Advent Day Eleven: No Grace

“It is absolutely clear that God has called you to a free life.”

It is a cold, rainy, late fall day in Philadelphia. It is typical for early December; damp and gray. I still haven’t gotten into the spirit of the season and it is worrying me, but Christmas rushes toward us regardless.

Another day dawns and another opportunity to see what further mysteries the little advent calendar holds.

I open the little leather door. For the first time in eight days, I don't like the image I see. It is an older man, I don't know him, yet he seems familiar. I decide to stand to the side and observe. He arrives at the cave with trepidation. My heart tells me he has made this journey many times in the past and it has always left him discomfited. This place ruins his theology every time he comes here. Yet he comes back each year because he so desperately wants what this baby offers. He just can't get used to the surroundings and the poverty and the dirt.

The overflowing love of an infant Savior makes him uneasy. He has never been comfortable merely accepting this child as he is. This man has always thought God was too easy on us all and that we need to strain more to accept this gift. (The true nature of a gift being lost on his tired soul long ago.)

So again he comes, trying to find a way to reconcile this place and this child with his legalistic theology. He huffs and puffs around the entrance to the cave until finally he bows and scurries in, like a chipmunk running for the hollow of a fallen oak.

He crawls in on hands and knees, making a mental note of how well dressed he is compared to Mary and Joseph and the other visitors. Then he sees how filthy everything is, and that much of that filth is getting his brand new charcoal suit dirty. He is flustered now because he didn't plan on getting dirty...and this a new suit.

He looks around, grasps Josephs hand heartily, and nods toward Mary as if she is merely a domestic servant. Mary smiles gently and thinks to herself how every time he comes here he behaves the same way towards her. I think to myself how the man treats Mary as if she were a Catholic. Even at his age, and wisdom, he doesn’t grasp that she is not.

The man glances around at the unbelievably dismal surroundings and he gives a shudder. "This is wrong," he thinks to himself. "This scene is wrong somehow. This poverty, this humbleness. He is a King for God's sake!"

He glances at his watch, "Good I am early...the wise men haven't even arrived yet” he thinks this every year, and prides himself on getting here ahead of the much ballyhooed Orient Kings. This man is approaching 80 years old and still doesn't realize that they won't be coming tonight. Joseph tried explaining that to him once when he asked, but the old man argued with him so vehemently that he gave up trying. Joseph and Mary tolerate this man for one reason only, and I am about to find out why.

The old man looks at the four figures around the manger in annoyance. They have been there since he arrived and he is late. He has a candlelight service to attend and now he is going to have to change suits before he can go. Besides, these men are shepherds and they are really smelly. Three of them are standing, albeit hunched over and one man is on his knees rocking slowly back and forth. The three are speaking to him, trying to get him to finish up and get going.

“L'enchante...L'enchante, we must be leaving!” But the fourth shepherd is lost in adoration and the only response they get is his melodic, whispered worship tune..."Jesu...Jesu..." His tears flow freely and his smile is as nothing anyone has ever seen. The old man clears his throat loudly and taps on his watch when one of the shepherds looks back. They have no idea what the gesture means, having never seen a watch, but they assume he is in a hurry. The shepherd blushes and finally the fourth man rises to his hunched over position with his three compatriots. They walk past the old man apologetically and he offers a bleak, pained smile.

Now he is alone with the child. He crouches down so as not to kneel, not wanting to further soil his new charcoal suit. He arrives at the manger and for a moment, he seems to soften. A few tears come to his eyes but he resists them. He looks at the tiny figure stirring in the crib and his heart aches to hold him. His hand reaches for a tiny finger but withdraws instantly. "No!" he thinks..."This is the Savior. He cannot be touched!"

His hands tremble and his heart is on fire in his chest. Being this close to that which he adores and still not reaching out to him and holding him, his god-nature cries out: "Pick Him up!" but his legalistic flesh refuses. "Never!" he says to himself, "This is sacred and holy. I cannot touch him nor can He touch me. I would die."

The conflict is visible and the baby begins to cry, perhaps because of the turmoil in the man’s heart and on his face. The baby is reaching a tiny hand toward this man and the man’s heart is wrenched. Mary can stand no more of this and she rushes to her son. She turns a fiery glance at the old man and spits out; "Every time you come here, my son longs for you to pick him up and hold him. And you always refuse. Why? Why do you not understand that a baby must be held to give its love and to receive yours? Why do you not understand this?”

Mary blushes as she realizes she is raising her voice at this man. But her mother’s heart is wounded because of this man's rejection of her son's loving overtures, yet she shows compassion to him. "Sir" she whispers as her tiny hand touches his, "I can see that you have love for him...but he is a baby and he cannot take that love you bring unless you touch him. And he cannot love you in return unless you let him touch you."

The old man trembles and almost breaks. Everything in his old soul longs to hold this child. He knows he has the very son of God -his own savior- right here and he could touch Him, but he refuses. He has all that he has ever longed for at his disposal, but his pride, and the depth of his legalism prevent him and he stumbles out of the cave yet again. He remains untouched and unchanged, refusing the humbling love of being accepted as he already is, not as he thinks he needs to be.

“Jesus loves us just as we are...not as we ought to be. Because we will never be as we ought to be.”  --Brennan Manning 

Advent Day Ten: The Father Visits His Son

“This is my Son…I love Him above all else.

