When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,
  the moon and the stars that you have established;
 what are human beings that you are mindful of them,
  mortals that you care for them? ~Psalm 8: 3-4

 As I was pulling the trash bin out to the street in the dark of morning today, I looked up at the sky and paused for a few moments to notice the stars. I am no astronomer—far from it actually. Ignorance can be bliss. You see, without all the scientific details in my way, I can look at the stars with amazement and ponderous awe in a God who could create something so majestic. I see these lights as majestic reminders of an amazing Creator.

How often do we really stop and notice the stars of the night sky? They are always there, yet we rarely see them as more than little meaningless dots in the sky.  I don’t often stop to notice the stars, but when I do the “ah hah” moments they inspire remind me of how deep and wide God’s reach truly is. Even more generally, how often do I stop and marvel at any of God’s creation? The answer is, “just not often enough.” Unfortunately, it is easy in life to become desensitized to the world around us. This lackadaisical perspective seems especially relevant during the holiday season where we ineffectively seek to balance secular and worldly responsibilities. Living out our lives prevents us from living out our faith by truly pausing to honor God’s will for the season.

In Matthew 2 we are introduced to the Magi, who have come seeking Christ, guided only by the “Christmas Star.” The three Magi are remarkably the only ones mentioned in scripture who noticed this special star. Bible scholars and scientists dissect the meaning and possibilities of such a phenomenon, but I choose a simple explanation. The Magi saw this star because they took the time to notice it. The rest of the nation was likely too preoccupied with ordinary life to notice the extraordinary all around them. Just like Christmas today, on the first Christmas, people were too overwhelmed with worldly concerns to see the miracles transpiring right in their midst. They probably never looked up at the night sky to see God’s amazing creation, too focused on where their feet were pointing and not where their faith could have been leading them.

As you read this blog, another Christmas has already come and gone. Like most of us, I am already consumed with after-Christmas sales and New Year’s plans. While those things do have significance in my life, I also need to keep my eyes on the sights and signs of God’s presence as much today as I did on Christmas. Jesus may have only one birthday, but I need to celebrate this love each and every day in my heart. Perhaps if I pay more attention, I can see lights guiding my faith, just like the Magi did 2,000 years ago.

We speak of the "Holy Family" this time of year.  We remember a story of a young woman away from home, great with child, forced to give birth in humble circumstance.  We speak of her simplicity and faithfulness.  We speak of her fiancé, not understanding how he found himself in such circumstances himself, but trusting the word of an angel that his job in that moment was to lean in, listen up, and awaken to an enormously difficult and world-creating task—to assure the safety of these two, when the world was closing in. 

Ok, let's grant the angels.  Let's grant the shepherds coming by to take a look, and being overwhelmed.  Let's grant that the family sat there for a couple of weeks, when strangers from foreign lands and foreign religions found the place and paid their own respects.  Let's grant all of that.  But at the base of it, the baby was as vulnerable as any baby--or even more.  The mother was as exhausted and joyful and afraid as any mother giving birth away from home and in some level of poverty--or even more.  The father was as anxious and energetic and resolved to do whatever was necessary to make a way--or even more. 

The striking thing about this story--at least to me--is not the attestations to God's glory, but the contradictions of God's glory.  It's not the star.  It's not the heavenly words.  It's not the recognition and realization.  It's the stable.  It's the intrigue and terror and wonder and fear and acceptance and more.  It's a refugee family caught up in a situation they couldn't control and yet doing what's needed and hoping against hope.  It's God at work . . . even today. 

Can we live in a world such as ours and not see the Holy Family escaping Aleppo? 

Can we live in a world such as ours and not see the Holy Family on a boat in the Mediterranean between Libya and the coast of Italy? 

Can we live in a world such as ours and not see the Holy Family in a refugee camp in the Bethlehem of today? 

Can we live in a world such as ours and not see the Holy Family waiting on the border for a way in? 

Can we live in a world such as ours and not see the Holy Family in a tent outside of Port Au Prince? 

Can we live in a world such as ours and not see the Holy Family in our own living rooms, too? 

Can we live in a world such as ours and not see the Holy Family as our relatives--no matter where?

It is our privilege as people who know this story to hear it again, and let it become a part of us if we will.  This isn't easy.  But this gives a joy deeper than any we can ever know.  And it also gives us work to do ourselves. 

So much of Christmas is expected to be joyful. The search for the perfect Christmas gifts to watch our loved one’s face light up when they receive it. Receiving the gift you really wanted and needed on Christmas morning. Singing carols, going to Christmas parties, decorating our homes, and getting into the “Christmas Spirit.” But surrounded by the joyful parts of Christmas is struggle, loss and pain which make the Christmas season difficult.

I recently heard a story about a terminally ill five-year-old boy and his visit with Santa. The boy was dying and his final wish was to see Santa. His parents told the nurse and she called a professional Santa that she knew. The Santa with his real beard came over without donning the traditional red Santa suit because there wasn’t enough time. He knew that his job was to make sure the boy got Christmas since he wasn’t supposed to live until December 25th.

When Santa arrived the boy’s mom gave Santa a gift to give the boy and Santa went in. He began by saying “What’s this I hear, you’re going to be missing Christmas this year?” The boy explained that he was going to die. Santa said that he wasn’t going to miss Christmas because the elves already got his present ready. He gave the gift to the boy and helped him open it since he was too weak to take off the wrapping paper. The boy smiled. It was exactly what he had hoped for.

Santa then told him, “When you get up to those pearly gates you just tell them you’re Santa’s number one elf.” The boy answered by saying, “I am?” Santa said, “You sure are! I’m sure they’ll let you right in.”

The boy gave Santa a big hug and looked in his eyes and said, “Can you help me?” The boy died in Santa’s arms.

This story reminds me what Christmas is really all about. I love the joyful gift giving and receiving, singing carols, going to parties and decorating for the anticipation of Jesus’ birth. These things are important to prepare us, but they are not what the season is about.

Advent and Christmas are about faith. Faith that Jesus came to be with us through those joyful times and the really hard times. The belief that Jesus wants to be with you through whatever your Christmas season might include. Joy or sorrow. Pain or pain free. Hurting or recovering. Courageous or afraid. Worried or trusting. Grieving or hopeful.

No matter what this season holds for you. You are number one to God. Jesus is here for you. Merry Christmas!