After Generations of Silence

When I sink into Bonnie's brown recliner with coffee in hand, I spend several minutes praying into my morning. At least I try to. Because I know that the Holy Spirit is waiting to guide and direct my day.

For Jesus promised, "If you love me, keep my commands. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another advocate to help you and be with you forever―the Spirit of truth. The world cannot accept him, because it neither sees him nor knows him. But you know him, for he lives with you and will be in you" (John 14: 15-17 NIV).

When lights shimmer from my Christmas tree and nativity scenes cover my shelves, I find it easier to press into the "Spirit of truth." Dependent on the decor, I am not. But when cherished memories and holiday lights adorn my small living room, the visual reminders counter lingering negativity as my brain awakens.

A hand-painted ornament 
 celebrates the artist's talent. 

Three Wise Men from China remind me of a trip long ago.

A quartet of panda bears symbolizes the blending 
of two different families.

And a set of painted, metal snowmen, purchased by Don's first wife, celebrate another life well lived.

Surrounded by memories, I warm to the day. Maybe it's the 'light in the darkness' thing. Or the dirty shepherds. Or the angels that tore open the sky on that first Christmas day.

Or maybe it's all of it combined.

Regardless, when relics of the mysterious birth meet my gaze, I savor the sweetness that anchors my soul.

Which brings me to my point. A point that was driven home in yesterday's Sunday service.

Long, ago, the prophets grew quiet. God held his tongue. And 400 years of silence passed before our Savior's entry into this world. 

400 years. Several generations of silence, meaning no word from God, no comfort from His presence, no fellowship with the Spirit.

Can you imagine?

I can't. I really can't.

So when I sit and dwell on the season, I try to savor the sense of His presence more than normal. Because I take it for granted. I approach His comfort, His reassurance, and the still-small-voice with a drive-through mentality. 

If I don't receive a timely answer, or linger in an unresolved state, I grow demanding, nervous, unsure.

Yet time and again, He whispers to my soul and feeds me with His word. The same word that "became flesh and dwelt among us" (John 1: 14). First as a newborn baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And later as a grown man who broke the curse of sin and death through the sacrificial gift of his life on a wretched cross.

While we like to dress up the season with lights and glass ornaments, the real event took place in a dirty world of deep longing, where parched souls ached for the simple reassurance that they had not been forgotten. 

And after generations of silence and long days of suffering, a cry was heard. A divine baby was born. And the voice of God has resonated ever since.

I don't know about you, but that stirs something deep in me. And I don't want to take that voice for granted. I want to listen more closely and allow the Spirit of truth to change me. And to perhaps even allow the divine gift to matter more than the feeling of loss that invades and the grief that overtakes. 

For Jesus promised, "If you love me, keep my commands. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another advocate to help you and be with you forever―the Spirit of truth. The world cannot accept him, because it neither sees him nor knows him. But you know him, for he lives with you and will be in you" (John 14: 15-17 NIV).

[While this is probably not a university sanctioned video, I heard this group of the Voices of Lee perform this song at a concert Sunday afternoon. And it was profound.]