‘Autumn’ had shifted. It was the end of her performance as she gave a bow, her red hair streaming over the landscape as she leant forward in polite courtesy. The stage opened to the older of the two siblings. His white tunic swept the edges of the stage, coating it in a cold beauty that hugged the earth. His smile broke the light blue across the auditorium as travellers gazed up and knew ‘Winter’ had arrived. His laugh transcended the air with puffs of vapour escaping the lips of everyone who watched as the quiet dawn took longer to arrive and the night always arrived in a hurry. It was then season of the hearth.
Warm hues crossed the faces of those who had taken their interval from Winter’s entertainment. It was a call to the Sun, reminding her that it could not be forever that she hid behind Winter’s skirt. A call to remember heat, colour and running bare foot. A shout each time extra wood landed: “Don’t forget us!” The momentary suspension of the wintery show called the fir tree to stand tall in the living room – dressed in glass tints and metallic colour. It was Summer’s effigy – the mimic of all her variety. Perhaps if we could dress a living thing in her attire, then she would be drawn to us and come sooner but until then, we could celebrate anyway with gifts of all sizes. We would hug the tree with expectation and hope, knowing that somewhere, somehow the sun would always shine again.
How the world holds on. Turning with each cycle. Hoping and living, resilient in its core. So many comforted similarly to a homeless one who has found a discarded sheet to shiver under. Just having something to wrap around them is more comfort than the original state. Something . Better than nothing. So the world gazes from season to season – sure of so much yet uncertain of everything. The Christmas tree and the warm food is a declaration of solidarity – the united statement that good things do happen and we will make it through another generation. This is status quo. The thundering silence of reality. So quiet. So heavy… until we hear the forlorn cry from Calvary. Until we hear Jesus shout, “I am the seasons. I carry your ‘nowhere’. I will take the weight bearing cycle of life – of birth, age and death. I will dress the tree with my flesh, and call not to summer, but redemption. I will open the door to eternity and free you from this single layer called life. Even if you are not in pain, I throw open the curtains to a whole new display. Before you watched seasons come and go and feebly supplemented the show with apple sauce, tinsel and turkey. Call out My name – throw faith to the flames of life and find love center stage. Believe in Me and your celebration becomes no longer vicarious, but alive.”
Yes. Though the world calls out from all the corners of the globe from the many tables of make-shift fun, one sole cry resonates far above it all. This Christmas, listen. A sound that began as an infant’s cry, escalates as a howl of sacrifice and ends as a song of salvation over mankind, is resounding over you. The sound of Jesus Christ rushes in and rescues all of us this Christmas.