What does Christmas mean to you? That’s the big question at this time of the year, isn’t it? Because we’re all different, the season is obviously going to impact each of us differently. I won’t bother to list the ways we might respond to the question; we can all make our own lists.
Many years ago, when our children were young, it was all about presents and nativity plays – from the simple dramas enacted by the little ones at home, to later mini-productions in the church when they were older. The baby in the manger varied from a rolled-up towel, to baby dolls, to – one year – a real, live baby. And, of course, the role of Mary was the coveted one.
But the baby was always the centre-piece.
We dragged in a tree of some sort every year, to be adorned with home-made decorations. . Some trees were better-looking than others. One year, we couldn’t get a tree, so we used a bush from the garden. It worked! But over the years, the family began to discover the Biblical truth about God’s purposes for Israel, and the Judaic roots of the Christian faith. We learnt about the Feasts of the LORD and began to contrast them with the accepted Christian celebrations of Christmas and Easter, and the pagan roots of these festivals. Some in the family felt that we wanted to make a break with those pagan-based festivals and all the traditions that go with them. We began rather to celebrate the Biblical Feasts. We celebrated the birth of the Saviour at the Feast of Tabernacles in September/October, as there seemed to be strong evidence that He was born on that Feast. Others in the family, while appreciating and understanding this, opted to continue to keep the Christian celebrations. And some did both. We respected, and do respect, each other’s persuasion about this and share in one another’s celebration when we can.
The important thing is that the Baby remains central.
Recently I sat in the audience enjoying an evening of Christmas music performed by an excellent choir. As I listened to the words of “Away in a Manger”, my thoughts went to the Shepherds’ Field in Israel, with the Tower of the Flocks, the Migdal Eder, where the lambs for the Temple sacrifices were born, sheltered and cared for. These lambs had to be perfect, without scratches and flaws. So, as they were born, the lambs were wrapped in strips of cloth – swaddling bands – to protect them from being hurt or dirtied, and then laid in a manger. This was the field that was visited and illuminated by the angelic throng. 
As I listened to the choir sing, “The little LORD Jesus, no crying He makes”, I “saw”, in my imagination, the shelter , and the Baby wrapped in swaddling strips, His little flushed, crumpled face just showing. As I “watched”, He opened His tiny mouth and gave the familiar, heart-moving cry of the newborn. I thought I could hear it echoing softly in the still night air, with the undertones of the shifting, shuffling sheep huddled together. And tears filled my eyes as I thought of the depth of the love of God, that He would take on Himself the utter helplessness of that little Baby Boy – Who came into this world of ours for one reason only.
So that He could die. For me. For you.
And all I could do in my heart was to join the awestruck shepherds, and bow before Him.
Will you do the same?
light touches 