Christmas Night

It’s taking place somewhere near Berlin.  Snow is falling gently to the ground.   Few cars are on the road this time of night. Illuminating the countryside in silhouette form, it is the most spectacular moonlit sky I have ever seen.  Its beauty is magical.  There are gold and silver linings, created by the reflection of the moon’s light on the clouds surrounding it.  Every few minutes, the wind blows these clouds across the face of the moon, bringing with it a mystical presence.  After a few moments, the clouds clear, and the warmth of the light grants me a new joy.

I have been on the road for twelve hours.  My trip began early this morning in Helsinki, Finland.  Following a short flight from Helsinki to Stockholm, Sweden, I picked up my car.  From there I drove through Sweden and Denmark, crossed the Baltic Sea on two separate ferries, and finally landed in Northern Germany late this evening.  

On this trip, I viewed some of the most picturesque scenery in the world.  Sweden has a charm all its own.  All day the countryside of this nation had given me a deep appreciation for the creativity of our Creator.  And now twelve hours later and 600 miles farther, I am awestruck by another aspect of the Creator’s creation, the moon and the sky.

After traveling all day, numerous thoughts crossed my mind.  For me, I tend to dream, reflect, and wonder.  Of the three, the aspect of dreaming always seems to dominate my thinking.  An array of ideas, goals, and wishful thoughts keeps my mind occupied for hours.  Constantly, I am searching for notepads and pens to record these ideas.  However, at this time, my mind is filled mostly with wonder.  There is no need for a notepad.  My thoughts are coming from deep within.  And this is largely due to what I am seeing outside my windshield.  Considering all the elements surrounding me, this night would have been the perfect Christmas night.  At least to me it would have been.

Staring at the breathtaking scene in the sky, I decide to pull over to the side of the road.  I climb out of the vehicle and sit on the hood, staring into the night.  To those passing by, it must be a peculiar sight.  After all, it is midnight.

During my fifteen minutes on the hood of the car, I am reminded of something I wrote once in New York City.  Sitting in the heart of Times Square, people-watching and reflecting, I was penning some thoughts into my journal.  After a few hours of observance, I found myself writing, “Every moment has significance.  Every ordinary thing carries its own beauty.  Look deep and you will find it.”  People rarely realize the most precious and beautiful things in life are usually found in the ordinary.  The following story of Bob Edens illustrates this point.

*            For fifty-one years Bob Edens was blind.  He couldn’t see a thing.  His world was a black hall of sounds and smells.  He felt his way through five decades of darkness.  And then he could see.  A skilled surgeon performed a complicated operation and, for the first time, Bob Edens had sight.  He found it overwhelming.  “I never would have dreamed that yellow is so ...  yellow,” he exclaimed.  “I don’t have the words.  I am amazed by yellow.  But red is my favorite color.  I just can’t believe red.”

            “I can see the shape of the moon  ...  and I like nothing better than seeing a jet plane flying across the sky, leaving a vapor trail.  And of course, sunrises and sunsets.  And at night I look at the stars in the sky and the flashing light.  You could never know how wonderful everything is.”   He’s right.  Those of us who have lived a lifetime with vision could never know how wonderful it must be to be able to see for the first time.  The ability to see is something we take for granted.

But Bob Edens is not the only one who has spent a lifetime near something without seeing it.  All of us suffer from some sort of blindness.  Amazing, isn’t it?  We can live next to something for a lifetime, but unless we take time to focus on it, it does not become a part of our life.  Unless we somehow have our blindness lifted, our world is only a black cave.  Think about it.  Just because one has witnessed a thousand rainbows doesn’t mean he’s seen the grandeur of one.  One can live near a garden and fail to focus on the splendor of the flower.  A man can spend a lifetime with a woman and never pause to look into her soul.  Most of us are blinded to the beauty, joy, and fulfillment that is to be seen in the ordinary.  We miss it by looking for the spectacular.

