Anticipation and Christmas Eve

It's here, my favorite day of the year! And I'm not posting this a day early, either.

No, I'm convinced that December 24th is my favorite all-time date. Today, Christmas Eve, contains all that is right and good about the entire Christmas season. Christmas Eve is all about waiting, expectation and hope.

And unlike the day that follows, Christmas Eve never ends on a down note. Let's face it, even the very best Christmas Day, filled with joy, laughter, movies, games, the best of presents (in both wrapping paper and the kind that come from the oven), ends with a twinge of despair because at the end of the day, Christmas is over.

But not today. Today is Christmas Eve, and it's here in all its hope-filled glory. When tomorrow is over, it's Monday, December 26, as far is it can get from Christmas, but when today is over, it's Christmas.

Today, I'll be waiting (along with Anabelle) for my parents to fly in from Northern California and for Janelle to get off work, then it's back to the house to watch and see the annual fall and redemption of one George Bailey. And who knows, maybe we'll get some card-playing in as a fitting follow-up.

I wish my brothers, sister-in-law and niece could be here too, but as the song says, "one day soon we all will be together..."

As a kid, Christmas Eve was always a stellar day. We'd get going in the early afternoon to visit our aunt and uncle for the evening, and--it seemed like always--on the way home we'd listen to Nat King Cole (or Nat King Smith, as he was affectionately known) bid us a Merry Christmas in song.

Sometimes on Christmas Eve, we'd go see the lights at Dovewood Court, which was a neighborhood almost certainly sponsored by PG&E power company, but we invariably would end up back at home reading the familiar Christmas story out of Luke and making sure Santa and Rudolf had a nice spread when they paid us a visit later on.

Then it was to bed with the three of us, which on Christmas Eve meant that it was to an all-nighter of Monopoly that was consistently--shall we say--monopolized by my older brother, Dusty.

Meanwhile, our dad would be out in the living room, building a presentation fit for Christmas morning, and we'd try and sneak a peak from the hallway every couple of hours. We couldn't wait for the sun to come up, and that time in between first light and 8 o'clock--when we were allowed to wake my parents up--seemed like it would never end.

The hope of Christmas morning, the anticipation, is what kept us up all night, and that's what always made Christmas Eve so special.

All of this hope and expectation is nothing but a glimmer of what must've been coursing through the veins of an old man named Simeon back in Jesus' day. We get introduced to Simeon in Luke 2, when Mary and Joseph take Jesus to the Temple to have him dedicated at eight days old.

Simeon, we're told, is a man who is righteous, devout and he's filled with the Holy Spirit--that is, he's a prophet. But maybe the biggest thing that defines Simeon is that it's said he's "waiting for the consolation of Israel."

In Simeon, we meet a man who embodies the history of Israel in miniature. It's as if we're introduced to the very poster boy of Israel's waiting and longing for a Savior, a Redeemer, a Prophet, a Priest, a King.

Now here's a man who has lived an entire lifetime of Christmas Eve.

But, unlike probably anybody else on the face of the earth, Simeon had lived for ages with the God-revealed promise that, before he went six feet under, he himself would see the Lord's Christ. This old man, filled with God's Spirit, knew that he would one day meet God's Anointed One.

Can you imagine what he must have been feeling when he not only saw, but cradled the Consolation of Israel?  I can still remember the unbridled joy that my brothers and I felt as we discovered our first Nintendo one fateful Christmas morning, and that joy was trumped a hundredfold on Janelle and I's wedding day, then a thousandfold when I first cradled our daughter a year ago.

And he rejoices. With the Christ-child held close to his chest, ol' Simeon blesses God for keeping His promise, not merely to himself, and not even just to Israel, but to the world. At last, Christmas morning has come and Simeon's eyes see the salvation of God, "prepared in the presence of all peoples".

Think about that this Christmas Eve. As you experience even a twinge of anticipation for what's to come, think of ol' Simeon, holding God-With-Us in his withered hands.

