o little, run down, glass town of bethlehem.

Today, while singing the same old, same old Christmas carols in church, I was struck by how mechanical the songs had become to me. Here I was, singing these beautiful lyrics about the revolutionary birth of Christ and the new life he brought, and it didn't mean a thing to me. Everything was cardboard, all I had to do was move my lips and sing along. About the time I realized this, we started singing "O Little Town of Bethlehem." The classic lyrics I had sung all my life were suddenly set ablaze, lighting up with random sparks and fireworks that danced across the lines with an intensity that took me aback. It was usually only a few words in each verse, and yet it felt completely new to me, like I was singing it for the first time.

O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep,
The silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light.
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.

For me, it was those last two lines that were the bullet. It's easy to see God in shattered fragments, encompassing only certain aspects of our lives. For me, it's easy to lose sight of him when my fears are hitting home hard. During those moments of uncertainty and insecurity and panic, I like to zoom in on my problems and zoom out on God, drowning out his voice and what he wants me to do, because it usually involves... you know... facing those fears. For others, it's incredibly hard to stay focused on God during those times of hope and joy and excitement, when life is alive with bright colors and beauty, and things just seem to be going right. Sometimes, we get a bit too complacent, and like to think that since life is so great, we can get by just fine without God. Either way, this song makes it very clear that in Christ, all of these aspects of our hearts collide onto a backdrop of grace and unending love. All of the hopes we hold dear, all of those annoying fears that burrow under our skin, all of the shiny bright and oozing black parts of our hearts - Christ is big enough to meet all of it. No matter what season of life we're in, Jesus is there, filling up the cracks and sustaining us with his peace.

How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessing of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him still,
The dear Christ enters in.

This is a much quieter verse than the others, sneaking under the radar, just like the birth of Christ. I'd never really noticed that it mentions how God gave us this gift silently. There were no curled ribbons, festive lights or candied apples. There was the reek of cattle shit and the piercing screams of a newborn baby. Even as he grew older and began his ministry, Christ never preached under neon signs with fireworks for effect. In fact, after most of his miracles, he specifically asked them not to tell anyone else. Later, he was brutally slaughtered on the cross, the most humiliating way to die. Christ never made a huge show of himself. He reflected all glory straight back to the Father and never stopped preaching and living humility, even though he's the only one who truly deserves the worship and glory and flashing neon signs. Reflecting on God's silent gift to the world encourages me to give back by taking up my cross and continually emptying myself. As the lyrics say, we are meek souls, scared and small and confused, but when the dear Christ can enter in, when he can move in past all of those scars and expand, we begin to see ourselves less and less, gazing instead on the beautiful face of God, his humble-manger-bed, bleeding-cross-scars and all. A wondrous gift indeed.

O holy child of Bethlehem,
Descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin and enter in,
Be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell:
Oh, come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Emmanuel!

I think the problem I have with most Christmas sermons is that I take such an eagle's-eye-view on the Christmas story. Mary, Joseph, the stable and baby Jesus remain so impersonal and distant, petite figurines in a glass Nativity scene, always lodged in some sort of untouchable realm of Christmas. This verse reminded me that when Christ Jesus was born into the world, thousands of years ago, in a distant land, he was able to reach across all time throughout all the world to give everyone the hope of new life. Not only was he born once into this world, he's also being constantly born in the hearts of each and every Christian! That once far Nativity set was suddenly smashed to glass shards, slicing up my heart with the real and gritty Christmas story, the one that didn't end in a manger, but the one that will never end, the one that happens every day. Every day, we are given the opportunity to realign our thoughts with Christ, who has been born in our hearts and is continually growing, always active and moving.

That is why he came. It's why we're reminded every year of his lowly birth and spend one whole month in anticipation of celebration. For although his physical birth was a one-time event, his continual birth in the hearts of Christians isn't. His birth is alive, it's one that breathes and grows and can never be contained in a glass Nativity set. It's a truth that will live on for eternity and one that should always remain at the forefront of our minds and attention.

Let Christ come up close and abide with you this Christmas. Because he's so much more than glass.