During my recollection of the above, I begin to see the beauty hidden in the sky.  My wondering allows me to realize the significance of this moment.  I discover for myself why I am being drawn to this particular scene.  You see, from God’s perspective, this scene is no major accomplishment.  When we imagine how big His Universe and Creation is, this sky is just a minute fraction of everything He owns and has created.  Yet, to me, it is one of the most awesome scenes I have ever witnessed.   It is so vast and large.  It covers everything within my natural view of sight.  When you consider all the elements – the wind, the snow, the lighting, the clouds, the moon – in one sense it is incredibly elaborate.  In another, it’s so simple and ordinary.  My perception is determined by my perspective.  The Creator or the creation.  This is when it hits me:  Tonight is like the first Christmas night, so elaborate, yet so simple.  Let me take you there.

Somewhere over Bethlehem, a star is shining brightly.  High above the city, the moon and its companions sit silently.   In the city, people are hustling and bustling everywhere.  The motel and private vacant rooms are filling up quickly.   Soon, no vacancy signs would cover the city.  Thousands have gathered in Bethlehem for the taking of the census.  I imagine just about every walk of humanity was represented.  The rich, the poor.  The “in” crowd, the outcasts.  The moral, the immoral.  The white collar, the blue collar.  The elaborate, the simple.  All were there.  Bethlehem had become a melting pot of the personalities that represent humanity.  

From the East, men of prominence arrive.  With them, they bring gifts.  They are looking for one of great importance.  Following many months of searching and chasing a star, they reach their destination.  The star has come to rest over Bethlehem.

On the outskirts of town, shepherds are doing what they always do.  Watching sheep.  Cracking jokes.  Dreaming about a better life.  Wondering what tomorrow holds.  Searching for stray sheep.  And crowding together around a warm fire to tell stories.  Many stories.  Mostly re-runs.  Men certainly have not changed much in 2,000 years.

In the city center, things are booming.  Vendors keep their shops open late.  Taverns and places of gathering are full.  Business is being discussed over a few drinks.  The innkeeper is running around trying to meet his guests’ every request.  A pillow needed here, a blanket there.  It has been a long time since his establishment was sold out.

In homes around the city, children bypass their normal bedtime hours because of all the commotion.  Relatives are reunited.  Families catch up on lost time.  Meals are cooked late into the evening.  It’s a joyous night.

In the heavens, Angels are being prepared.  Soon they will descend upon a little middle-eastern city.   Bethlehem will host God’s greatest miracle yet.  This will be the night for it to take place.  After thousands of years of planning and preparing, the time has arrived.  Tonight, God himself is going to enter the humanity He created.  He will become one of them.  The Creator will be born.

Mary and Joseph have been on the road for days.  The journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem was no simple one, especially for a pregnant woman.  Upon their arrival, they discover there are no rooms available.  In a desperate attempt to find a place of rest for his expecting wife, Joseph inquires with the locals.   Through a series of people, he is directed to the outskirts of town.  Here he finds a stable.  A filthy stable.  Not elaborate.  Only simple.  Nothing but an ordinary stable.  And this is where Joseph and Mary will spend the night.

Meanwhile, in the synagogues, Rabbis are enjoying each other’s company.  It’s not often they can meet together like this.   So they take advantage of the occasion.  Pulling out the Talmud, they discuss and debate over the Scriptures.  The conversation settles around the coming of the Messiah, the chosen one of Israel.  The Jewish people are longing for this moment.  And the purpose of the people gathering in Bethlehem fueled the Rabbis’ discussion.  They are tired of Roman rule.  The census is being taken to ensure everyone is taxed.  This did not sit well with the Rabbis.  Money that could be given to their cause would now go to Rome.  And in their hearts, they know the only deliverance from this bondage is the arrival of the Messiah.  So they discuss the matter.  Let’s imagine for a moment.  Maybe they just happen to read through the Prophet Micah’s words:

         “ But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are small among the clans of Judah, out of you will come for me one who will be ruler over Israel, whose origins are of old, from ancient times."

Following their discussion, they enter into a concert of prayer, pleading with God the Father to send His Anointed One, the Messiah.  And wouldn’t you know it.  God would answer their prayer.  This same night He would answer it.  Almost immediately.  But they will miss it.  Incredible.