He makes me very happy!”

I wouldn't call it terror that greeted me when I opened the little leather door this morning. More like awe. The sort of thing that sucks the air from your lungs and makes you gasp to gain it back. Like seeing the ocean for the first time, or the Grand Canyon, or the surface of the moon.

Seated just inside the doorway to the cave is an enormous man, larger by far than I am. I can't tell for certain, but I would guess this man is at least seven feet tall and I am quite sure he is officially what the medical community would classify a giant. He is perhaps one of the most handsome men I have ever seen. He is fierce, yet not frightening. He doesn't say anything to me at first; he seems to be checking me out with a gaze that feels like it reveals my very soul to him. My eyes hurt, and at first I think it's just from the lack of sleep and the dingy lighting in this hovel but then I realize that it is, in fact, bright in here for the first time. Bright enough that I squint. I look at the oil lamps and they seem to be brilliant in a way I have never seen since this long night began. I can't even look at them without shielding my eyes.

The large man's face does not move for a long time and then I notice the faintest trace of a smile beginning to crease his lips. He answers the question I have in my heart before I even ask it. At first I thought I actually spoke, so loud was my inner voice. But I realize I did not. Yet he looks at me, and when my heart wonders silently “Why are you here?” He smiles and says "I am here with Him..." he said, nodding toward the manger, "I never leave his side unless it’s to do his bidding."

Glancing in the direction of the manger takes me a minute, because this gigantic man holds my attention so fully. Slowly I turn my gaze to the corner of the cave where Jesus lay sleeping and I see an older man. I can't quite make him out clearly in the brilliance of the suddenly powerful oil lamps, but I can tell he is an older man. He too is large, not as big as this giant before me, but a large man nonetheless. He is holding Jesus and I can hear him speaking. This is odd to me because, I am fairly certain his lips aren't moving, but with the dreadful glare I can't be sure. I listen and his voice is powerful and soothing at once. At first, I can't understand the words he speaks, it's a language I am not familiar with, but in an instant I begin to understand him. He is not speaking English but whatever it is; somehow, I know what he is saying.

He is holding Jesus and his gaze is more tender and loving than any visitor has displayed tonight. More loving than even Mary. "I love you" he whispers... "you are such a wonderful boy." The old man has tears in his eyes that fall on the child and dance like diamonds in the incredible light. I can only steal small glances because the brilliance hurts my eyes so. I think it is because I have been in this dark cave for so long tonight that light seems extra bothersome. The man is rocking the boy gently and the boy is gazing back with a look that I won't even try to describe, except it is a love I have never witnessed. Not at any age.

The man sings a lyrical song to the child and the boy smiles. The man speaks again, "I love you...you are beloved...you are my beloved little boy". I shudder and without even realizing it I fall on my face. "It can't be!" I scream in the silence of my soul..."It's not possible!" I cannot bring myself to look up again but I can still hear the words the old man is speaking to the child. "My son...my beloved son. You make me happy. What you will do in this world will change everything. Our enemy will be defeated forever and these children I love will be able to come home at last. Thank you my son, for being willing." The old man's voice breaks and he weeps his diamond-tears on the torn linen strips that encase his little boy.

The old man is long to release His precious little child. I am scared beyond measure and I feel a warm hand on my shoulder…it is the huge and handsome stranger seated in the doorway. “Look up at me Craig” he says in a voice that is at once thunderous and gentle. I struggle to raise my glance to his incredibly handsome face. He is smiling. I sit up and he begins to speak to me.

“I have been with Him since before all of this was here”, he says, sweeping his hands wide to seemingly encompass the whole world it. He created me before he created this place. “So, He is your father as well?” I asked him. “No!” the handsome man responded firmly. “No, I am not made in His image the way you are. I am different.” I could not see a noticeable difference and so as the question formed in my heart “How are you different” he was already answering. “He spoke me into existence like he did everything else He created. He said “let there be, and I was.” He made all of what you see in that way. This earth. The trees, the sky, the stars. The things that bring you joy.

He spoke all of that into being and it responded instantly.”

I was wondering why he told me this, because everyone knows this and I couldn’t understand the significance. I suppose this too was evident with this massive man because he looked at me very warmly and with a somewhat sly smile that told me he knew even this thought of mine and was about to upset my apple-cart. “I know,” he said “you’ve heard that since you were a child”. “Yes” I admitted…

“That’s sort of old news.”

The mountain man smiled and then he got very quiet, even for him. “You know there was one thing that during those six days of creation, He touched. One thing that He didn’t just speak into existence but He shaped and formed and caressed.” I was puzzled. I quickly tried to run back through the six days of creation in my mind and see if I could find it. I was trying to think quietly so maybe he couldn’t read my heart and just tell me, but I wasn’t that crafty and he put his massive hand on my shoulder and held my gaze with the sheer forcefulness of his eyes.

“Craig…” he whispered, “the only thing He created with his hands was you.” The enormous man paused for a long second or two, waiting for me to catch up to his words.

Suddenly it hit me. At once I understood what he was telling me, and what he was saying, and what it meant. I got it. God spoke everything into existence on those six amazing days…everything except man. He formed Adam from the ground, and then he breathed His very life into Him with a kiss. I suddenly saw it, and that’s when the massive and tender warrior spoke again.

