What if Christmas was…
What if Christmas was…
**An adaptation on Max Lucado’s “Christmas Night” featured in God Came Near**
Thank you Max for this beautiful chapter, slightly adapted here and there. I’ve loved this book and have re-read it multiple years now around Christmas. I’d highly recommend picking it up. Link at the bottom of this article.
It’s Christmas night. The house is quiet. Even the crackle is gone from the fireplace. Warm coals issue a lighthouse glow in the darkened living room. Stockings hang empty on the mantle. The tree stands in the corner, still lit up but not for long. Christmas cards, tinsel, and memories remind Christmas night of Christmas day.
It’s Christmas night. What a day it’s been! Eggnog and coffee. Santa Claus. Breakfast casseroles and cinnamon rolls. “Thank you so much.” “You shouldn’t have!” “Grandma is on the phone.” Knee-deep in wrapping paper. “It fits!” Flashing cameras and family selfies.
It’s Christmas night. The boys are in bed. Greyson dreams of his new Legos and Franklin is ready to skateboard. Danielle is dreaming about warmer weather and the vacations I promised in her Christmas card.
It’s Christmas night. The tree that only yesterday grew from soil made of gifts, again grows from the Christmas tree stand. Presents are now possessions. Wrapping paper is bagged and in the dumpster. The dishes are washed and leftover beef tenderloin awaits tomorrows sandwiches.
It’s Christmas night. The last of the carolers appeared on the ten o’clock news. The last Jesus’ Birthday cake was eaten by me, to the dismay of my kids. And the last of the Christmas albums have been taken off of playlists and tucked away for next year, having dutifully performed their annual renditions of chestnuts, white Christmases, and red-nosed reindeers .
It's Christmas night.
The midnight hour has chimed and I should be asleep, but I’m awake. I’m kept awake by one stunning thought. The world was different this week. It was temporarily transformed. The magical dust of Christmas glittered on the cheeks of humanity ever so briefly, reminding us of what is worth having and what we were intended to be. We forgot our compulsion with winning, wooing, and warring. We put away our ladders and ledgers, we hung up our stopwatches and weapons. We stepped off our race tracks and roller coasters and looked outward toward the star of Bethlehem.
It's the season to be jolly because more than at any other time, with think of Him. More than any other season, His name is on our lips.
And the result? For a few precious hours our heavenly yearnings intermesh and we become a chorus. A ragtag chorus of longshoremen, lawyers, illegal immigrants, mortgage brokers, barbers, and a host of other peculiar persons who are banking that Bethlehem’s mystery is in reality, a reality. “Come and behold him” we sing, stirring even the sleepiest of shepherds and pointing them toward the Christ-child.
For a few precious hours, he is beheld. Christ the Lord. Those who pass the year without seeing Him, suddenly see Him. People who have been accustomed to using his name in vain, pause to use it in praise. Eyes now free of the blinders of self, marvel at his majesty.
All of the sudden He’s everywhere.
In the grin of the policeman as he drives the paddy wagon full of presents to the orphanage.
In the twinkle in the eyes of the waiter as he tells of his upcoming trip to see his children.
In the emotion of the father who is too thankful to finish the dinner table prayer.
He’s in the tears of the mother as she welcomes home her son from overseas.
He’s in the heart of the man who spent Christmas morning on skid row giving away cold baloney sandwiches and warm wishes.
And he’s I the solemn silence of the crowd of shopping mall shoppers as the elementary school chorus sings “Away in a Manger”.
Emmanuel. He is with us. God came near.
It’s Christmas night. In a few hours the cleanup will begin – lights will come down, trees will be thrown out. Size 34 will be exchanged for size 36, and eggnog will be on sale for half price. Soon life will be normal again. December’s generosity will become January’s payments, and the magic will begin to fade.
But for the moment, the magic is still in the air. Maybe that’s why I’m still awake. I want to savor the spirit just a bit more. I want to pray that those who beheld him today will look for him next August. And I can’t help but linger on one fanciful thought: If he can do so much with such timid prayers lamely offered in December, how much more could he do it we thought of him every day?
-Mark