It is such an old, old story, one that has been played and replayed every year until I begin to fear it might lose interest. But the old stories are always the best ones, so I beg of you to listen only a little longer, even if you've heard it before.
In a far away land, there lived a carpenter and a virgin. There were a few kings and several shepherds. There was a host of angels and a star and most certainly there were startled sheep. There was gold and myrrh and frankincense. There was straw.
And there was a baby, who was God, swaddled against his mother's chest and breathing the air of this world. God. With an infant's tiny hands and precious little mouth.
It is a story of surprising contradiction and juxtaposition.
Those who were waiting for a soldier king as great as Alexander never looked his way.
Those who relied on their own perfection of the law scorned his mercy, but could find in him no flaw.
And those who were destitute and despised: the ill and crippled, the possessed and broken, the women and children and pagans, they saw him and believed in a hope that no one and nothing else had ever or could ever have offered them in all the vast expanse of history.
This is the story of a love so great that it reached across infinity to hold your hand and whisper, "You are precious. You are honored. I love you."
It is the story of a light that came down into the dark and sparked a hope that brought everlasting peace and shattered all fear.
This is the story of the Advent of the savior of the world.
May you savor it as you celebrate this holiday season.
Life was in him, and that life was the light of men.
John 1:4
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