“I wish you could have seen it. I wish I could describe it to you and do it justice. How He surveyed the work He had done before he made you. How He made sure every detail of this world was absolutely perfect before He did what He did that day. How that pause seemed so long. How much love He put into what He did next…” the giant was wistful now. He seemed to be reveling in the memories of that moment as he painted the picture for me. He was deeply moved as he continued… “He took His hands and he found the richest soil in the garden. He began shaping a big pile and He worked it down with such detail, with such precision, until it was absolutely perfect.” The man paused again and took a deep breath. He began again to tell me the story…

“I have stood by His side since the dawn of time and I have never seen the look on His face that He had that day, except maybe when He would communicate with this child, His son.” If I had any doubts as to the identity of the old man kneeling at the manger, they were gone now. I wanted to turn my head and see him but I dare not, and this man’s story had me enraptured. The giant continued; “He looked at this perfectly shaped pile of dirt with a look that I can only assume is…love.”

I was curious about the way he spoke that word, and again, before I could ask him, he answered me. “I don’t know love the way you know it. I am not made in his image as you are. He is love, you are made like Him. I can recognize it, I can see it, I can deeply appreciate it, but I don’t feel it like you do, or like He does.” I was baffled by this and I felt pity for the way he relayed this to me. “But don’t you love him?” I asked the giant man. “Yes, I think that’s what this is. I am loyal to Him. I fight for Him. I worship Him and adore him…but I don’t feel I am part of Him, not the way you are. You are all very different. That day as He shaped Adam, as His hands formed every detail, there was something in His gaze that I had never seen, not before the world or during its creation. He was eager. He was anticipating something. He was longing. I didn’t understand it until I watched what He did next.” The man paused and smiled to himself and I was sure he was seeing the moment once again in his mind.

“He stepped back from the pile of dirt He had been shaping and caressing and his eyes ran over it from top to bottom. Then He leaned in and kissed it tenderly on the lips, and He breathed into it, and a part of His very spirit moved into the form and it came to life. He named Him Adam and he loved him. Craig…He loved him. Do you understand me? He adored this man. He looked at him with a pride and satisfaction that nothing else He had made ever gave him. Not the five days of creation that went before, not even me. Nothing made Him as deeply happy as what His hands had made and what His breath brought to life that day.”

The man paused a long time and I was stunned. I sat there looking at him but seeing the picture he was painting with his words. I was dumbfounded. I had never -not once-  considered the creation of man in the way this giant man was telling me. And it made all the difference. When he was sure I had digested all that he had told me until then, the man spoke again, this time in a faint whisper. “David once wrote that you were all fearfully and wonderfully made, and he was right. Each one of you who is born into this world carries the careful caress of the Father himself. Each of you has been shaped and formed and each detail has been memorized by Him.”

He paused a long time and looked sad and there was pity in his voice when he said; “What I don’t understand is how hard it is for you to grasp His love for you. I see it so plainly and yet you all seem to miss it and run from it.

Something terrible happened to make you forget that he made you by hand. Something over these years has caused you all to be unable to recognize the feeling of His touch on your skin or His breath in your lungs. I don’t understand it. He doesn’t even love me this way, and I have never left His side since time began. Why do you not grasp the way he sees you?” The man seemed to be asking this as a rhetorical now, not actually expecting an answer from me.

“I wish you could have seen how he would look at Adam back then. How He gazed at him with such affection. How He leaned in close to hear the faintest whisper from Adams lips that might be a call for help or a word of affection. He was wild about Adam.” There was another pause and then he continued, “You know that He carefully creates each of you in much the same way? He doesn’t make you out of dirt now but as each child is created -in those first few split seconds- He sees their whole life all at once. He blesses them and He breathes that same Life into every single one. If you all only knew how deeply He loves you, why your life would be more than you could ever imagine.”

The man said these words wistfully almost knowing it would never be this way for us. I was going to ask him more questions when there was a sound from the manger. The old man has spoken something and the giant in front of me understood it at once. “Yes, my Lord” he answers. I immediately am face down on the cave floor once again.

The old man holds the boy to His robes for a long second. Finally, he places the child back in his makeshift crib and kisses the baby. In his kiss, I can hear the slightest rushing of a breeze.

The man walks past me in my prostrate position and I feel his hand brush my head as he goes by. The lights in the cave calm to their previous dim. I am certain he is gone and I turn to look and the giant man is still at the doorway, getting ready to leave as well. "Wait!" I call out to him, "Wait...I need to ask you..."    "Yes...” the man responds to the question I haven't asked yet. “Yes, that was." "But...how...why?" The angel laughs and the bellow hurts my ears a bit.

Amazingly Joseph and Mary and Jesus never rustle from their sleep even as the man booms in laughter. "This is His Son..." He says with a smile, "You didn't think He would miss this, did you? He is a daddy, after all, you know."

I burst into deep sobs. This scene has rent my heart in two. 47 years and I never once thought about God as a daddy on that night, as an expectant father eagerly celebrating the arrival of his precious child. The large man reaches a hand out and touches my head. "It's okay, it's a lot to grasp. But He is The Father, and this is His Son. He wanted to be here to see him, like any daddy would on the night his son was born." I look up at this mammoth man and before I can utter the words in my heart he answers me again, "Yes...I am Michael. I go with Him wherever He goes."

Leaning down to whisper in my ear he says only one word..."remember."

