In the gospel of Luke there are twenty-four chapters just begging to be read each day from the start of December to the night before Christmas. Whilst Christians are conflicted about the traditions, the actual date of Jesus’s birth, the symbols and pagan roots of all that happens at this time of year, we are united in our belief and love of the One who came to make things right again. Each day I have read about Him, marvelling at his lowly birth and how refreshingly unreligious He was when He walked the earth, this Son of God our religion is based on.
That an angel announced His imminent arrival to a virgin and a host of angels announced his birth to a motley band of shepherds, we are in agreement. That peace was unleashed on earth and that light burst into the darkness, we are eternally grateful. His birth, life, death and resurrection have saved us for today and always. His arrival as a newborn activated wise men to travel far under a compulsion to worship him and bring him gifts. Ever since, mankind has asked what gift could possibly be fit to bring before this King. His perfect life of purpose, driven by Love, has given us an example for all time of how to live well and hold the course. His death is proof that no price would be too high to pay for us. That the grave could not hold Him is all the evidence we need that nothing is impossible with our God. We do not worship an image or an idol, an idea or a tradition, we worship the One who has overcome death and holds the keys to life eternal. How do we respond if not to ask if he would accept our hearts? We give our everything and discover that he takes all that is weak, broken and anxious giving us strength, wholeness and peace in return – restoring and mending every part of us. It’s hardly a fair trade and yet it is exactly why He came – born to die so we might live. Born to break chains and set captives free. He rose again like St Nicholas was never created to and on this Christmas morning, in the midst of gifts and wrapping and excited children, I am swept away with the truth that I have received the Greatest Gift of All.
Our Christmas is not like the one we see on postcards and in the movies. There are no snowflakes, reindeer and sleighs, fir tree forests or fireplaces burning bright. Festive music might be heard in the shops and the odd string of tinsel or lights strategically placed, but commercialism is not on the same level as many other lands. Out here in the African countryside the sky is an ocean of grey-edged giant white clouds jammed with raindrops and shadows; each one crashing into the next like waves buffeting the shore. A golden sun beats steady and sure and we breathe the cleanest, fresh air thanks to recent rains. Blue mountains in the distance call us to look up and the lush, emerald bush in the forefront of this Christmas scene holds a world of mystery; a world alive with chameleons, wild mushrooms, flame lilies, fireflies and termite mounds. Watermelons for sale are stacked in pyramids on the side of the road, litchis fill up our fruit bowls and green mangoes decorate their branches. The children are in their swimming costumes, and there is no strain here at all. For the first time in many years we have not made a gingerbread house before Christmas day, but who will hold that against us? No keeping up appearances, no standards to meet, just mid morning naps with the cats on the bed as we go a slower pace than we have all year. This is us in Africa. We are embracing the richness and all that we do have rather than trying to construct a perfectly foreign image of Christmas that was never meant to be ours.
Love, light, peace and joy in abundance to you and yours on this special day X X X
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