In recent years at Christmas, I’ve been asking myself a single question: “But what if it really is all true?” The question never fails to shock me. It’s one of the things I love about Christmas. The question gives a jolt to my numb thinking patterns.
Are you like that, too?
I’ve been a Christian a long time. I believe God sent his Son to a small, insignificant Palestinian village called Bethlehem out of great love for us, and to eventually die as our Saviour. (Even Roman historians record some events of his life.)
But over time any experience, no matter how cataclysmic and awesome, can become routine and taken for granted. (Marriages are famous for this.) While the days and weeks and months of a normal, busy year pass like snowflakes blowing by a window, the glitter, the mystery and significance of God’s love-invasion of Earth starts to fade in my mind. Through inattention, I sometimes let it pale into a comfortable monotone of familiarity. My heart becomes dulled to the explosive significance: God loves his people so much that He sent His own royal Son to a dirty little stable to live with them, to share their experiences in poverty, and eventually get killed by people who called themselves religious.
What a paradox!
Imagine what it means if God really does love us that much!
I celebrate Christmas by recognizing that this story is no beautiful myth, no sentimental folklore dreamed up by a religious elite cloistered away in some comfortable tower. The story is too remarkable for human imagination. It brims over with a spectacular truth that will echo in our hearts for all eternity.
The question makes my sometimes cold heart start to burst with loving affection for our Lord God. It makes me feel like a contented puppy, lying at the feet of his master, tail happily thumping against the floor. All is well.
And the question that brings it back to me each year is this: “But what if it really is all true?”