And with that, he is gone.

"I felt something impossible for me to explain in words.
Then, when they took her away, it hit me.
I got scared all over again and began to feel giddy.
Then it came to me... I was a father."
  --Nat King Cole

Advent Day Nine: The Shepherds...

 “That night there were shepherds staying in the fields nearby, guarding their flocks of sheep”

I have had to take a long time to digest what I have witnessed thus far. I know this child has the power to heal, to bring hope, and to restore happiness. But I’ve seen him do so much more already. These mystical visits have been emotional to say the least.

I have been looking a long time at the calendar in my hands. The bells of Saints Peter and Paul Church have tolled again and a new day dawns. I’ve been sitting here a long time, pondering the meaning of what I’ve seen. I gently open the next little door and a smile makes its way across my face. This scene is one of my personal favorites, and I've been waiting for this one!

The shepherds have arrived!

They were tending their sheep out in the wilderness outside of Bethlehem. In fact, they had their flocks penned up in caves much like this one here. They were asleep in the doorway of their pens, as shepherds do, and they were startled awake by a brilliant light and the sound of a chorus of angels. They heard one voice above the din and it told them that their Savior had been born tonight in Bethlehem. They saw that wonderful star in the heavens and they followed it to this place.

A bewildered look is evident as they approach the cave entrance. After following the fanfare and angelic direction, they were surprised to see that they have arrived at a sheep pen just like they left behind. This is not exactly the way they thought a king should enter the world.

There are four of them...which some might find odd. I always thought there were three. The Bible only tells us that "at that same time, shepherds, living in the fields, watching out for their flocks at night..." I think over time, the tradition became three shepherds.

There are four of them here and I noticed that three of them have brought gifts. The other man brought nothing and he also is the quiet one of the bunch. They bow and enter the cave and bring their gifts to Mary and Joseph. I was standing nearby and decide to listen in on the conversation. The first man brought bread, the next brought eggs and cheese, and the third brought wine. The fourth man had no gift and seemed disinterested in the small group that had gathered around Joseph and Mary.

The conversation was polite. "I like how you've fixed this place, Mary”, the one shepherd says, "I never considered actually living in a sheep pen." Another shepherd remarks about how Mary has managed to get the place clean enough for a baby delivery in such a short time. The other man remarks about her health, is she okay and do they need anything? The conversation is pleasant...like what you'd hear at a housewarming or a cookout. “Do you need a job Joseph? Because I know a guy who knows a guy..." "How long will you remain in Bethlehem?"

Time ticks by and not much is actually said. The shepherds fall silent after running out of pleasantries and suddenly one of them, the fat guy who brought the bread, notices another of them is missing. "Where is L'enchante?" He asks. I don't know," replies the eggs and cheese guy.

“L'enchante!" they call out.

But there is no answer. Then in the silence they hear a whispered song coming from a dark corner, away from the oil lamps light. They bring a lamp with them and they see worn boots sticking out from under the makeshift curtain that separated Jesus' little alcove from the rest of the cave. They pull back the curtain and the missing shepherd is there. It is L'enchante, "the enchanted one."

He is holding the baby Jesus to his chest as tears fall from closed eyes. He has a smile on his face that defies description, he is "enchanted” indeed. He rocks back and forth slowly on his knees, in the soft cold mud of the cave floor. He is singing a song softly, as a whisper, under his breath. It is a song of love for his infant-Savior.

"Jesu...Jesu...Jesu...Jesus...Jesus" he is lost in worship and adoration and caught away in love with this wondrous baby-king.

He has forgotten about all of us and this cave and the presents he never thought about bringing. He has only this moment with this child and he is making the most of a chance to love the Son of God, and to let the baby love him back. The baby is smiling as I have never seen a baby smile. There is a connection between them. A flowing back and forth between the Giver of love and a man who really understands how to receive it. He does nothing. He lets Jesus pour his love into his heart and does nothing but reflect it back in worship. This makes Jesus very happy and His tiny face shows it.

We all remain silent as we watch L'enchante loving his Savior, and being loved by Him. L'enchante got it. He came with nothing. He didn't get sidetracked by small talk and nonsense. He felt no sadness or embarrassment for his present state as a smelly shepherd. He didn’t make confession first for any sins he carries inside. He went straight to the baby in the manger and fell on his knees and let the baby do what babies do...love us.

I am dumbfounded. I want that heart for myself. I want to be swept away by the baby in the manger who so deeply desires that I hold Him and love Him and let Him love me.

In that moment, I understand why Jesus came as an infant.

I am 49 years old. I have seen love disappoint and let me down, as we all have. People who were supposed to love forever, without condition, have failed to do so. Each time we try to find it, we run the risk of getting hurt and wounded once again. Love that flows from people to people will always be flawed because we are flawed. It is hard to love each other, plain and simple.

We wonder if the other person is sincere, or if they will endure once they know our faults, or what if they go away once I drop my guard and let them love me? But a baby never poses those risks. Infants are totally free with their love. Babies don't know about our past and they don't care. They don't see us as ugly or sinful, or liberal or conservative. They don't mind our bad hair days or our frumpy clothes. They don't mind the smell of dirty sheep on our robes.

They don't care that I have been homeless and my career and my dreams all went down in flames. They have love to give and they can only give it by being held. They can only receive our love by the same method. Babies must be touched...and then they touch us. Babies scare no one. Babies do not intimidate. Babies have no history, and we have no history with them.

