‘Tis the Season

(Luke 2:8-18 KJV)

‘Tis the season . . . to read Luke’s Christmas story.

To its crescendo.

That magical night of wonder.

Mary, Joseph, the angels.

And those shepherds.

Lost in wonder.

Understandable.

They’ve seen angels and the long-awaited Messiah.

On what started out as a regular day.

It’s been a lot to take in.

The shepherds can’t contain themselves.

And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child.

I can almost hear them . . .

So there we were. 

In the fields right outside Bethlehem.

Settling into the night to the lullaby of baaaa’s. 

When suddenly the hillside lit up. 

Like high noon.

And an angel appeared saying, “Fear not!” 

We feared anyway. 

You would too!

After finding the babe lying in a manger, basically in their own backyard, just as the angel had said, I picture the shepherds running around the village.

Banging on doors.

Waking a slumbering Bethlehem.

Interrupting each other as their tale spills out.

And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.

More wondering.

By all.

Strong’s Concordance notes this:

The verb translated “wonder” appears forty-four times in the New Testament, 

marking moments when human perception encounters extraordinary realities.

Which has me wondering how often I pass right by God’s activity, right by an extraordinary reality in my own metaphoric backyard . . . and miss the wonder.

Am I even looking?

This morning, instead of the gym, I decide to walk on the bike trail.

Due to the fact that it’s 27°, I don’t expect to see a soul.

And I don’t.

Until I do.

Off to the side a stranger has parked his bike and is sliding something white into a bag.

I must be staring, because he beckons me over.

“Ever seen an oyster mushroom? Did you know they’re a delicacy in Asian cuisine?”

Actually, I didn’t know that.

He pulls a plate-sized mushroom from his bag.

“Look, they’re growing on that tree.” 

I look hard, but I really don’t see them.

His reaction feels like pity.

“You have to know what you’re looking for,” he sighs disappointedly, “and what you’re looking at.”

This evening at church I reach for the pew Bible.

A bookmark is tucked inside.

Marking Luke’s Christmas story.

Coincidence?

Probably not.

So I reread.

This time something I didn’t notice before captures my heart.

The angel’s instructions.

And this shall be a sign unto you . . .

As if to say, “And this . . . this is how you will recognize God’s activity . . . happening in your own backyard.”

Which feels directed at me.

And the prayer request I’d pretty much given up on.

About my own backyard.

My literal backyard.

Actually my side yard, but close enough.

A prayer that was answered this afternoon.

In a wonderful way.

A way I didn’t expect.

And almost didn’t recognize.

Now I’m lost in wonder.

Right here in the pew.

Over the angel’s words.

And the stranger’s.

“Know what you’re looking for . . . and what you’re looking at.”

‘Tis the season to look for God’s activity.

Evidence of God’s care, provision, protection, goodness, love.

Moments of extraordinary reality.

Right in our own backyards.

Metaphoric and literal.

‘Tis the season to open ourselves to wonder.

Merry Christmas.

See you in a couple weeks.

Love,