It's Christmas Folks!

When I first saw this sculptured piece—I said yes. Jesus gave us the story. You know it. A son left home in a huff. He broke his Father’s heart. No letters…no phone calls—just silence. The Father did not know where his boy was. The Father must’ve looked out the window a hundred times. No sign. He could be dead for all he knew. Still no word. 

And then the Father saw a speck in the distance and then a figure and he knew who it was. He gathered up his robes and ran down the road. “My son…”he said: “My son!”As the young man got closer the old father saw there were lines in his face. His eyes seemed hollow. Ragged clothes if you could call them that. And the smell—It was awful. The boy had no sandals. And his eyes looked down.

Still not looking up the son said: “Father I am ashamed. I have sinned, you will never believe all the things I have done. Nothing worked out. The money you gave me is all gone. I was finally so hungry I ate what the pigs had left. Could you possibly take me back as maybe one of your servants?”

The old Father put his arms out. His face looked old. He shook his head. None of that talk. We thought you were dead and here you stand.  He yelled back to the servants: Bring him a robe—a good one. Put a fine ring on his finger. Bring him some clothes. Bring sandals for his dirty feet. “But Father” the boy said: “ I am so sorry…” The old man said, “No…no. You are my son and I love you more than you will ever know. Let’s go to the house.”He held the boy tight.

Why do I write this on this day? Because it is a Christmas story. Forget the manger and the donkey. And little lord Jesus asleep in the hay. Those things are so important but that’s not the essence of Christmas. This holy day really is arms wide open, brushing away all that any of us have done. 

It was Christmas at Church and this thin teenager dressed poorly stood in the line for Communion. As it was her time to reach out her hands she stopped. “A couple of weeks ago you said in a sermon that God even forgives prostitutes. Is that right?” The Priest said: “Yes.” the girl with arms covered with tattoos put her hands on her face and sobbed.

This is Christmas and this day we can leave it all behind. The secrets. The things we are ashamed of. The disappointments. The failures. Sins. Everything. Every thing.

And on this day when the virus has killed too many of us and we are not sure of the future God is here. Outside those church doors a world still convulses because of the too-muchness of it all. 

Remember as you leave this day and tip-toe into the future God is here. And remember every day the ragged boy and the arms outstretched for us all.

            

          --Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com