Advent is about making space. Making space, first in our schedules, then in our souls that the Coming Christ may fill.
Such space is hard to come by in a season full of parties and presents, errands and end-of-the-year concerns. Just as there was no room for the imminent Immanuel in the inn, there is often no room in my head and heart for contemplating the Christ child in the season meant to commemorate Him.
Yesterday, I ran around like a crazy lady under the tyranny of the urgent. I ordered those Christmas cards that probably won’t make their merry way through the mail system until after Christmas. I printed the invitations to my precious middle son’s birthday party. You know, the one whose birthday was 2 weeks ago.
Today, by grace alone, the Spirit has stilled my scrambling heart. And just as Mary and Joseph rushed to fill what little space was offered them in Bethlehem, Christ ran to fill the space in my soul.
Every year, I ask the Lord to show me a new shimmering thread in the tapestry of the Christmas story, to keep sharp what sin and familiarity tend to sully.
May Christ be more than the cliche baby in the manger, the naive newborn in the nativity. May we know Him to be the multi-faceted, marvelous Maestro that He was, is and ever more shall be!
The Maestro in a Manger
The Maestro in a manger,
The brilliant become benign,
In a conspiracy of compassion,
Submitting to dad’s design.
The Lord of Hosts hosted
By a makeshift, motley crew.
The steadfast, stable and steady
Born to parents passing through.
The Deliverer delivered to Egypt,
A place of both harbor and harm,
The Arm of Rescue rescued
From Herod’s lesser arm.
The Stretcher of the Universe
Stretched over projects of wood.
The One granted filial freedom
Obeying a carpenter’s should.
The One who came to cleanse
Dipped in a Dirty River.
The arrow shot from Heaven
Joined in our crowded quiver.
The One who told waves to stop
Drowned by waves of wrath.
The Way Maker for the wayward
Found a cave at end of His path.
The Rock of Ages rose from the rock,
Second Adam, Firstborn of the dead.
The Maestro from the Manger,
Master of death, as God had said.