All I Really Want. Quinn G. Caldwell
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old priest singing to his boy is as tender and arresting a scene as a Madonna and child, all the more poignant for knowing where the tiny head resting in the crook of that bony arm would wind up in the end. (If you don’t know, Google John the Baptist to find out.)
That Luke recorded this song in such detail can only mean that it was intended to be used, said, and sung to other babies. Not everybody can be Jesus. But anybody can be John. Anybody can point to Jesus, tell the world that the dawn is on its way, get a glimpse of God on the road, and yell, “Everybody! Look over there!”
Apparently, Luke thought God wanted lots of other fathers to sing this song to lots of other babies besides John. I don’t know if you’re as lucky in your father as John was in his; too many people aren’t. But even if you aren’t, that doesn’t mean God’s not singing it to you anyway.
So before you go to bed tonight, take a few minutes to think about your day. Come up with one place—just one!—where you saw the hand of God at work. If you get stuck, look in the mirror.
Holy God, let me relax into your arms and into your lullaby. I’m not sure I have what it takes to be a prophet, but show yourself to me, and I will tell the world. Amen.
December 6
December 6
Morning
They asked, “Where is the newborn king of the Jews? We’ve seen his star in the east, and we’ve come to honor him.” (Matthew 2:2)
Is there anybody else out there who hates tasteful Christmas decorations? Who’s appalled by genteel ornamentation? Who, when faced with a color-coordinated Christmas tree covered in matching ornaments, has to fight off the urge to set it on fire just to liven things up a little?
I mean, this is Christmas we’re talking about, people! Christmas! The day that unto us a child was born? The day that made all of heaven sing in wonderment and joy? The day the Creator of the cosmos entered history and changed it for-freaking-ever?
This calls for tinsel.
It calls for projects made in first grade, with gobs of hardened glue and glitter. It calls for colored lights—big colored lights, ideally with water bubbling in them. It calls for motorized tree stands and blinking stars and construction paper chains and singing ornaments.
Christmas is not a day for restraint; it’s a day for blowing the doors off their hinges. I’m not saying you have to decorate your house. I’m just saying that if you’re going to decorate it, you best make it look like a party. When God decided to decorate for Christmas, God hung an enormous star in the heavens, not a string of demure white lights. No doubt the neighbors were appalled, but it sure did draw a crowd.
So today, celebrate the God who didn’t hold back anything. Be unrestrained. Put on some music, loud, and start decorating. Make it look like a party up in here, and praise God’s holy name.
God, grant that I might decorate my life so outrageously that wise ones come from all around to learn what I know about you. Amen.
December 6
Evening
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness doesn’t extinguish the light. (John 1:5)
I know what I said a couple of days ago about decorations and about the nighttime being scary, but still, sometimes all the light can get to be a bit much this time of year: blinking lights, bubble lights, icicle lights, blue-light specials. What about those of us who like the dark sometimes? You know, those of us who like to sit outside at night, who relish sitting in a dim bar sharing a drink with a friend, who appreciate a snuggle with the lights off.
For those of us living in modern, industrialized societies, where everything is spotlighted or fluoresced to within an inch of its life, dimness can be hard to come by.
God shined bright when he entered the world, but it couldn’t have happened without the holy darkness of Mary’s womb, without the darkness behind the closed eyelids of a laboring woman, without the darkness of the space between a baby’s skin and swaddle.
The wise men would never have been able to see that star if they’d been standing in the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour Walmart.
So tonight, in honor of the good darkness, the holy darkness, spend some time with the lights off. Look out at the world or just at the backs of your eyelids. Pray to be protected and nourished and formed by the God who swept over the face of the waters before there was light. Pray for the darkness to become like the womb that bore the world. Pray for gestation. Pray for birth.
God, thank you for light and dark, bright and dim. Whether I am in shining or in shadow, let me show you to the world. Amen.
December 7
December 7
Morning
I rejoiced with those who said to me, “Let’s go to the Lord’s house!” (Psalm 122:1)
Funny thing about this time of year: suddenly, everybody wants to go to church. Say, “Let us go to the house of the Lord,” in December, and all the world’s your friend. Say it in the middle of July, and all the world rolls its eyes at you as it heads out to the beach.
Even you. I bet we’ll see you at church on Christmas Eve, even if we never see you any other time.
Why is that? Why that night instead of some other? Yeah, your mom made you go, I know. But she tries to get you to go lots of other times, and it doesn’t work then. Why this holiday and not some other one?
Just what is it about this time of year that makes people start going to church more? Is it habit? Some ingrained cultural thing? Are we making up for lost time? Is it because the children’s programs ramp up? Or because we really like the music? Or because the parents of the world really double down on their wheedling?
Or is there something about lengthening nights and colder days and death in the garden? Isn’t there something—some need or fear or longing—that shrinks away in the long hot sun by the pool but which grows as fall turns to winter, until even you can feel it? That becomes large and threatening in the backseat when you’re driving home from work in full dark at 6 p.m?
Now’s a good time of year to find a churchgoer you know and get him or her to invite you to a service. And if you are a churchgoer, keep a lookout for a friend who might be nudging for an invite.
Because this time of year might come as something of a relief (even though you pretend it doesn’t) when someone says, “Let’s go to church.” Because don’t you know that there lies reassurance that whatever it is following you around in the backseat, there’s no way it’s going to beat you to Bethlehem?
God, let me long for you summer and winter, light and dark, and let me always be glad when someone invites me to visit you. Amen.
December 7
Evening
“What do you think? A man had two sons. Now he came to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work in the vineyard today.’ ‘No, I don’t want to,’ he replied. But later he changed his mind and went.” (Matthew 21:28-32)
By now, regular churchgoers out there will have noticed the pews in your church beginning to fill up. If your church is like mine, attendance will continue to grow right up through Christmas Eve, when your sanctuary will be fuller than at any other time, except maybe Easter.
You people who don’t get to church that often will find yourselves making an extra effort to show up in the next few weeks. If you don’t go often enough the rest of the year to have a regular pew, you might slip into the back row. Maybe somebody will recognize you; maybe not. Maybe you’ll care; maybe not.
Regular worshipers will rejoice in all the extra people; they also might be tempted to look cynically at the C&E (Christmas and Easter) Christians with whom they suddenly find themselves sharing their pews.
Against any who would be too hard on those who only manage to make it to church