writing genius that he was, uses this theme as a lullaby. In the form of a mother singing her baby to sleep. I fell in love with this simple little little verse that I'm thinking I might just memorize it and sing my babies to sleep with it someday.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you "A Cradle Hymn" wherein a mother first soothes her child with the recollection that he is far better off than our Lord at His incarnation, and then goes on to tell the Christmas story in simple terms followed by a prayer that her child might someday grow to love and trust this great God who did all this for Him.
It's a beautiful melody as well, and I think you'll enjoy this arrangement sung by the Westminster Abbey Choir. Need I say more?
The poem is a long one and understandably the arranger chose not to sing all the verses, but I'm including them all below because I think they're worth reading. I'll highlight the stanzas they do sing for your convenience in case you want to follow along.
It's a little hard at first to understand choirs singing in Cathedrals because of the huge amount of resonance unless you either know the words or have them in front of you. At least so I found at the beginning. After a while you sort of pick it up, until then, however, enjoy this lovely hymn and take a moment to thank our good Lord for becoming a baby out of love for us.
I don't know about you, but I like to not think sometimes. I often like to turn off one of the most precious gifts God gave to man because I hate facing whatever reality has just slapped me in the face and demanded some serious thought.
Yes, I pride myself on being a thoughtful person, but when something complicated in a bad way drops itself into my lap. I spend an awful lot of effort attempting not to think about it. Because maybe...if I don't think about it....it will just dissolve itself....and I won't have to worry about it. Problem is....it never does. It just gets bigger and messier until I'm forced to deal with it. Why we human beings like to do that to ourselves is a question for philosophers to ponder during lunch break. For now, I'll just be content with saying that, at least for me, not thinking about things because it takes work, or because I'm afraid, is not a good thing.
What does thinking have to do with Christmas? Glad you asked. On the surface, Christmas seems like a neat, tidy little story. We see Mary and Joseph in a clean, lighted stable with happy animals sauntering about politely giving them space. The hay in the manger looks like it was harvested just yesterday from a clean, dry field, and the shepherds look like they just stopped by on their way back from the salon to pay Jesus a visit. We have the three wise men(because if there were three gifts mentioned, naturally it follows that there must have been three and only three givers) who sit in with their three camels and beautifully wrapped gifts all kneeling before a happily beaming baby Jesus, loosely decked in a shinning white robe, who is never cold, and never suffers from indigestion.
It's very pretty isn't it? I like the manger scene. It's all so clear and simple and pleasant to look upon. So, why don't we just ignore the nitty-gritty truth of it all and keep our eyes fixed on the elegantly painted vernier? Philosopher that I am I've often wondered if sometimes, if a little falsehood is perhaps a little better for everyone than taking time to unfold the truth of things. After all who wants to think about the fact that the manger was probably rather smutty. The animals were annoyingly in the way(if they were even there, just because they laid him in a manger doesn't follow that cows and goats were present), the inn was probably dimly lit and overcrowded, and because of the bustle of the census, probably not the most hygienic atmosphere. We don't want to think about the fact that the shepherds smelled like, well, sheep. And most likely the looked and acted like the course, backwoodsmen type of people they were. We definitely don't want to think about a hoard of eastern travelers with their caravan and shouting servants and clothes that look like they've been through a desert, with gifts in untidy bundles and flustered a little because all this is extremely awkward and Mary and Joseph are tongue tied at this unexpected honor, while baby Jesus no more than two can't even pronounce a blessing on them for their pains.
In all actuality there is no record that the angels sang. From all accounts the Shepherds were perfectly terrified at their appearance, and they were most likely not beautiful women in colorful gowns hovering benevolently over the manger scene.
Yes, we don't want to think about that, do we? And yet, as I've gotten older, I've realized that if we remove the truth of the story we remove half of the beauty and greatness of the thing and turn the incarnation into a Thomas Kinkade painting...as beautiful as they are, they're not real, and they miss some of the grandeur of reality.
What is that grandeur? Well, to put it simply we miss the greatness of God in all this. We see Jesus treated as a king should be treated, more or less, we try as much as possible to apologize for the manger by making it as perfect as possible. We try to make the Shepherds look like fashion models who put on robes because we think Jesus deserves more than just Shepherds at His birth. We might be right, and yet, Jesus laid that aside when He came down, He was willing to take on a birth of obscurity and inconveniences and a villain's death out of love for mankind. And that, I think makes his love and greatness all the more apparent than if the whitewashed version were fact.
