Born To Be Our Friend

 Carols play in the background as I sit down to write, tree lights twinkling in the ever-decreasing daylight as the darkness settles on the wintry world outside. This is the holiday season to me: a call into the coziness of fireside evenings and comfort and joy while the still-chill of the white scenery outside reminds me that this is the time of hiddenness and reset - of the earth being dormant for awhile so that it may one day wake up again to Spring's warm invitation. These cold, dark winter days are what I think of when I contemplate the Christmas season and it's also what I think of when I reflect on the significance of a singular dark night so long ago that changed everything.   

For many, the weeks leading up to Christmas Day look like a shopping frenzy or a packed schedule of parties and special events, school activities and church demands that are out of the ordinary. And, while I certainly have my fair share of some of these every year, I also find myself aware of what it means to walk into this season feeling like your heart is like the picture outside: cool, hardened, lifeless, and dark. In past years, this season was, for me, one of detachment. I could not get into the "Christmas spirit" so many speak of because my own soul was broken, grieving, lonely, and hurting. I found myself resonating more with the seasonal music that spoke of longing for the Savior's coming because His presence in my personal life felt so distant. What gave me hope is the image of the Messiah arriving on earth in the nighttime - coming in the stillness of the dark with only the angel-glory of His announcement to some humble shepherds breaking the silence. His birth happened in the hiddenness of it all, surrounded by the hustle of a nationwide census where all had to travel to their city of birth to be accounted for. 

Jesus always arrives in the quiet, less likely places... far removed from the bustling busyness of our everyday life-demands. We only find Him when we look where we might miss Him.

There's this verse in a well-known carol of old that most skip over because they think it doesn't fit the happiness and cheer of the season. Yet it's one that has become extremely dear to me as I've walked into Advent and the celebration of the Savior's coming with a heavy heart. I've learned to sit with these words over and over and it seems like each year, they become more meaningful to me because they embody the real purpose for why He came in the first place. Most of you are probably familiar with the song "O Holy Night," but have you ever taken a moment to read through this less-known verse tucked into it?

"The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger

  In all our trials, born to be our friend.

  He knows our need; to our weakness, is no stranger

  Behold your King! Before Him, lowly bend." 

Think about it: the majestic Sovereign of the world, Whose hands created galaxies and Whose words spoke the entire human story into existence, chose to enter the world as a newborn baby. Fully dependent on His earthly parents' care, He stepped into our brokenness in order to be our forever Friend and light the pathway to our eternal peace! The One who would one day give His life and rise again in order to give resurrection opportunity to the lifeless parts of us entered quietly on a still, dark night in Bethlehem so that He could know and feel what we do and we would never have to be alone. Remarkable, indeed! 

And the only proper response to a moment of awe and wonder like this is to bow as did the shepherds and worship Him in all His glory. To let the invitation of the season draw us to the message of the manger where we find hope for even our darkest hour. To honor the King who gave up His royal privilege to come into the messiness of our crazy world so that we could believe - beyond a shadow of a doubt - that God is truly with us... 

With us in our losses...

With us in our crosses...

With us our pains...

With us in our gains...

With us in our struggles, and in our victories too

With us in our heartache as the Friend of me and you. 

Christmastime is the reminder that we never have to walk through the suffering of this busted-up world by ourselves. There is always hope in the midst of what we must endure because there is always Jesus in the midst. He knows our need before we ask. He is no stranger to our weakness because He felt what it means to be human Himself. After all, He cried out in anguish to His Father to re-think the salvation plan even though He knew it had to happen this way. He isn't scared or put off by the things that trouble you or you are ashamed of. Rather, it's those very spaces that He comes closest to and lets you know that He is near. In the moments when you feel Him the least, He is actually the most accessible to you. Because God goes where no one else will. 

If you're walking through Christmas with a soul weighed down by the things that have wounded you and you feel like the carols and the holiday rush and the traditions and the festive activities just aren't doing it for you, at least remember this: God comes to the humble, the hurting, the restless, those longing for hope and comfort. God comes to people just like you with the promise to be the Friend that never leaves and will never deceive. Emmanuel is here, sitting with you in the dark of it all and reminding you that, because of Him, this is never the end of the story. Dawn is coming and the worst things never have the final word. 

Behold: this is your King.