Christmas Is About The Kids

You can’t write about Christmas without falling into cheesiness. Forgive me before I begin.

Jesus wasn’t born silently in the depths of winter in a snow covered manger. He was born to a shamed mother and a confused father in May. He was announced to shepherds who couldn’t even testify in court, their standing was so low. He was greeted by an undetermined number of travelling Arabian scientists who had taken 3 years to get to him and who tipped off a crazed King before arriving. Herod then went on a genocidal spree based on their information. Soon the small family would flee as refugees to Egypt.

But in that moment, Joseph fell on his knees overwhelmed, when the Creator of the world was born as a baby and cried out “Help! Save me!” His mother answered his call. In that moment, like every other, he who needed sustenance sustained all existence. This sacrifice, this dependence, was a shadow of the purpose of this life, when at the end, totally dependent on mercy that did not come; he would make a sacrifice to save us all. This mercy, this thrill of hope makes weary hearts rejoice. Fall on your knees.

Your Correspondent, Today his soul feels its worth

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