Secondly we miss the relatable aspect of it all. Very few of us find ourselves constantly in beautiful situations surrounded by flawless individuals in spotless arenas where even the animals know that we're the best thing since sliced bread.
We can related with the Shepherds cowering in a horrible fright at the angels, I think now it would be even more terrifying in this skeptical world we live in than it was for them in a more open-minded culture. We can feel with Mary's angst over having to put her baby in a dirty old manger, her disappointment that she had only swaddling clothes, the dress of the poor, to wrap up the child who she knew to be special.
We can sympathize with Joseph's annoyance at having to travel down to Bethlehem for a census held by those cursed Romans, especially when his new bride was about to have a child. We understand the embarrassed moment of awkward silence when a possy of foreign magi step into the house and announce that they've brought gifts for the new king. Our heart bleeds for a generation of slaughtered children that shortly followed because of a jealous king's paranoia. We often like to conveniently forget that part. And yet, that's real life and we can take comfort in the fact that Jesus was born like a normal baby to normal people with a few little signs but nothing especially grand or wonderful.
Okay, at least those are my thoughts on the subject...points to you if you read through this entire sermon. If you did, however, what are some things that you can think of that make the real story more comforting than the PG version?
In light of this I'm going to share an old Irish Carol which I know I've featured in a previous year but I love it so much that I'm going to do it again. Consider what God has done for you, let's not shy away from looking the facts between the eyes, we might find that they're actually not all that bad.
Good people all, this Christmastide, consider well, and bear in mind....what our good God for us has done, by sending His beloved son....
I recently heard a lecture regarding fiction writing, and one of the things said really stood out. He said, our job as writers is not to unravel a mystery but rather to infuse wonder into one. We aren't about removing mystery from the world, simply changing the way one feels about something grand and full of wonder. I found this a unique and clarifying perspective. After all isn't there that part in each of us that loves a good mystery not necessarily because it will be fun to solve but simply because it is mysterious? As for me, it sends shivers down my spine when I am forced to wonder about something I may never comprehend, and half the reason I love cloudy, rainy and foggy days is because it always feels mysterious.
Right now while my future is thickly obscured and my desires hang in a perilous balance, I've realized that wonder isn't such a bad thing. In fact it's a thing to be cherished, to be exulted in. There's nothing like a bit of mystery to get me up in the morning, and it's amazement and wonder that help push me to work harder than I thought to do before.
Wonder is one of those things I love about Christmas. It was, all around a bundle of paradoxes when you think about it. The God of the Universe becomes a helpless baby, born to poor parents and announced only to a group of despised shepherds at the bottom of the social ladder. Raised in obscurity in a town out of which nothing good ever came, and honored with kingly gifts only by foreigners. It was indeed an incident to wonder over. If I had decided to write a story about God coming down to earth to save his people, I wouldn't have written it like that...at least, not if I wanted to make it believable. And yet, that was how God chose to draft His history.
A wonder, indeed.
I'm going to share with you a beautiful old Christmas carol from our very own Appalachian mountains. A traditional American carol which does do a bit of stretching with regard to the truth, but beautiful nonetheless.
It truly captures, I think, some of the awe I feel when I think about the Christmas story.
"If Jesus had wanted for any wee thing, a star in the sky or a bird on the wing, He surely could have had it, 'cause He was the King...." ...I Wonder as I Wander.
Do you ever wonder? I know I do - often - and I wouldn't have it any other way.
"These days children have their TVs and video games," she said with a dismissive tone, "but back when I was young we used to play games together. We would get together with all the children in the neighborhood and go down to the brook together..." she sighed, "we used to do things together."
As I listened to dear Mrs. R. reminisce, I realized that her complaint was precisely why I like Christmas so much. We've done a good job in this tech age of ours to provide people with solitary entertainment. People can amuse themselves to death without ever setting foot outside their doorstep, or actually speaking with another individual.
Around the festive season, however, things tend to change a bit for most people. More parties are thrown, families gather together, special events are held, and at what other time of the year do people get together to sing from door to door? Certainly not in the bleak month of February!