L'enchante understood this and he received the greatest gift on this special night. He instinctively knew that this child only wanted one thing: to love this shepherd.

The shepherd cast aside his pretense and his fear and got lost in the wonder -as his name implies- he was "enchanted" with this baby. He came with nothing, he left with the greatest gift of all.

He is lost in his bliss, at the stable of his affection.

Perhaps this one scene would serve best as a model for me at Christmas. I have come to understand that I need bring nothing to this place. This baby desires no gifts or acts of service. He only desires my heart. He longs for me to sit quietly and rock him in my arms and let Him pour his wondrous love on my aching and wounded soul. He loves it when I have my epiphany moment when I am holding him and it hits me: “This is God! He came here like this for me! He did this so I could get this close to Him”

L’Enchante understood that truth very early on in his experience with this baby and he sets the standard for us as we approach this infant-king. L’Enchante is a true ragamuffin who knows that, more than anyone else, this baby came for ragamuffins.

[The story of L’Enchante has been told for centuries each Christmas in a vanishing culture of a tiny village in the forests of France. This is my adaptation of this old traditional tale.]

-Craig

"A glimpse of God will save you.
To gaze at Him will sanctify you.”
-Manley Beasley                      

Advent day Eight: The Innkeeper's Visit

“He came into the very world he created, but the world didn't recognize him.”

These are the some of the hardest days of the year for a kid. Christmas is coming...you don't feel like going to school and when you get there, everything is pointing towards Christmas.

Your friends talk about their wish lists and you count the days until Christmas break. Who can learn in that?

So this morning I open the little door on the advent calendar and it's a man. An older man who's face I do not recognize. I don't know who he is or why he is standing outside the cave where Jesus is lying in that manger. He seems to really want to go inside but he is hesitant. He has been here before and was unable to get past this point. There is something about coming face to face with the baby-Savior that freezes him in fear.

Finally Joseph comes out and offers his hand. The old man looks bewildered at Josephs offering of friendship and he pauses a long moment before reaching out. The man's eyes stay sullen and focused on their hands, he won't look Joseph in the eye. Joseph reaches in and whispers something in the man's ear. I can't hear the words but I see a look of relief, mixed with sadness on the man's face. Joseph motions toward the low entrance to the cave and the man bows down in order to enter, almost having to crawl. I walk over to the doorway and peer in, unnoticed but curious.

The man sees Mary in the corner, sleeping on some straw with her coat laid over top. He breaks down into tears. "I'm sorry Mary...I'm so sorry. I had no idea, I didn't know." Mary rubs the sleep from her weary eyes and smiles a wistful smile.

"It's okay...really. It's okay. We are okay here and we appreciate your generosity..." "No" the old man says with a wave of his hand, "It wasn't generous, it was convenient and nothing more. I had my own quarters at the inn, and my children are grown and gone and so I have extra rooms, and I could have invited you there but I didn't. I didn't realize..."

Mary has walked slowly to the man by this point and she takes his old gnarled hand in hers, "Sir, you gave us this place, and we needed a place right away. It turned out okay...we are fine. He is fine..." With this the old man breaks down in sobs. He'd been worried. He was sleepless after seeing the star and those shepherds showing up. He knew he'd made a mistake, and he only now understood the gravity of his error. "If I could do it again," the old man whispers between tears, "I would give you my own home. I would have invited you in."

Then it hits me. I know who this man is! It's him, it's the innkeeper! The first man to say no to Jesus! "What is he doing here?" I wonder to myself. (As if I have any more right to be here than he does.) The old man is struggling to keep his composure. The weight of his decision earlier in the evening has hit him full force. He struggles to find words in the face of Mary's tenderness and Joseph's welcoming forgiveness.

Finally he clears his throat and says, "You said He is fine...could I see Him?" Mary smiles lovingly and touches the old man’s hand. "Of course" she smiles, He is right over here..." Mary leads the innkeeper toward a small cut-out in the cave, where the manger has been placed. The innkeeper lowers his head as Mary pulls back a small coat, hung over the doorway to give the sleeping infant some darkness and privacy. The man is slow to raise his glance from the floor. Mary senses his trepidation but maybe she senses some kindness too. She touches his elbow and whispers "It's okay, really.” Her voice is soft and gentle and almost lyrical. It breaks the last vestige of hardness and shame and embarrassment that the old man held and he begins to cry openly and freely. He drops to his knees by the side of the manger and looks at the sleeping Savior of the world. His sobs are muffled but audible none the less. Maybe he had a dream or maybe seeing the star and the humble visitors coming and going throughout the evening made him realize who this was who was actually sleeping in his sheep pen.

Whatever it is, he realizes it now. This child is special. This child is from above, and he had the chance to offer him his best and he turned him away. Maybe he knew instinctively he would forever be known as the innkeeper who said "No room." Whatever is ripping through his tortured brain, he is sorrowful over it. He wipes the tears from his eyes and looks up at Mary and Joseph. "I have four children, all grown now. I have 17 grandchildren, so...I know how to do it, and I was wondering..." "Of course,"

Mary interrupts, "Of course you can."

