The other day I walked into the living room and chuckled. Out from beneath the newly decorated Christmas tree stuck two little bodies. The heads of those two little bodies were tucked deep underneath the evergreen branches. Sophie and John Curtis looked up mesmerized at all that glittering, sparkling Christmas glory. I joined them. It had been a long time since I’d stuck my head under a Christmas tree just to enjoy the view.
Aided by the eyes of my children, the tree was as beautiful as I remembered my own childhood tree. After all, my brother and I used to do the same thing. We’d stare into the depths of our tree for hours finding an ornament we’d never seen before or one we’d long forgotten about. Every day the tree seemed to reveal some new view. It didn’t matter that we stared at that tree for twenty-five straight days, it never got boring. It had more beauty than could be exhausted during the month of December.
The scriptures that tell the Christmas story capture my attention in much the same way. At first, as I pull these passages out for another look, I think to myself, “I’ve seen these before. We read them last year and the year before that.” But as I stick my head beneath the branches of these stories of fearful young teens comforted by heavenly host, of a tyrant of a king and some wily star gazers, of patient old prophets and a baby who is God-With-Us, inevitably I see something I hadn’t seen before or something I’d long forgotten. God speaks to my heart once more and it is beautiful.
“She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins” Matthew 1:21.