Now that we have baked our cookies and trimmed our trees,
now that we have wrapped our gifts and planned our dinners,
now that we have hung stockings and sent greetings and set tables,
assembled toys and trimmed wicks, written Santa and hung wreaths,
the time has come to abandon it all,
if only for a moment.
As we turn to our day of celebration,
Wisdom turns to extinguish the colorful strings of lights and dim the gleaming star.
Wisdom pinches out her candles,
sighs the music away and sends laughter drifting off to rest in deepening piles of silence.
Standing in stillness before her window,
Wisdom gazes toward one of the deepest mysteries of Christmas
And smiles at this truth: Christmas needs us not at all.
Christmas doesn’t depend on our planning for its existence
and it cares not a whit for our preparations.
Christmas is not a sale, a dinner, a gathering or party.
Christmas is neither the worship of believers
nor the rituals of the world.
Christmas is everywhere and nowhere at once,
Like moonlight or a passing breeze.
It is the song of a hidden bird and the thrill of sudden flight.
It is a hallelujah sung in secret
by exultant, broken-winged angels.
Christmas is a voice
telling an unbelievable tale with the confidence of a child
who murmurs to a single, astonished heart.
Christmas is a song rising and lilting to confound arrogance and pride.
Christmas is a sob, a peal of laughter, a ripple of joy ringing through the night,
A sudden gasp of exaltation and love.
Christmas is a story,
words piled upon words and more words,
stacked ever higher by invisible hands
until their form resonates with mystery and beauty.
In language so plain,
so simple and unadorned we nearly miss the mystery of it all,
St. John tells us Christmas is a celebration of the Word,
a blessed confrontation with the source and sustenance of life.
In the beginning was the Word, our good Saint says,
and at the end will be the Word.
And in these middle times where the longings of our hearts meet the limits of our lives,
the same Word that spoke order out of chaos,
that enrobed itself in human flesh and came to enliven both heaven and earth
echoes down the corridors of our lives.
The Word of Christmas is a Word of promise and hope.
It is a Word that stands in the midst of emptiness.
It is a Word that cuts a path through brokenness and pain.
It is a Word that challenges every easy assumption of our lives
and it is a Word sung best by angels,
their voices rising strong and sure into the night.
These are the nights when angels sing.
And if the tune has changed,
if the lyrics seem unfamiliar,
if the secret chords that compel their song
seem unlikely to have echoed that first Christmas night,
it is the same Word still.
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