One Snowy Night at Christmas

Light snowflakes were falling out of the evening sky as I crunched through the foot-deep snow covering the sidewalk in my hometown. This was something I looked forward to each year; walking the streets of homes in the historic part of town to look at Christmas decorations in their yards and the lights from their windows. Not only were the old homes elegant, but the trees lining the streets, the 100-year-old oaks which had long since lost their leaves, now shimmered with their white snowy coverings. Except for the occasional passing of a car, it was all very still and quiet.

There is a church in the area which has a history of over 130 years. As part of their tradition, the congregation constructs a nativity scene in the side yard which goes up after Thanksgiving and stays until New Years. It is illuminated through the night and the figures are life-size and easily seen by the passing cars. I have seen the nativity standing in rainstorms, windstorms, and snowfalls. Each day a member of the congregation checks to repair any storm damage or vandalism. Most importantly, they clean the snow off the baby Jesus to make him presentable for the evening showing.

Sometimes during the day, I will see mothers with their children stopping at the nativity; the children run up to look at the donkeys or the baby Jesus in the manger. But really, the townspeople have all seen it through the years and the visitors are now few. This quiet evening there were none.

The snow began falling a bit harder as I made my way to the church yard. I zipped my coat up tight around my neck to keep the warmth inside. The church members had placed two park benches on the lawn in front of the nativity to welcome the visitors to rest and enjoy the display. I took my gloved hand, wiped the deep snow off the bench and sat down. Hidden somewhere in the scene I could hear audio speakers quietly playing “Joy to the World.”

There in front of me, around the crèche, were sheep, shepherds, three wise men with their gifts, one camel, and a donkey. A star and an angel were suspended above the stable and Mary and Joseph stood watch over a manger which held the baby Jesus. A light, hidden under the eave of the stable roof, focused on his face and illuminated his whole body.

As I sat on the bench, mesmerized by the falling snow and the scene before me, I began to see that, whether they had planned it or not, the light was focused on nothing else around the nativity scene but the baby Jesus. To the Christian, the reason for the season. Wow, I thought. Focused on the baby Jesus.

In my mind, I thought of everything that takes my focus during the Christmas season: shopping, decorating, family gatherings, office parties, extravagant meals. These are all jammed into a two-week span which is already filled with normal, non-holiday life.

I realized that the birth of baby Jesus is part of my Christmas, not my focus.

It’s odd, I thought. On my calendar are printed days of recognition to people in history. Google, weekly highlights a person of historical significance. We are supposed to take time to remember this person and how they impacted history. We are honoring the lives of dead people. Jesus is alive. I can’t even make it a priority to honor my living Savior.

Sitting on the cold bench with my body now covered with snow, my mind was filled with the children’s programs I have attended and been part of for 66 years. I could hear the young ones reciting: “For unto us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”(1)

A single child dressed in angel wings would shout, “I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord!”(2)  

Then the cast of angels would fill the auditorium, and praising God they would shout, “Glory to God in the highest and on earth, peace and goodwill to all mankind.”(3)

Now, that is focusing on Jesus.

Through the speakers, a choir sang an orchestrated version of “O Come All Ye Faithful.” My body shivered a bit, and I realized that I had been sitting on the bench covered with snow far too long. I stood and shook the snow from my coat and pants. Then I walked through the fresh fallen snow to the baby in the manger.

The choir sang:

“O come, let us adore him.

O come, let us adore him.

O come, let us adore him,

Christ the Lord.”

It was just me looking down at him as the doll stared up at me, but he may have well been real because the Spirit of Jesus was there too.

“Lord Jesus,” I said.  “It’s been a pleasure to sit with you this evening. Merry Christmas. Happy birthday. And thanks.”

(1) Isaiah 9:6  (2) Luke 2:10,11  (3) Luke 2:14

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