Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ!

Images of Christmas pasts flood my mind this time of year. Images of learning about Santa Claus as a little boy growing up in Bemidji, questions of how can he come down our chimney when it is so narrow? Does he really know if I have been good or bad? Does he see me or does someone tell him? And how could they tell him if they have not seen me being bad? Does he really eat the cookies and drink the milk we leave for him? As a little boy I did not want to out and out express my doubts for fear of offending him, but I was really curious about these things. But presents showed up the next day where they had not been present the night before, and cookies and milk were always gone, the evidence was there before me.

Images of Christmas pasts continue to flood my mind this time of year. Images of learning about God, about Jesus, about Mary and Joseph, a host of images, enough to rival a host of angels when I think about it. Images of a creator God who labored in a big kitchen creating while being helped by angels, images of God who had long white hair and a white beard but kind of looked like my mom who made things in our kitchen, who taught me about God and about Jesus. Images of Jesus born of a girl named Mary, questions about God and how can God be the Father and a baby, and where did the baby come from because after all, at that young age I could not figure out where babies came from anyway, the idea that they came from a mommy's tummy just did not make any sense at all, how did the babies get out of someone's tummy?

Images of Christmas pasts continue to move through my mind, almost like something on you-tube. Thinking, maybe accurately maybe not, of Bethlehem, a cold night, was there snow? Imagining the thousands or hundreds of thousands of stars shining down in the cold crisp air, no ambient light to dispel the viewing, shepherds gathered around the fire, holding their hands out, making occasional rounds of the flocks, making sure all was as it should be. Images of shepherds, romanticized and idealized in the mind of a child, not dirty, unwashed, probably smelling like smoke and sheep and who knows what else.

Images of Christmas pageants past, worshipping with my parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, images of sitting around the living room of my grandparent's home in Bemidji with people sitting in the dining room as well, looking toward the Christmas tree, and the front door as an uncle would come in dressed like Santa Claus. He did not fool me but he fooled my younger brother and sister and all my cousins. I knew he was not the "real" Santa but I did not spill the beans.

Images of Christmas pasts as first my grandfather, then my grandmother and dad all passed away in the week before Christmas and on Christmas Eve. Images of the questions I began to ask; is the meaning of Christmas in the festivities and the festival, or is it in the event itself, or is the meaning of Christmas in another event?

Let us go back to that image of a hillside outside of Bethlehem, shepherds huddled around a fire on a cold winter night, sparkles in the air, the night sky full of stars, maybe the sliver of a moon somewhere out there. An image of an angel suddenly appearing. No! Not an image, an actual, real angel suddenly appearing. He speaks, "Do not be afraid; for see I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger."

Bethlehem was hardly the place to visit if you did not have to go there, it was not a vacation destination, it was a village in an out-of-the-way part of Palestine. If not for a census, I wonder if anyone would have gone there. A long trip from Nazareth, by donkey, especially if the rider is nearly due to give birth, a long trip by walking, especially if you are guiding a donkey with a pregnant young woman on it. Inns are filled, darned computers and their reservation system! Oh wait! Guess I am a little early for that one. But a charitable innkeeper gives them a place at least somewhat out of the elements. Warmth from animals, maybe even a little fire. What an image. Who would have thought?

What a place for a face-to-face encounter with the Holy One, with the Messiah, the Savior! Back on our hillside. The shepherds look up. They look up, not down, but up at the wonder that appears with a backdrop of thousands of stars. A messenger from God, our God, our Creator, our God of Time and Eternity! That first Christmas sets the stage, look up, look at the hope that took flesh and came into our world that first Christmas Eve.

Look up because we have a God who cares about us, who hears our cries, who answers prayer, who loves us so much that he became one of us for a time. Look up but also look around because God came in a small village in an out-of-the-way place to be born of a young mother in a stable surrounded by animals, and laid in a manger! God came into the ordinary, the last place we might expect to find God. And listen, not only to the voices of the angels who praise God, but listen to the manger. God cares about the everyday world, the humdrum existence we often find ourselves facing, the drudgery of taking care of the dishes, the house, mowing, shoveling snow, whatever, God cares. We see the Christ of Christmas by looking up and by looking around.

The mystery, the poetry of Christmas exclaims that God came for the lowliest, as one of the lowliest and the message was first proclaimed to those who society would ignore, not see or even acknowledge. Look up and around and beyond with eyes of faith, the gift of grace. See our God who came as a tiny, helpless baby, identifying with us that for eternity we are identified with him. God is here now, with us, Emmanuel! Merry Christmas! Amen!