Twelve Days of Christmas

The First Night of Christmas (signs of humble with-ness)

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‘Tis the first night of Christmas. The heavens proclaim:

  • Emmanuel.
  • God with us.
  • Deity made flesh.
  • Lord sent to earth.
  • Christ the Savior is born.

This story of Jesus’ birth (and all it portends) is foolish in all worldly ways. Collective humanity is far more wont to desire:

  • Myself.
  • Us as God.
  • Flesh made divine.
  • Earth bereft of Lordship.
  • Death of saving doctrines.

This list of worldly desires (and all it portends) is a fools’ game, leading to nothing but empty souls full of self.

Surely the arrival of humanity’s Savior indicates this, at the very least: humanity is in desperate need of saving.

Surely the Savior of humanity deserves this at his arrival, at the very least: a crown, a robe, a throne. These are signs worthy of God made flesh, Christ the Savior, Lord of all, Creator of heaven and earth.

As so often happens in the Real Story, things do not progress as one might expect, for the actual signs of Christ’s arrival are shockingly unspectacular and superlatively unpowerful.

And you will recognize him by this sign: You will find a baby wrapped snugly in strips of cloth, lying in a manger.

No crown. No robe. No throne. Not a single thing that speaks of royalty or divinity in even the smallest degree.

Sign One: “You will find.”

The finding itself is a sign, for without a specific roadmap or address, how is one to find the Savior of the world, especially a Savior who on the first night of his life was hidden among the vast masses of lowly ordinary folk? Simply by looking. “Let us go and seethis thing which the Lord has told us about.” It really is that simple.

Sign Two: “A baby, wrapped snugly in strips of cloth, lying in a manger.”

A baby. A baby.

This is the sign of Christ’s arrival? This is the proclaimed Savior and Lord of all? This is God among us?

“Sign” (sēmeion – σημειον) means this:

a mark, a token, by which a person or a thing is distinguished from others and is known; transcending the common course of nature.

The grown Jesus was often asked for miraculous signs that would prove his identity, that would distinguish him from others, that would transcend the common course of nature. As a general rule, he refused such requests. He knew that signs, spectacular as they may be, can be misused and finicky things.

Still, the grown Jesus, at the most inopportune and unexpected times, displayed sign after sign after sign – most often to the benefit of the vast lowly masses among whom he was born rather than for the morbid curiosity of those who would deny and disown him.

But the newborn Jesus did not display any signs that would qualify as signs, per se. There was no crown. There was no robe. There was no throne. There was no blinking neon sign splattering the peaceful night with its urgent message: MESSIAH ON TAP! OPEN!

The signs, rather than distinguishing Jesus from others, identified him with others. He arrived as a helpless babe, just as we all do.

The signs, rather than proclaiming Jesus as one who transcends the common course of nature, identified him as one who descends to the common course of nature. Humanity. Suffering. Rejection. Death.

If you expect God to give you a sign that Christ IS, perhaps you must do as the shepherds did:

Go and look for this thing that has happened, this Person who has arrived.

Look in the least likely of places, where worldly power is absent and heavenly humility reigns.

The shepherds hurried to the village and found it … the baby, lying in the manger. After seeing him, they told everyone what had happened and what the angel had said about the baby. Then they went back to work, praising and glorifying God.

The Twelve Nights of Christmas (a dozen thoughts about birth, life, love, hope)

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Stained glass depicting the Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus
Stained glass depicting the Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus

For those who are not quite ready to move beyond the miracle of Emmanuel …

Night One

Night Two

Night Three

Night Four

Night Five

Night Six

Night Seven

Night Eight

Night Nine

Night Ten

Night Eleven

Night Twelve

The Twelfth Night of Christmas (the road goes ever on and on)

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mountain hiking trail
(Wikimedia Commons)

Just like that, the Twelve Days-Nights of Christmas come to an end.

What, then, comes next – after the celebrating, reflecting, and remembering?

Perhaps we ought to live a Twelve-Days-of-Christmas life, in which we over and over contemplate the miracle of newness, the challenge of change, the trials of repetition, the joys of duplication, the power of obedience, the call to maturity, the charge to live joyous lives of hope.

Go back and contemplate the First Night through the Eleventh Night. Find the words that soothe you, push you, chafe you – and read them, think them, digest them. There is something we can all learn from days one through eleven.

And on this day – this twelfth and final day – let’s look ahead at a road that goes ever on and on, headed towards what we sometimes know but other times can’t see, towards what we sometimes anticipate but other times dread.

