Why I love Christmas – Advents One and Two

Happy Christmas Dear Reader,

I do not wish to put too many clouds on the horizon of you Christmas joy.  It does, however, bear calling to mind that purpose of the birth is death.  The import of the incarnation is to create a vessel like us that can pay the penalty of sin for us.  The first advent creates the path to the cross.

The death then leads us to resurrection.  The hope is fulfilled in part by the acceptance of Christ by God as the penalty for our sin.  We rejoice at the birth.  We mourn the death.  We rejoice again at the resurrection.  Then Jesus departs.  We are left with history and faith.  We are left like those before the first century waiting for the fulfillment of a promise.

Jesus promised us a second advent.  He promised to prepare a place for us and then return.  I love Christmas because it reminds me that there will be another advent.  It will come when time is full again.  It will be sudden and unexpected by most.  It will be the last need for advent. 

We are traveling toward this day just like the Magi traveled toward Bethlehem.  Some of us reach Christ before he comes for us.  Every Christmas I hope that it is the last Christmas we celebrate in anticipation of Christ’s Second Advent.  I long to wish Jesus a “happy Christmas” face to face.

There is no known recording of this song.  I wish there were.

A Pauper’s Hymn – Michael and Sarah Sharp

Traveling hard  before  a  Sabbath  sunset, 

Cold the woman great with child. 

Lonely taxed from Naz’reth wand’ ring, 

O’re Judea’s barren wild. 

Homeless in a stable came the birth that night. 

What could this weary woman bring? 

Nothing less on earth than Heaven's Best; 

A Savior, Redeemer, King.    

Men of the East with wisdom following 

The star that heralds heaven's own 

Christ the Savior come to ransom 

Those who would choose Him to disown 

Warned of the madness of a puppet king, 

The child  is safe in Egypt as he grows, 

But in David's City the children die. 

Rachel weeps for those she'll never know.           

The decades pass, the boy a man, 

Condemned by hope and a lie, 

Hanging cold upon a wind-swept hill, 

Suspended between the worlds to die. 

How long will you wait to embrace His gift? 

Where else will you find harbor for your soul? 

Than in  the  out-stretched  arms  of  the  Christmas  babe, 

Who  ransomed  your  eternal  soul.                         

Wishing you joy in the journey,

Aramis Thorn

Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a home owner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store." 

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