Think of ol' Simeon and rejoice, because Immanuel has come to Israel.

Merry Christmas Eve!

Caroling, Caroling

As we darkened the doors at the Schiller Park Rec Center for Sunday worship, twenty minutes late and fighting a collective bad attitude, Janelle, Anabelle and I were greeted by the familiar words of an old carol that at the time seemed more fit to mock us than to draw us to worship.

Thankfully, that song didn't include the first-hand account of a fictitious gift-less child percussionist, nor did it make mention of another child whose lack of financial planning and hazy idea of the resurrection had left him just shy of the price tag for a new pair of kicks to get for his fading mother.

No flame-bearing request was made of a mysteriously unknown French maiden, and Thistle Hair the Christmas Bear was mercifully left unmentioned in the Alabama backwoods.

But it was something entirely un-mockworthy in the song we were singing that really rubbed me the wrong way, as we sang out the words: O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant! O come ye, o come ye, to Bethlehem!

If you don't catch where I'm going with this yet, let me clue you in: When you're so hopelessly late for church that you have to put a Sunday morning spat on the back-burner, the last three words that come to mind when you take stock of yourself are, in no particular order: faithful, joyful, triumphant.

Taken at face value, it's almost as if we, the meager-faithed strugglers and stragglers, were being asked to sing a summons to another kind of person: you know, the faithful, joyful and triumphant. It seems like it'd be hypocritical at best, and self-cruelty at worst, to join in a happy chorus seemingly meant for other people--happier people--and yet, I'm never one to leave a carol un-sung.

So, what do we do with those words? Faithful. Joyful. Triumphant.

It seems like we'd be braggarts to call ourselves any of those three words when we're feeling our best, performing at top-notch spirituality and springing out of bed before the rooster crows to cry aloud with David, "I was glad when they said to me, 'Let us go up to the house of the Lord'!"

But these words seem even more out of place on a day like this Sunday. Would joining in the happy chorus just be lip-flapping hypocrisy? Maybe.

The more I've thought about it this week, though, the more I'm convinced that what my heart needed--and needs at this very moment--is a stout reminder that as I stand and trust in the Jesus I'm summoning myself to adore, I claim His faithfulness, His joy, His victorious triumph.

You see, Christmas isn't a time where we celebrate our own faithfulness, joy and victory, mainly because there is no such thing.

Apart from Christ, we're separated from God, alienated from His presence, strangers to the covenants of His promise, hopeless, godless, powerless rebels who have taken up arms against the King of Heaven, the same King who created us in His glorious image and for His glorious name.

Apart from Christ I have no faithfulness, no cause for joy, and in the end, nothing but crushing defeat. (One great picture of this defeat is found in Revelation 20, where an army led by Satan--an army to which we all belong apart from Christ--gathers and marches to Jerusalem with a full head of steam, only to be immediately destroyed by fire coming down out of heaven).

But because the Word took on flesh and dwelt among us, because of Christmas, and because in dwelling with us, Christ lived the life we should have lived and died the death we should have died, I who am faithless and miserable on my own am declared righteous and faithful by the very righteousness and faithfulness of Christ.

This is cause for joy in every circumstance, because I know that whether I stand or fall, win or lose, succeed or fail, that God in Christ is for me, and that there is nothing--nothing--that can separate me from the love of God in Christ Jesus my Lord.

That is my reality today and it is my hope for every future tomorrow. No matter what happens, God stands before me and calls me His child, welcomes me into His embrace and into His family.

And there's no better time than Christmas to remember that we are triumphant--more than conquerors through Him who loved us. Because the baby Jesus grew up, died, defeated death in His resurrection and now intercedes for us before the Father, you and I are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.

He who knew no sin became sin so that we might become the righteousness of God in Him. That means that in Christ, you and I are faithful, joyful, and yes, overwhelmingly triumphant.

So come, let us adore Him, Christ the Lord.