Fired by love's urgent longings, I am his rocketman.


How many times have you heard someone say “Christmas is my favorite time of the year”?  I think most people would agree that Christmas is the best time of the year.  I can honestly say, for me, the anticipation of Christmas is better than Christmas itself.  I love getting ready for Christmas:  the Christmas tree, decorating, shopping, wrapping, cooking (I should say watching others cook), sitting by the tree, listening to Christmas music and thinking about what it all means.
What Child is this who, laid to rest
On Mary’s lap is sleeping?
Whom Angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?
A certain mystery and sense of magic (good magic of course) hangs in the air during the season of Advent.  It is as if that unknown but long expected event is about to occur at any moment.  There is just something extraordinary about this time that penetrates my heart, regardless of whatever else may be happening.  The Nativity speaks to me and I seem to hear just a little bit better than I usually do.

This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and Angels sing;
Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,
The Babe, the Son of Mary

Creche in our home

I often wonder what it would be like to be a child again at Christmas.  I remember all of the excitement,  the mystery and awe.  So many things are better for children because of their innocence, imagination and ability to experience life with their hearts wide open.  The only exception to this rule  may be in this season approaching the celebration of the birth of Christ.  This is the one time of the year, when all of us, even the most adult like, are given a chance to look into the Nativity and remember what it’s like to live life from the inside out.

Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christians, fear, for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.
Emmett doing a little Christmas shopping
When I see Jesus laying in the manger, my heart is laid bare.  There is something about the Nativity that just speaks to me even more eloquently than the cross.  I suppose it’s because I understand birth much better than I understand death.  I have seen my own children born and now my grandchild; but, I have never given up one of my children for someone else.  I have never watched someone I love die in another’s place.

Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,
The cross be borne for me, for you.
Hail, hail the Word made flesh,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.  

Who is this Father that can look upon the birth of his firstborn son, with exquisite joy, and still see the nails and the spear?  What kind of God is this, who lays it all on the line for me and you?  His son could have been born anywhere, but he prepared a place for him that even the very best among us could never have imagined or conceived.  What wondrous love is this, Oh my soul, Oh my soul?  What wondrous love is this, Oh my soul?
So bring Him incense, gold and myrrh,
Come peasant, king to own Him;
The King of kings salvation brings,
Let loving hearts enthrone Him.
But, I have no gift to bring for such a king:  no incense, gold or myrrh to give him.  Yet, I can give him my heart; though it’s a peasant’s heart for sure.  And I do have room inside of me, even if it doesn’t seem fit for him.  

Raise, raise a song on high,
The virgin sings her lullaby.
Joy, joy for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.  

So in quiet and in stillness I adore him; in my poor unclean heart, I enthrone him; and in my silent heart I am singing!  (Believe me, it’s better that way)

Get posts by email

Get updates delivered straight to your inbox!

Speak Your Mind