For a Christ-follower (those who choose the way in which the grown-crucified-resurrected babe’s footsteps lead), that particular road leads to deep, full, grown life — a life that is immersed in hope even when it drips with pain; a life that is infused with Love even when it is bloated with self; a life that is incarnated by the spiritual even when it is tied to the natural; a life that moves ever on and on — assuming we pick up our feet, set our faces forward, and walk.

Will I? Will you? Will we?

The world needs people who will trod that road daily, faithfully, humbly, joyfully, intentionally, boldly, quietly, long after the Twelfth Day-Night of Christmas.

Tomorrow is the First Day of the After-Twelfth-Day of Christmas. May we meet walking together on the road that Emmanuel has paved for us.

Amen and amen.

The Eleventh Night of Christmas (the trials and joys of duplication)

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Tree farm

‘Tis Christmas night eleven (11) one-another-one (1-and-1).

For the first time in the twelve-day Christmas numerical celebration, we face repetition.

One (1). And another one (1). [Though one (1) of the ones (1)s is really a ten (10)…]

But we have already had a one. And a ten (which includes a numerical (1) one).

**Corporate communal confession: we love newness, updates, next-best-things. We do not love the same-old-same-old. And what is “11” – (one-another-one) – but a visual reminder of same-of-same-old-repetitive-not-newness? 11 11 11 11 11 11 11 11 11 11.

Can we shift (seismically) from a “same-old-same-old-monotonous” mindset to a “known-beloved-tradition” mindset: from a “something-bigger-better” palate to a “remember-repeat-savor” palate?

Can we settle into a place of wonderment and joy about the day-in-day-out repeated elements of meaningful life?

Eleven (11) one-another-one (1-and-1) reminds me that duplication in daily life isn’t something to be avoided at all costs.

Eleven (11) one-another-one (1-and-1) challenges me that in the end, duplication is what God’s children are called to: that is, sharing the good news of Christmas (and its fuller narrative) with others so that they too may become a person who loves and follows Christ.

Eleven (11) one-another-one (1-and-1). Daily beautiful repetitive earthly life.

Eleven (11) one-another-one (1-and-1). Daily beautiful duplicating eternal life.

The Tenth Night of Christmas (double digits, deeper roots, higher functions, richer life)

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‘Tis the tenth night of Christmas. Ten. One-zero. A full and finished number. Completeness. Double digits.

In the universe of old math:

  • For arithmetic, we start to carry numbers when we enter the world of double digits.
  • For subtraction, we start to borrow numbers when we enter the world of double digits.
  • For multiplication, we start to carry and cross and shift numbers when we enter the world of double digits.

But for life, what happens when we hit double digits? When our tasks, schedules, and responsibilities move beyond simple and straightforward single-digit-ness? When our wisdom, understanding, and discernment must follow suit with growth, depth, and expansion?

Do we panic? Do we forget how the numerical functions work? Do we freeze, tangle, lose our way? Do we carry when we should borrow, borrow when we should carry, cross in the wrong order, shift in the wrong direction?

As numbers grow in size, the options expand. So it is with us. We move beyond the simplicity of Ninth Night living – of wake, rise, eat, feed, bathe, eat, work, rest, feed, eat, sleep, repeat.

We are now grown. We are now double-digit-ed. And so our interactions, communications, relations, formulations, and adorations must move to the next frontier of mathematical faith functions.

We must begin to embrace complexity with care, joy, and anticipation. We must grow up. We must grow out. We must grow down.

It is the tenth night of Christmas, giving us a peek of a double-digit life. View it not as a chore or weight or inevitability. Rather, view it as the culmination of a Christmas well begun, for the double-tens of St. John’s Gospel remind us that Emmanuel came to give life in abundance. Our job is to embrace it and live it.

(John 10:10 – The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I am come that they may have life, and have it abundantly. RSV)

The Ninth Night of Christmas (Emmanuel still is)

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winter pathway

What happens now? When the celebrations are over, the parties are past, and the excitement has settled into everyday-everynight life?

The baby’s been born. The angel’s have proclaimed. The shepherd’s have visited. The baby’s been marked as a chosen child of God. The child’s been named.

Seemingly the momentous and miraculous elements are done and past. Now it is time to find our own way – to wake, rise, feed, bathe, eat, rest, work, feed, eat, sleep, rinse, repeat.

But how do we repeat the daily mundane (over and over and over and over and over and over) when there are no more angelic choruses? no more heart-stopping first breaths? no more heavenly pronouncements of good news for all the earth? no more supernatural visits? no more Emmanuel?