The old man smiles broadly through his tears, and reaches into the manger and lifts the infant-King into his tired arms. The baby stirs and opens his dark eyes. The man breaks into soft tears as he draws the little bundle into his chest. The old man's beard is long and a few stray strands touch the baby's arms and he looks quizzically at the unknown object. The man whispers softly as the baby nestles into his robe..."I am sorry. I am so sorry. I didn't know... I just didn't know who you were or why you came. I had such a chance to give you something and I didn't do it. I wish I could have that moment over again. I would give you my best, little baby...my best".

The man's tears fall unapologetically onto the manger where the infant king was lying just moments before. A long minute passes and then the baby reaches up one tiny arm and touches the man randomly on his lips. The baby holds a stare for a long while and the man softly kisses the tiny hand that has explored the place where the whisper was coming from. In that moment, the man is undone.

The mistake of not giving Jesus a place weighs enormous on him now. He says it one more time in a voice hoarse with sadness, "I am sorry Jesus, sorry I didn't make a place for you". The baby yawns the tiniest yawn and falls back to sleep. The man smiles a slight smile as the love of this child penetrates his chest and into his soul, and suddenly the old man turns to look me in the eye with a desperate and piercing gaze. "Tell everyone about me. No one should ever say no," he says. Placing Jesus gently back in his manger, the old man stands up and walks off into the night.

Advent Day Seven...Born in a Cave

“While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn…”

I open today's little leather door on the advent calendar and I see...a cave. A cave?

Having grown up with the usual, stable-oriented nativity scene, I never once thought to question its accuracy. It's a 3D version of bumper sticker theology, I suppose, accepting that tradition as fact. But I never had reason to doubt it and to be honest, it doesn't change much about the scandal of this event in history. But for today, it will be explored.

Jesus was not born in a stable as we have been taught. It wasn't somehow warm and welcoming and full of nice clean straw and a smattering of animals gazing lovingly at the infant Son of God. They didn't just come off the set of "Charlotte's Web" and the big sheep wasn't speaking with the voice of Dave Madden. Farm animals are basically spooky and reticent. They don't come and eat out of your hand like a puppy. And they aren't remotely clean.

But the real fact here is that Jesus wasn't born in a stable at all. It was a cave. If you go to Bethlehem they have a cathedral built on the site, but the archaeologists will tell you that it wasn't anything as ornate or beautiful. It was a cave. A hole in a hill with one very low doorway. In those times, shepherds would round up all their sheep at night and run them into a cave. Then they would lie down in the low entryway so no predators could enter without first awakening them. It is the image Jesus presents when he talks about “My sheep hear my voice..." He describes

Himself as the Good Shepherd who lies down in the gate and if the thieves try to break in and lure away the sheep, they must do so by coming in some other way.

Such was the case here. The cave was probably big enough for maybe 30 sheep so it was somewhat roomy for only two people. But it was low, because sheep are small. Mary and Joseph probably could not stand up inside the cave. The doorway was only big enough for a couple of sheep to enter at a time...or one adult who was willing to bow down and probably crawl in on all fours.

It was dark and damp, as caves are. And it certainly hadn't been properly prepared for childbirth. It probably smelled like sheep. Sheep smell terribly because they are a notoriously dirty animal. Their long coats collect everything from everywhere they have been. They need to be sheared twice a year not only for the value of the wool, but because the filth that clings to sheep wool -particularly around certain parts of the sheep- is disgusting. They have bugs. They have lice and ticks. They are sloppy eaters and the little trough that Mary used for a crib was probably a disgusting mess.

Before my daughter was born, her mom went on a cleaning frenzy in our apartment. The place smelled like Clorox and Lysol for about 4 straight months. It's common with pregnant moms-to-be, they call it “nesting” Imagine poor Mary, she is just a teenager of probably no more than

16. She is technically unmarried because the Jewish

custom took a year from betrothal to actual consummation and she had gotten pregnant during that period. They were poor. It took a dream from God Himself to convince her husband that this whole Messiah story was true.

Now she was about to give birth, a scared kid in a strange town under scandalous circumstances, and she finds out only hours before delivery that the place is a disgusting mess. What could she do? We forget sometimes that all the players in this grand plan of redemption were real humans and they felt all the things we feel. Sometimes, because we read about them in Scripture for all of our lives, we remove their humanity. But they were real people.

I remember how scared I was when I found out we were going to be parents. I wanted to be a dad. I looked forward to children, yet when the little test strip turned blue, I was petrified. So was my wife. Why would I think Mary and Joseph were any less?

Most moms have a special bond with their unborn child. Sometimes I have been guilty of removing that emotion from Mary. I see her sometimes as a player in this play and not as a young girl who carried a baby for nine months and felt all the same attachments that all other moms feel.

By this moment in time Mary was in love with her little baby and she was fully engulfed in the nesting thing and I imagine that when she crawled into that cave on her hands and knees and saw a dark, dank, smelly hole in the wall with dirty, soiled straw everywhere and a trough with some stagnant sheep-drooled water laying in it, she must have broken down in tears. “Oh Joseph...we can't have Him here!" she might have said. A poor, meager carpenter, Joseph must have tried to force a smile and convince his young bride that everything would be alright. He probably tried to fix it like a man would and his best efforts only put an exclamation point on how bad this place really was.

Maybe Joseph finally took Mary into his arms and kissed her head and said "I know it's bad...but it's all there is Mary. We have a promise from God and our child will be okay." Maybe as he held her, he hid his own embarrassed tears. I know how he felt.