Slowly, the town of Bethlehem settles down.  Taverns close up.  Vendors lock their shops.  Business deals are finalized.   People wander home.  The inn-keeper finds his way to bed.  Children fall into a deep sleep.  The Rabbis’ discussion about the Messiah ends.  For most, it will be another simple and ordinary night in Bethlehem.  The stars will shine brightly.  The moon will rest quietly.  And a few candles will flicker throughout the evening in various places.  Yes, in one sense, this night in Bethlehem will be like all others.  In another, it will be so radically different.  This night will be the first Christmas Night.  Not for all.  Only for some.  Only for those who are looking.  Only for those who can see.  See in the world of the simple and ordinary.

In the filthy stable, Mary enters into labor.  Joseph sits nervously by his wife’s side. His heart is racing.  He is experiencing all emotions.  The thrill of being a father.  Concern for his wife.  Wishing he could alleviate her pain.  Wondering what he can do to help.  All his efforts are futile.  In reality, all he can do is stand by and watch. 

Mary is experiencing deep pain.  Bearing a child is more excruciating than she had imagined.  Especially in a stable.  And there is no one to help her deliver the child.  She only has her husband’s encouraging words.  So she presses on.  Then it happens.  She hears a cry.  Joseph’s heart leaps with joy as he picks up the little, innocent baby.  Mary, exhausted from the ordeal, stares with wonder at the sight of her firstborn.  She looks into the face of the baby.  Then it hits her.  This is Him.  Her son.  Her Lord.  She can’t take her eyes off him.  Somehow she knows, Joseph is holding God.  And yet, Joseph is holding her son.  The extraordinary takes place in the ordinary.  The elaborate in the simple.  Simply amazing.  The most spectacular event has just happened in an ordinary and simple way. 

Somewhere in the heavens, the order is given.  The Angels are to descend upon the fields surrounding Bethlehem.  And within a twinkle of an eye, they arrive.  Suddenly the fields light up.  Angels are dancing and singing.   The shepherds are stunned.  Their mouths hang wide open.  Their eyes are big and round.  Never in their lives have they witnessed a scene like this.  Fear now grips their hearts.  But one of the angels chases those fears away by proclaiming, “Don’t be afraid.  I bring you the most joyful news ever announced, and it is for everyone.  The Savior, yes, the Messiah, the Lord, has been born tonight in Bethlehem.”  Then the angels begin to sing “Glory to God in the highest, peace and goodwill to all men.”  And then they’re gone.  Just like that.  The shepherds can’t believe what they’ve just experienced.  It happened so fast.  After a few moments, they rush to Bethlehem looking for the Savior.

Meanwhile, most are sleeping through the night.  Most are unaware of what has taken place.  In the morning, they will wake and face another day.  To them, the night before will have been just another simple, ordinary night.  Few will realize the impossible has occurred.  The One they have been looking for has finally arrived.  After hundreds of years of waiting, hoping, praying, He is here.  And yet most will not know.  They missed it because it was not spectacular.  No earthquake.  No lightning.  No audible voice to wake the city.  Only a baby’s cry.  Nothing else.  It was too ordinary.  Too simple.

           

Here I sit, two thousand years later, pondering the simplicity of the Incarnation.  The snow is falling heavily now.  As I stare one last time into the night sky above Berlin, I wonder how many magical moments I miss because I am blind, because I look beyond the ordinary for the spectacular.  If I were in Bethlehem on the first Christmas Night, would I have missed it?  Probably.  They missed it because of its simplicity.  They became too familiar with the fact the Messiah was coming.  It became too ordinary.  I am not much different.  And you probably are not either.  Those who missed His Majesty’s arrival that night missed it not because of evil acts or malice; no, they missed it because they just were not looking.  They were blind.  Blinded by looking for the spectacular.

            Remember Bob Edens?  Something else he said is worth noting.  “Grass was something I had to get used to  .  .  .  I always thought it was just fuzz.  But to see each individual green stalk, and to see the hair on my arm growing like trees, and birds flying through the air ...  It’s like starting a whole new life.”

Getting vision can be like that.  Especially when you look at the simple and ordinary things in life.  Just like the first Christmas Night.  So simple, yet so profound.  Look deep and you will see it.  Especially at this Christmas season.  Allow me to remind you one last time:

“Every moment has significance.

Every ordinary thing carries its own beauty.

Look deep and you will find it.”

