“Whatsoever things are . . . lovely . . . think on these things.” Philippians 4:8
God With Us
By Foy Valentine, Founding Editor
Lovely things are things that are delightful for their charm, for their beauty, for their harmony, for their grace.
Christmas is lovely in a thousand ways and for a thousand reasons.
There is great charm about it, marvelous beauty, fantastic harmony, amazing grace.
When we think of Christmas, we think of family, carols, treats, food, gifts, celebrations, candy, fruit, nuts, decorated evergreen trees, lights, fellowship, friends, reunions, candles, fruitcake, firecrackers, music, angels, and many, many more.
Sometimes we think of poetry. There may very possibly be a lot more bad poetry in this world than there is good poetry, of course. Some of it is obtuse, some is abstruse, some is banal, some is maudlin, some is doggerel, and much of it deserves to be folded, spindled, and mutilated.
Some poetry, however, is wonderful and some of it is truly sublime. It weaves a spell. It soothes the savage beast, calms frayed nerves, inspires the imagination, and stirs the noblest of human emotions.
One of the memorable poems that I have been especially blessed by every Christmas for more than sixty years is a beautiful piece, the author of which I have never known though I have searched far and wide, but whose graphic images I have remembered with deep gratitude across the decades.
That night when in Judean skies
The mystic star dispensed its light,
A blind man moved in his sleep
And dreamed that he had sight.
That night when shepherds heard the song
Of hosts angelic choiring near,
A deaf man stirred in slumber`s spell
And dreamed that he could hear.
That night when o`er the newborn babe
The tender Mary rose to lean,
A loathsome leper smiled in sleep
And dreamed that he was clean.
That night when to the mother`s breast
The little king was held secure,
A harlot slept a happy sleep
And dreamed that she was pure.
That night when in the cattle stall
Slept child and mother cheek by jowl,
A cripple turned his twisted limbs
And dreamed that he was whole.
That night when in the manger lay
The sanctified who came to save,
A man moved in the sleep of death
And dreamed there was no grave.
The poet here captures some of the wonder and beauty of Christmas in plain and simple words. There are vivid images pointing toward the grace of God, speaking of divine mercy that stoops to lift us out of the miry pit, providing insights as to how God sustains us and keeps us from falling, and flashing beautiful glimpses of the mercies of God who provides us an ark that bouys us up and bears us safely through the wild waters and daunting floods of life.
Because Jesus has come and just as the prophet Joel, speaking for God, foresaw, "It shall come to pass . . . that I will pour out my spirit on all flesh; and your sons and daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions" (Joel 2:28). And as Isaiah exulted, "They shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; and they shall walk and not be faint" (40:31).
Throughout this blessed and truly lovely season, then, let us be still and know that God is with us.
Let us rejoice that in Jesus Christ we have come to know that God knows our frame, remembers that we are dust, and is touched with feeling of our infirmities.
Let us wait on the Lord so that in the fullness of time our hurts get healed, our brokenness gets fixed, our dreams get fulfilled, and our prayers get answered.
Let us lay aside the stress that so easily besets us, the cares that so persistently plague us, and the sins that so tenaciously dog our feet.
In so doing, we may see the star in the sky, hear the song in the air, and be aware of the messengers of the Lord, angels from God, who bring us glad tidings of great joy.
Please do not let all of this religious business turn you aside or turn you off. I want now to try to make the point that God is concerned not just with religion but also, and especially, with life.
In Nanjing, China, one time I visited the Christian seminary there. Finding the famous Chinese Christian artist, He Qi (the head of the seminary`s art department) in his working studio, I was warmly welcomed. He was surrounded by pictures finished and unfinished and was visibly pleased at the interest I showed in his works in progress.
There were angels, shepherds, sheep beside still waters, and decidedly religious pictures of Jesus. Looking up, however, I saw on one of his walls a stunningly impressive and strikingly beautiful oil painting of the Dalai Lama`s Podala Palace in Lahsa, Tibet. "How did this painting come about?" I asked. "Oh, that," he replied. "That is a painting I made while studying art in Tibet." Obviously a little ashamed of having painted such a thing that he imagined I would find much too secular, he was astounded that I should like it as much as I obviously did. When I continued to admire it, he pointed out that he had just nailed it to the wall and that he wanted to take it down and give it to me. "Oh, no," I protested, "I could not think of your giving it to me. I will be very pleased to pay you for it." Then I proceeded to write him a check for the equivalent of four months of his salary. (He was at my hotel cashing that check by the time I could get back there myself.)
What He Qi discounted because he deemed it not religious enough, I admired and now treasure because it represents his God-given talent, his God-honoring discipline, and his God-ordained commitment to be faithful to his calling. Now I pray that he is growing in grace and a knowledge that God, who chose not to stay in heaven but to come down to be with us on earth, draws no hard and fast line between the sacred and the secular.
According to my lights, this is a big part of what the incarnation is all about.
Merry Christmas.