I love the fact that the Christmas season is one of the busiest for us musicians. I get to spend more time making music with and for people than at any other time of the year. That, if nothing else is something to celebrate. And, I believe, it encapsulates what Jesus came to do on that still, silent night. To mend the broken, to sing to the sorrowing, to gather the scattered.
That, for me, is the heart of Christmas. Two weeks ago, as I sang in a glorious Christmas concert, I felt as though my heart would burst from sheer happiness. It's in those moments that I know for sure that music is my calling and Christ's birth has given me something to make music about.
So, whatever you're doing this Christmas...whether it's spending time with boring relatives, answering the same questions from your matchmaking aunt about why you're still single, hearing silent night for the one-hundredth time that day, rejoice in it, that you're making memories with real people and impacting real lives. We were meant to live our lives in community and Christmas is the one time where that prying relative of yours actually makes an effort to come see you, so take heart. All is not commercialism and an over-materialized manifestation of spoiled American culture. There's still some merriment, some love, some genuine community to be found, if you can manage to sweep aside the gaudy facade and love the individual.
That all sounded really cheesy, I know, but hopefully it amounted to some degree of practical rationality. I leave you with an old medieval song from the wassailing days of England which speaks more to the general aspect of the season rather than Christmas itself. As you listen to this jolly old song, rejoice and thank God for community. It's a precious gift not to be taken lightly.
See you tomorrow, and have a lovely Sunday evening!
Do forgive me, my friends, we are once again in that glorious time of year, and I began it by forgetting that it was twelve days to Christmas yesterday. So, this year, we shall have eleven carols of Christmas!
There we are.
This week began with something that North Carolina rarely sees before Christmas and hardly ever beholds for more than a day.
It snowed. Not only that, it snowed for two days in succession, on and off, and we got about eight inches in total, highly irregular, but greatly appreciated by me at least. There was a bit of disappointment at first regarding an event, it caused me to miss, but in the end, I was able to simply enjoy this, frosty and beautiful commodity we receive so little hereabouts.
It was nice to have snow on the ground and Christmas decorations set about, it made me feel like I was in one of Thomas Kinkade's paintings, which, in spite of everything, I love so very much. One distinctive feature of snow is that it muffles sound, greatly quieting the overall aural atmosphere. As I tramped along through the woods and snow covered pathways of the park behind my house, I noticed that I couldn't hear so clearly the cars zooming along main street, or coasting down Granite Blvd. all was still and peaceful, I could hear the birds twittering, probably in confusion over the foreign white, fluffy ice, and the occasional slither of branches relieving themselves of an overabundance of snowflakes. That was it, and there in the silence, I began to understand why Christmas and snow have been so seamlessly wedded, and why the trope continues to persist in spite of contrary historical data perversely warm weather patterns.
It's true that one thing about Jesus's birth on that night(or day) so long ago was that it was as inconspicuous and quietly managed as the falling snow is an understated white and muffles rather than creates sound. When Jesus was born there weren't any fireworks, kings standing around with bated breath, columns being feverishly typed up in the Bethlehem Times about a newborn monarch. Nobody knew, and, if possible, even fewer cared. For many people his birth was going to be a regular nuisance. And it was only the despised Shepherds and Eastern foreigners who were let in on the secret. "Still" is certainly a word to describe the incarnation.
It's certainly an example to myself, and a lesson regarding inconspicuous entrances, slow beginnings, mundane experiences. We like to be Cinderella arriving so fashionably late to the ball that every eye is turned on her. We like to be the lightning in the sky that announces its preeminence with a thunderous boom. Nobody wants to be the snow, falling without a sound, nothing colorful or distinct about it, ignored and regarded as a bother, and yet snow is one of the most beautiful and awe inspiring phenomenons of creation.
Maybe think about that as you listen to this beautiful Austrian Carol which makes an allusion to snow, and allusion to Christ's birth and an allusion to his coming without ever actually stating much of anything substantial. And yet, it's beauty lies in that it captures a feeling I imagine must have been present that night when Mary laid her baby in the manger, or the shepherds gathered round the infant in innocent wonder.
Think about the ignominy of that day, and rejoice in the beauty and wonder of a silent night and the peace brought forth by a babe in a manger.