* Story quoted from Max Lucado’s “God Came Near”

Love in the Rubble

Tragedy has a way of visiting those who can bear it least.  Catastrophe has a propensity to strike without warning.  Unimagined carnage can fall upon anyone at any time in any place at any moment.  And so it was in Port-au-Prince.  There was no ominous thundercloud, no wailing siren, no public announcement, no forewarning.  There was nothing.  One minute the ground was still and the next the ground was rolling and cracking and something terrible had begun.  One second people were living their lives and in the next they were running for their lives.  In the flash of an eye everything changed.  Everything.

For thirty-eight seconds the largest city in the poorest nation of the western hemisphere was in the grip of a violent monster rumbling below the surface of the earth, generating a crushing cascade of death and destruction and devastation.  Every man, every woman, every child was caught in the monster’s grasp as it terrorized Haiti and shook its capital ferociously.  Twenty-one year old Evans Brice was sitting at his workstation when suddenly his desk started jumping violently and the walls were swaying and the roof was falling and the floor opened, swallowing people and furniture and its own contents and there was dust and smoke and fire and screams and everything was shaking and splitting and crashing and breaking and plummeting.  Evans tumbled with debris through the open floor, enveloped in a cloud of disintegrating powder and toxic dust bursting with loose objects of twisted metal, shattered bricks, and splintered wood.  Falling, he could only think of his fiancée Fiona Jean – his first love – the girl who had captured his heart when he was sixteen, the girl who still captured his heart five years later as he stared death in the face.

The universal longing and yearning for love is found everywhere throughout our world.  Feelings of love are felt as strongly in the third world as they are in the first world.  People are people and hearts are hearts.  Every heart in every person in every nation aches for love and desires to give love and thirsts to be loved.  Love is the one force that connects hearts and it’s the only force that completes hearts.  No force, no emotion, no possession can silence the ache of the heart, fulfill the longing of the heart, quench the thirst of the heart except for love.  Love is an ineffable wonder coveted in every corridor and chamber of the human heart, creating a vacuum of want and need and craving – a void that can only be filled through the amazing happening of experiencing love.

Every person, everywhere, longs to take a breathtaking journey with someone and encounter the agony and ecstasy of pioneers who discover the miraculous happening of love, creating a path of two lives becoming one, of two hearts uniting.  This is what makes love so captivating and entrancing, a force so powerful and exhilarating, a force every human heart desires.  Love is the only force in the universe that can change hearts, change lives, change existence; it’s the only force that can survive the unimaginable and the impossible and the inconceivable and the unthinkable.  Love cannot be silenced, eradicated, destroyed, exterminated.  No tragedy or wound, no calamity or disaster can eliminate or do away with love, for love is a force that never dies.  Love is eternal.

And so it was for Evans as he lay trapped in rubble, buried in debris, entombed in the worst disaster in Haiti’s history.  He was miraculously wedged in a cavity the size of his body, surrounded by voices of despair and anguish.  Slipping in and out of consciousness, he could think only of love.  Of love and love alone.

The love he felt.

The love he experienced.

He could think only of love.

The love of his life.

The love that completed him.

He could think only of love.

Just love.

Love alone.

Love.

Fiona.

Love was alive in the rubble.

A day after the most devastating earthquake in recorded history struck the West Indies, Evans is freed from the rubble.  For a moment there is light and a little hope as faith unfurls in his heart.  Then panic returns.  Fiona.  Minutes after being rescued, he hits the seemingly stable ground and runs toward the textile factory where Fiona works in the blue collar neighborhood of Carrefour, in Port-au-Prince.

His lungs burn.

His head pounds.

His heart hurts.

He runs and runs and runs.

He has to find her.

Just has to find her.

He does not care how or where.

He runs and runs.

He just wants to find her.

Just wants to find her.

Wants to find her.

Just her.

Her.

Fiona.

