Most of the time I think of myself more as a John the Baptist type blogger. A few other folks in the wilderness with me stumble across my words and maybe find them provocative ...or not. My heart did speed up when I saw the numbers and realized that perhaps my voice – quirky as it is- spoke to you. And if it did, would you just leave me a little comment so that I know you are with me on this wacky journey?
The season of Advent is just about wrapped up- which is more than I can say about the gifts I’ve bought for my family. As a pastor, I work hard to bring Christmas to the people who sit in the pews on Christmas Eve. It is a unique honor and challenge to do it well each year. One of the things I struggle with every late December is finding my own Christmas.
I’m not complaining at all- it is the new reality I find myself in from the far side of the pulpit. Leading worship involves scrupulous planning, attentiveness to the congregation and, ultimately a great deal of improvisation. For no matter how clearly I plan out the dramatic pauses in the sermon– it will be then- when the great theological point is made about incarnation- that the baby will scream or the toddler will break free and make a run for the lit candelabras.
And there, in the chaos of nose-picking, squealing and loud whispers of, “Mommy? When is this over?” I find Christmas. For God came to Bethlehem, crying and pooping and breathing – a real human baby and so in the real human children who distract me from my detailed worship plans I see Christ. Who has come to set me free again.