Christmas isn’t trees and cookies and gifts and family and Santa and lights and ornaments and, oh yes, can’t forget Jesus...
In fact, it isn’t even first and foremost Christmas.
It’s Jesus.
Immanuel.
God with us.
The world needed Him then, and in that way, nothing has really changed in two thousand years. We’re still in desperate need of God with us. Just do a bit of people watching when you’re resting your feet at the mall, and imagine these lyrics as shoppers scurry by:
who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow.
That might not sound like a Christmas carol, but it’s a line from verse three of “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.” All of us could use the reminder that follows:
“oh rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.”
Recently, a new/old hymn entered my repertoire, shared from a kind friend who thought I might need it. (She was right.) It’s not a Christmas song, but the word weary is right there in the title and Immanuel, God with us, is the lock stitch holding all the truths together. The song? “Dear Refuge of My Weary Soul” written by Anne Steele in the mid 1700’s and released a few years ago by Indelible Grace. One evening I took this song with me, walking my road. The evening was memorable as I later wrote in my journal:
On Thee when waves of trouble roll my fainting hope relies.
To Thee I tell each rising fear, for Thou alone can heal.
Thy word can bring a sweet relief to every pain I feel.
As I walked, I sang this first verse, haltingly, checking my phone for the lyrics a dozen times, repeating lines, looping back, and singing through the truth to whomever was listening – a few curious cows, a dozing horse, but mostly...me. The evening breeze cooled my flushed cheeks and gently lifted my hair. I sang on.
The streams of comfort seem to fail, and all my hopes decline.
Yet gracious God where shall I flee? Thou art my only trust,.
And still my soul would cleave to Thee, though prostrate in the dust.
And can the ear of Sovereign grace be deaf when I complain?
No still the ear of Sovereign grace attends the mourner’s prayer,
O may I ever find access to breathe my sorrows there.
I knew my weary spirit was held, wrapped, carried
on the shield/blanket/Comforter
woven around me on that memorable night walk
by Immanuel.
God with us.
God with me.
God with you.
With humble hope, attend Thy will, and wait beneath Thy feet.
Thy mercy seat is open still, here let my soul retreat.
With humble hope, attend Thy will, and wait beneath Thy feet.