The really amazing thing here is that this was the place God chose for His son to enter the world stage. This stinking, nasty hole in the side of a hill. This cold, dreary, dark, smelly cave. Probably as far removed from a hospital maternity room as ever could be.

This is where God's great plan of redemption would begin. Why? Why was Jesus born this poor? Why was He so rejected by men that He even had to be born in a cave like this? Why? And why a baby in the first place? Because one glimpse at these humble beginnings and no one can feel threatened by this Savior. He wasn't rich, He wasn't powerful (in the worlds eyes) He wasn't intimidating or daunting. He didn't demand the accolades due Him (Phil 2:5-8). He was a "Man of No Reputation.” He "became nothing" (again, Phil 2:5-8). He wasn't a name-it claim-it carnie huckster selling some promise of riches and wealth as we determine it. He was lowly, broken, and humble. He was frightened. He intimidated nobody. He wanted what all babies want in those first few hours and days, He wanted to receive love, and more than that, He wanted to penetrate our hearts with love as only holding a newborn can do. That is why He came as He did.

To gain access you have to be willing to bow down. Maybe even get on your hands and knees if you are tall like me. There is only one way into this cave and only one way to see this King. There is only one entrance and it requires you to leave everything behind and bow. You won't be impressed by the surroundings. He did that on purpose. When you get here you will feel like a welcome guest because few people will make this journey and come to this humble place. But those that do...those that allow themselves to be humbled at this place will walk away changed to their very core. By a baby in a feed trough, in a cave in Bethlehem.

No room for the Baby in Bethlehem's inn, Only a cattle shed! No room on this earth for the dear Son of God, Nowhere to lay His head…

          Unknown (A child's Christmas Hymn)

Advent Day Six...loved one from the past

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There won't be any more death. There won't be any grief, crying, or pain.”

Seeing my grandparents here just a few short days ago, was moving. It touched a core of longing and sentiment in my heart I had long ago buried.

Perhaps it is missing them as I do, coupled with the built-in feeling of home and family that Christmas evokes.

But this time of year, it is not unusual at all to find myself caught up in memories of family and friends who have moved to their eternal destination.

Today it seems like most of those folks I love and miss have come to visit this baby-King. When I open the leather door on the fifth of December, I see a host of those folks. The first is a couple, much like my grandparents, who are kneeling in worship and I instantly know who this is.

It's my friend Terry who only recently moved on to Heaven. His beloved Mary is with him and he is wide eyed at the little baby. This is his first pilgrimage to the manger from his home in Heaven. He walks in with determined steps, the bent shuffle that Parkinson’s had left him is gone. Seeing the redemption story now -now that it is completed in his life- is overwhelming for him and he is instantly on his knees in worship.

Terry served this baby as a pastor for all his adult life. And he lived as one of the greatest examples of what this baby can do in a life that anyone has ever known. It is good to see him able to worship this baby again in a healthy body. His back is strong and his speech is clear. Mary kneels with him and together they adore this little child.

Their first Christmas together in many years. Mary went to heaven several years ahead of Terry and he longed for her during their separation. She is smiling and vocal, not silenced by the Parkinson’s that had affected them both.

They take a long and enjoyable time with this baby, giving him the love they held in their hearts for so long…and the love they will rain on Him for eternity. There is no hurry to leave and there is feeling of time passing. They spent their lives in service to this child, and they had seen all that His touch could do in their lives and in the lives of thousands of people whom they ministered to. Now it was just Terry and Mary again, worshipping the Christ child as they did when they first began their life together.

They were like parents to me, and I wish I could stop time and spend it in this moment, watching my two dear friends in their completed faith, but time will not permit. After a while, Terry and Mary leave the cave and I see some other folks entering.

All night tonight there will be other visitors. People from my past. People who have gone on before and who return and who are still very much alive in my heart and in this world because of the life and eventual death of this tiny baby. They live on in another realm, in the presence of God. But this baby has taught me that the distance between them and us is not far at all, it is merely a heartbeat away.

They come from all over heaven, to see the work of redemption. For us it begins here with this baby, but for them they are seeing it's amazing, loving completion and their perspective is unique in ways I don't have words to describe.

They were lost and wandering once, at this same stable and it was here they met this child-King. Now they return to see Him again. Only their worship and praise is different because they are complete. The work is done in their earthly lives. But still they come to the stable...no longer wandering, but just as moved and just as in awe, and just as full of worship as they were on that first trip here. Here in this dark cave, and this straw-filled feed trough...and this little pauper-prince.

"Do you who live in Heaven, hear the prayers of those of us who live on earth? Who are afraid of being left by those we love…and who get hardened by the hurt."

          -Rich Mullins "Hard to Get"

Advent Day Five: Face to Face

                                                   

“Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.”

Before I get the day going, I decide to open the little door on the advent calendar and see what is behind it. Every day has brought another unexpected scene this season. Things that were not behind the little paper doors of the little advent calendars I had growing up. But scenes that are inseparable from Christmas anyway, even if they seem disparate. Peeling back the leather I see...myself.

I have been to this cave as an observer, today it is my turn to kneel at this dirty manger and see my infant king.

