Glimpses of grace seen in the everyday

Sublime Mystery

Since before I discovered Nancy Drew, I have loved mysteries.  A good “whodunit” intrigues me, though I can’t keep all the details of the plot straight enough to figure it out on my own. If it’s Agatha Christie, I just figure that the most unlikely party is actually the culprit.  And I’m happy to let the author reveal it all in the end.

I think the thing I love most about Christmas is the mystery of it.  How God could actually become human, born as an ordinary baby to normal people, slipping incognito into our world under cover of night in a most unlikely place, recognized only by those in whose ear God whispered the secret.  Or blasted it from an angel choir. 

And I wait with bated breath to see how the Author will work out His perfect plot in the end.  Showing all the world what is really Truth.  Defeating His enemies. Rescuing His beloved ones.  Reigning in glory on His throne forever—perfectly righteous, powerful, loving, wise and majestic—forever and ever!   

What Child is this who, laid to rest
On Mary’s lap, is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?

       This, this is Christ the King,
       Whom shepherds guard and angels sing;
       Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,
       The Babe, the Son of Mary.

Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christians, fear, for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.

       Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,
       The cross be borne for me, for you.
       Hail, hail the Word made flesh,
       The Babe, the Son of Mary.

So bring Him incense, gold and myrrh,
Come peasant, king to own Him;
The King of kings salvation brings,
Let loving hearts enthrone Him.

       Raise, raise the song on high,
       The virgin sings her lullaby.
       Joy, joy for Christ is born,
       The Babe, the Son of Mary.

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