Everywhere he looks streets are covered with collapsed buildings as multi-story structures have turned into something resembling short stacks of pancakes.  Screams are coming from buckled edifices, people begging and pleading to be saved.  Some are crying for God.  Some are crying for others.  Some are just crying.  Crying parents are looking for children.  Crying children are looking for parents.  Everywhere, on every street, in every building, in every pile of rubble someone is crying and someone is looking for someone.  As Evans rambles through the streets, devastation looms in the shadows and sunshine alike as a ubiquitous tormentor of Haiti’s men, women, and children.  Images of mass destruction are seen in every direction: dangling power lines, riots of electric wires, shards of broken glass, ruptured pipes, fractured streets, and mountains and mountains of rubble.  Nearly 290,000 buildings are destroyed or damaged.  Over 220,000 are dead and 300,000 more are injured.  It’s like running through an apocalypse as scenes of devastation are encountered every second: detached limbs lying in streets, one man is seen shrieking in pain; he lost both legs, another is screaming in agony; he discovered his wife crushed in rubble.  Everywhere there are bodies and people are stumbling and staggering in a shock-induced stupor, some covered in dirt and dust and dried blood, some in ripped and torn clothing, some barefoot, some naked.  The city’s life is beaten back in clusters of cowering refugees, like the results of some inexplicable experiment gone badly wrong.  Evans is a mile away when he passes an area strewn with backpacks, textbooks and loose papers fluttering in the breeze.  It was once a school.  He ignores the smell in the air, the cries in the streets, the horrors all around.  He keeps running and running.

Each second is an hour long.

Each step a long distance race.

He runs and runs and runs.

He must get there.

He must.

There.

Fiona.

The mist starts to form.  A distant fog rises from someplace he does not know and begins to envelop his heart.  He grows fearful as it approaches.  Like a rolling cloud it blankets everything.  His throat begins to close and his eyes well up with tears.  Hope fades into desolation, into loneliness and despair, into pain so deep, so so deep.  His head turns side to side in a universal gesture of negation as he stands silently among the ruins.  Dense tears slip down his cheeks as he stares in disbelief at the mangled corpse of a beautiful woman half crushed beneath the concrete.  It’s the love of his life.  It’s Fiona.  Grief manifests itself as he sinks to his knees and desperately rubs his wallet filled with her pictures against his heart.  A profound sense of loss inhabits and overwhelms him as sorrow and pain and deep heartache pour out in heavy sobs and a shortness of breath and stammering broken words, “I cannot leave.  I cannot leave.  We’ve been together since we were sixteen.  I cannot leave.  I love her.  I love her so much.”  His trembling hand reaches out and touches her hair, powdered white with concrete dust.  Slowly he moves closer and gently cradles her head in his arms.  He tenderly brushes the white dust from her hair.  His tears fall softly on her face as he whispers in her ear, “I will not leave you like this.  I will not leave you, Fiona.  I will not leave.”  He closes his eyes and prays she can hear his words.  Somehow, somewhere, he wants her to hear his words.  He wants her to know she is safe in his arms, that she is safe, she is safe safe safe.

Safe in his arms.

In his arms.

Safe.

For he will not leave.

He will not leave.

Will not leave.

Love does not leave.

Does not leave.

Love stands in the rubble.

In the rubble.

Love stands.

Sometimes you see the most beautiful expression of love in the most painful picture of human loss and suffering.  And it’s in this moment you really understand love.  Love cannot be explained.  No words can ever convey the magnificence and splendor and depth of love.  Love can only be seen with the eye and felt in the heart.

In a traumatized world where everything had been turned upside down and the ground itself had given way, love offered certitude as Evans stayed with Fiona until her body could be safely removed.  Love could be seen and felt as he held her for three days.  He waited so he could give her a proper burial, a peaceful place where she could be laid to rest.  People may die.  But love does not.  Love stands in the rubble and cares for the wellbeing of another.  Love does not run, or cower, or abandon.  Love waits for the best interests of another to be fulfilled and realized.  Evans would not leave because the love for Fiona was greater than the pain of her death.  Love endures all things.  He stayed with her until she could be freed from the debris.  His girl, his love, would be buried in dignity.  Not in a large grave with others.  Not scooped up.  Not abandoned and buried in rubble.  No, this was his other half, his heart’s companion.  This was the love of his life, the girl who captured his heart at sixteen, the girl who still captured his heart in death.  And love – true and authentic love – does not leave.