Ah: Think. Listen. Reason.

Even if the angelic choruses, first breaths, heavenly pronouncements, and supernatural visits are past, this will never pass:

EMMANUEL.

God with us. God as us. God for us. God in us.

Though he arrived at a specific moment in time, he still is. He still is God. He still is here. He still is Emmanuel.

And that means there is no such thing as everyday-everynight meaningless mundane life.

If Emmanuel, then rejoice.

If Emmanuel, then life.

If Emmanuel, then hope.

If Emmanuel, then love.

Night nine is not the ninth cycle of the same. It is a new cycle, just as each day and each night is … because Emmanuel.

The Eighth Night of Christmas (pain, tears, sadness, a name)

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Stained glass depicting the Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus

I wonder if Mary slept on this night – the night when her tiny babe perhaps whimpered and wept in lingering pain.

On this day, her babe was circumcised, formally marked as a Jew, one of God’s chosen people.

God himself, marked as belonging to himself. Our faith is a paradox in countless ways.

On this day, her babe was named, formally identified as Yeshua bar Joseph. Jesus, son of Joseph. His earthly name for his earthly identity, which was fully him.

But also this: Christos, the only begotten of God. Messiah son of God. His essential name for his divine identity, which was fully him. The paradoxes are indeed countless.

But on this night, for the young mother Mary cradling her newborn babe, the paradoxes of name and identity and purpose matter little. For her, the paradoxes are more earthy, more present, more immediate:

I love this child more than anything I have ever loved…yet he is but eight days old.

I am exhausted beyond words, tired to death, weary in body and soul…yet I would move a mountain to protect and love my child.

I am ill-equipped for this task, unable to provide what any babe needs…yet I am Mother and Mary and Me, ready for all that lies ahead.

I wonder what Mary called her babe before he was named on this day, what she breathed into his ears as she held him at her breast, what she sang in her mind as she celebrated his life?

My Child. You. Precious One. Mine.

I wonder what God calls us as he breathes into our souls while cradling us in his loving arms, what he sings in his heart as he celebrates our life?

My Child. You. Precious One. Mine.

It is the eighth night of Christmas. The Christ-child is now marked and named. Are we?

 

The Seventh Night of Christmas (celebrating all things new)

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‘Tis the seventh night of Christmas, and the world is enamored with celebrating New Year’s Eve.

This is a night of endless promise as we look towards the magical tomorrow.

Tomorrow (fingers crossed) is a new start. Tomorrow (please, oh please, oh please) things will be better. Tomorrow (this year we really mean it) we will try harder.

Tomorrow we will be new people who eat better, stay organized, purge excess, read more, spend less.

We promise others. We plead with ourselves. We clench tight our fists and commit to sincere and lasting newness in this coming year.

It is our last best hope, this opportunity to start over, year after year after year after year after year.

OR

‘Tis the seventh night of Christmas, and the world is enamored with celebrating New Life through Christ.

This is a night of endless promise as we look towards a faithful and forgiven tomorrow.

Every tomorrow (assuredly) is a new day. Every tomorrow (by God’s good pleasure) things will still be in his control. Every tomorrow (by surrendering our will) we will be further sanctified.

Every tomorrow we can be new people who love others more, worry about ourselves less, follow Christ more closely, worship God more fully.

We hold to God’s promises. We die to our desires. We open wide our hands and commit to selfless and spirit-filled renewal in this new moment and day and year.

It is our only hope, this gift of being made new, day after day after day after day after day.

The Third Night of Christmas (finding a new rhythm)

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baby fingers

When the birth is over, the angel song is silent, and the guests have departed – what next?

How do we find a new rhythm of existence when everything is new, upended, unsettled? (Surely new babies – and a thousand other things – unsettle everything about life.)

On the third night – when things were still brand new (but also seemed to have always been that way) – what did Mary and Joseph do with their new reality, the bundle of new life that depended on them utterly and wholly?

On that third night – when they were still in a strange place far from home (but what place, exactly? how long did they stay in the stable? the cave? did a place open for them at an inn? did relatives make space for the young family?) – what did Mary and Joseph do now that two had become three?

On that third night – when God in flesh breathed earth’s air, drank mother’s milk, slept in father’s arms – what did creation feel in her roots and veins as her Maker joined the dance of human life upon her surface?

Christmas night three: a new rhythm begins in the young family, in the ancient creation, in the newborn babe.

(And the angel song – though silent on earth – continues reverberating across the heavens above.)