Dec21
I suppose gift giving became a part of our celebration because of the gifts of the Magi-or perhaps because of God’s gift to the world, his savior Son.
Giving to those we love at Christmas is not a bad thing at all, but one way we can adore our Lord is to bring material “gifts” to him. After all, it is a celebration of his birthday.
Just on thing we could do, for example, is provide Christmas for someone who wouldn’t have it otherwise, or be part of that endeavor, depending on what resources are available to us. In as much as you have done it to the least of these, Jesus said, you have done it unto me.
But there are other things to bring, that are not material and are just as significant.
“Shall I play for you” the wonderful old Christmas lyric goes, “on my drum?“ This ability is all the little drummer boy has to offer, and the image of him standing by the manger in his rags, wanting to give what he has touches me endlessly. Perhaps you don’t play a drum, but there is something you can do for him with the talents he has given you.
Madeline L’Engle says the artist (think of that in broad terms as whatever you can do) is “a servant who is willing to be a birthgiver. In a very real sense,“ she says, “the artist (male or female) should be like Mary who, when the angel told her that she was to bear the Messiah, was obedient to the command.“ L’Engle says that whether the work is of great genius or something small, the artist either agrees to give it birth and says, “My soul doth magnify the Lord,“ or refuses. “Not everyone,“ L’Engle writes, “has the humble, courageous obedience of Mary” (Walking on Water 18).
Praising, as I discussed last week, and giving are, in a sense, ways of bowing before him.
But I’m wondering how long it has been since in some private place we have literally fallen on our knees, like the beautiful Christmas song says, overwhelmed by the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Perhaps this could happen if we somehow slow down and listen for the angels’ voices and visualize the miracle of the “night divine,“ and contemplate all it means.
Short of that, or along with that, I try to find things to display in the house for Christmas that represent a bowing heart. One is an ornament that hangs in the middle of my tree at eye-level. It is a pure white Lennox china circle. Cradled in the bottom of the circle is the baby Jesus. At the top of the circle opposite the Christ child, written in script, is a simple word: “Behold.“
I’ve held the grandchilden up to see it. We exchange a smile. The children know its significance, understand its preeminence. Another testimony sits on my mantle. It is a gold colored bust of a wise man, head obviously bowed in reverence.
Such are good reminders when I’m racing through the house with wrapping paper and a stack of boxes or rushing out the door with a plate of cookies for another holiday get-together. The white lights twinkling on the wreath over the mantle and on the tree by the front windows reveal what matters most at Christmas: a baby-and a wise man bowed in reverence before him.