We don’t know how much we are capable of loving until the people we love are being taken away, until something beautiful has ended.  Love means you care for another person’s interests and their happiness more than your own, no matter how painful the choices you face might be.  No matter where you are today, love can work in your rubble if you really take a moment to see life for what it is and understand what truly completes you.  May you hold those in your life close to your body and feel them breathe and take in their remarkable scent and give them your love – give them your love while you still have them.  Life is short, very, very short.  If you take a moment, a humble and sincere moment, and look through the lens of love at your life and your world, you will see the depth of love and feel the wonder of love; you will understand why love never leaves and always remains; you will discover how love endures all things and stands in the rubble.

A Day in My Life – Dark Secrets

I learned one of my coworkers has lied to me about who he is and what he is and why he is here.  I learned his story of fraud and millions and living high and far was a cover for something dark and gross and horrible and evil horrible horrible evil.  I learned he is filthy and sick and disgusting and a dirty horrible lying animal.  I am a father and if anyone did to my daughters what this pervert did to other children I would be lost in a fury and a cyclone and a rage and want to punish the sick twisted distorted perverted atrocious individual who could subject beautiful and precious children to such horrors and terrors, scarring their lives forever and ever and ever.  As a father, God gave me precious angels to watch over and protect, to guard to defend to shield to shelter.  The thought of anyone hurting and injuring and destroying and despoiling the innocence and purity and wonder and dreams and hopes and sensations of childhood, of the oung days of my girls’ lives fills me with an anger like fire like a burning rage that consumes everything I know and understand and believe and want to believe and hope to believe and have ever believed.  Thoughts of tears trickling from young round beautiful blue and brown brilliant eyes filled with life and joy and wonder suddenly filled with fear and terror because of a sick distorted warped cruel perversion sends me to a place I have never been before.

Never been.

Never.

I look down at my hands and they are shaking.

Shaking and trembling and shaking.

Shaking and shaking with rage and fury and anger and wrath.

I brace myself against the white porcelain shaking and trembling.  My mind twirls and gyrates and contorts and I am sick and revolted and repulsed and nauseated.  An emotional cyclone of dark thoughts of wanting to protect, to defend, an inferno of reckoning retribution to protect the little ones who can’t protect themselves circles and circles and circles coiling in my mind tightly coiling curling down an endless dark spiral of blackness that spins and spins and spins twisting and torquing to the darkest abyss and the gates are open and I see it.  I see it for the first time for the very first time.  I see why there is Hell and why God allows people to go there and why there is endless suffering and fire and pain and heat and torment where one always remembers because it is endless and bottomless and deathless, a place where one wants to die but they can’t die because they died once and they can never die again.  They scream and plead and shriek and beg because they see the fear and the terror they inflicted.  They see it over and over and over in the round brilliant brown and blue and green and hazel.

The innocence they filled with shame.

The hopes they filled with fear.

They see it.

They see it.

He said it and He thought it.  He must have seen what I saw in my mind when I saw the beautiful innocent young blue brown brilliant eyes.  He said it and I finally understand the full depths of the meaning of His words.  Truly understand.

He was angry before.  Very angry.  Angry over much lesser things.

After the Incarnation He was angry.

In the temple, His house, He took a whip and turned over tables.

He said it after He came to earth.  He said it as a man, fully flesh, full of blood and bones and tissue wrapped in skin breathing the same air we breathe walking on the same planet we walk.  He said it in an era of grace and mercy and forgiveness, just one simple prayer and all of it will be forgiven forgotten gone.

Yes it is true.  It’s very true.  It extends to all.

Forgiveness.

Mercy.

Grace.

Yes it extends to all.  All can be forgiven forgotten gone.

But He still said it.

Better for you to be thrown into the sea with a millstone tied around your neck than to offend one of these little ones.

To offend and hurt one of these little ones.

To offend and hurt and injure innocence and purity.

Have mercy on us all Lord.  And protect the little ones, the ones who can’t protect themselves.  Protect them today in this horrible and cruel and dark and evil world we call our home.  Protect them Lord, please protect them.  Please please please.  And help me, really help me in this dark place where I live to fully understand and see how far and deep and wide your grace and mercy extends and reaches.  Today I can’t seem to see too far or understand too much.