Christmas isn't about a baby. It's about a dead man that's not dead. A convict who's free. A man so guilty he's innocent. A man so innocent he bore your guilt. But not a baby. Babies are remarkable. Like meetings on the street, for what they become. That God became a man is beyond remark. It should flatten you. This baby was remarkable for who he was and who he became. But Christmas isn't about a baby. It was Christ's Mass originally, but never 'Babymas'. I'm not sure that the shepherds were able to keep that straight in their heads for the thirty plus years they waited to find out whom this baby was. We will try to defend this thesis here. Now.
Waited too long for a promise once displayed. Hope dies with each passing. Days, years.
Passing on like sheep's dung for which our holy exile is prolonged. Untouchables, unclean.
The whole idea is unclear. We waited in the dark for dawn. The longest just before the light.
And what did that light mean? When he was a-sudden upon us. God's angel and all His glory.
We're shepherds! You've come to destroy us...
destroy with a plague of hope. Worm of light you dig too deep.
This desire is a dream to crush the spirit of a man.
That it were true. That it were true.
A song, a sight. I closed my eye. The other's glass. We'd sung songs as cold as lead. Pressed weights. Their song was different. It was tons of rising. A vacuum cramp. It was our wait for release. So bright a man would crack. And pieces drop into the abyss. Did I want that loss? Did I want release? Could I spare the change?
I never moved as fast as a lizard nor felt so much that I was a lizard basking carelessly in the sun. But this was what happened. So hot were our hearts with angelic confrontation. Unexplainable peace and inhuman haste. No care for the sheep or our feet. This stable, this child, these swaddling clothes must be gained. Now.
You are the Lord of the universe, O! The Sultan of the hearts.
In four books I've seen, the proof that you have given.
You fit in the believer's heart, but not in the universe
You became the Sultan, of the hearts O! My Lord!
In every nation there is, Your beauty
To be belong to everyone, is your uniqueness
We live with our love, O! The Sultan of the hearts
We need your light, O! The most compassionate My Lord.
Just as there are many who astonished him, so he will startle many. And what has been in the bag shall be out: and that which was not, will slap them silly. Am I not then the greatest fool? I was told, and I was there.
So who is deaf but your servant? Or as blind as your Letter boy? Who is so dumb as he that is at peace with you? Who believed what we heard? He grew up with nothing in him that we would desire. Big entrance, and every line was flopping. We figured he was cursed, struck down by God, and crippled. Return to sender; address unknown.
But no, we'd gone astray. He, a lamb at the slaughter-house, didn't make a sound. And by a perversion of justice he was taken away. Who could have guessed this future. When you make his life an offering he shall see his offspring, and shall live to a ripe old age! Out of his torments he shall see light! He will be light.
See I saw a Lamb standing, as if slain, ... With a loud voice! "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain" ... For the Lamb will be their shepherd, and God will wipe every tear ... the marriage of the Lamb has come and His bride has made herself ready. These are true words of God. Come here, I will show you the bride, the wife of the Lamb.