I can't get over the roughness of this cave. When I was a boy, the nativity scenes always seemed fairly hospitable and almost welcoming. "I know it's a barn and everything...but this isn't so bad” I would think to myself. Jesus wore a smile and there was a crowd of well-dressed and important looking people around him. Mary looked healthy and much older than she probably was in reality, and she looked as if, rather than just giving birth to a baby in a barn, she was ready to run to the all night grocery and bring back hors d’oeuvres.

The truth is, this place depresses me. It's cramped and the ceiling is low. I am 6' 4" and I have to practically crawl in here. Mary and Joseph aren't nearly my size so they can walk hunched over, but even then it is uncomfortable. They won't be leaving for days, because neither she nor Jesus should be moving around right away. So they will have to endure this mess for a while.

It is deep and roomy enough for a few adults but it is so low. I am claustrophobic to begin with so maybe that's just my personal take on the matter.

Mary and Joseph are sleeping and I crawl over to the manger in the alcove. He is there, looking up at me with loving eyes. I want to pick him up and yet I am afraid. But having observed the previous visitors here, I know He wants me to hold Him. He wants this because that is how babies transmit their love to us.

When we touch them, we let them touch us and Jesus wants to touch my soul tonight. So I pick him up. He is wrapped in the ragged pieces of cloth and I feel embarrassed for him and for Mary and Joseph. I bring him to my chest...right next to my heart. I search for words. I feel a hand on my shoulder and I look to the right, it is Joseph.

"Talk to Him” he says. "No" I whisper, There is so much I want to say but I am afraid" “Afraid of what, son?" Joseph answers, "He is a baby". I know Joseph is right about this but yet I am paralyzed in awe. I held my own child the night she was born and for the first three hours all I could manage was “I love you” repeated over and again. This is Jesus…the Son of God. What words can I say? “What language should I borrow to thank thee…dearest friend” was how the hymnist once put it.

Jesus is above my meager words, and yet my heart aches to talk to Him. The need to open my soul to this baby Savior is greater than my fear and shame and so finally I draw a deep breath...

"Jesus" I whisper, "I hardly have words for this moment. I feel so unworthy to be here with you. And yet somehow we have so much in common. Holding you like this...right now. I know what fate awaits you. I know the cruel violence you will have to endure to redeem me. I don't like thinking about that with you in my arms. I understand a few things better tonight, now that I've touched You. I grew up under the same shadow of illegitimacy as you will. I have been homeless as you one day will choose to be. I have been separated from my father too. I have so many hurts inside that I need you to touch. It has been a tough few years and I am weary. I miss the innocence of youth and I miss the promise of a life yet to be lived. I wish I could return to my childhood, and have a second chance at some things".

The baby smiles at me and coos softly. I think He understands. I think too, that is why he came as a baby. This infant-Savior doesn't care what my past may have held. He doesn't care about my failures or my shortcomings. Those things mean nothing to Him at all. He is only a few hours old and so that's all the history He knows.

That is the wonder of His coming to us as a touchable, loving infant baby. His love is penetrating when we take him to our hearts and let it do what it does. I hold Him for a long, long time. My sadness and regrets turn to hope and worship and joy. Babies can do that. Babies bring the new start we all desperately seek from time to time in our lives. I am lost in the wonder of holding a child and I am enchanted.

"Jesus" I continue, “love is such a confusing thing sometimes. Help me to love you first and most. Help me to become the man you have in mind for me to become. Help me to bear your name well on this earth. Help me to seek out and find those tragic souls who wander this world desperately trying to find this cave and this manger...and You. You have touched me little one...please use me to touch others in the same way. I remember…I remember that cold night in November of 1990 when I was so lost and so hopeless and so ready to…"

My thoughts grind to a halt as I recall the night I first encountered this child, the desperation of my life, the loss of hope. I recall the way I heard him calling to me when I thought he would have rejected me and hated me instead. I recall the loving touch I felt when I was weeping and pouring out my heart to Him that night.

I am holding Him now as a baby and I am thinking about all that would one day befall this tiny child. The beatings, the torture, the cross…for me. My heart rips open and I want to scream “No!” and to somehow stop the inevitable outcome of Jesus’ life. But I know that I cannot. He came to do that, and all my life I had overlooked the fact that the brutalized figure nailed to the cross was once a beautiful little dark-eyed baby boy that I could hold. I am undone in love and worship and sorrow all at once.

I close my eyes and offer silent prayers. Prayers for people I love and want the best for. Prayers for people who I will one day meet who don't know this baby. Prayers for dear loved ones who carry heavy burdens because they are more afraid of God than I was and they have not been here to see this baby in a long time. Prayers of thanks to God for coming to me in this form...touchable and seeking to give me His love.

I am moved and transfixed. With eyes closed, I am memorizing the way this little baby feels as I hold Him, so that whenever this life gets me bogged down with failure or concern, I can recall this moment in detail, and feel this new beginning again. Holding this baby, I am not a failure, not illegitimate, not a man who struggles with receiving love and giving it away. I am not unforgivable or stained beyond cleaning, or useless.

Here with this baby in my arms, I am a child myself.

And the Father of this little baby is very fond of me indeed. Only a child could calm the turbulence in my heart. Only a baby could soften the blows that life had so frequently struck against my dreams. Only a baby could convince me that there is a Love in this world that is greater than even the worst of my failures. Only this baby in this manger…in my arms.

  

   What language shall I borrow, to thank thee, dearest Friend? -Martin Luther