When that Bethlehem Baby Becomes Both Savior and Scribe
Last summer Hannah decided she wanted to try-out for a local children’s musical.
As I dropped her at the audition, I asked how I could pray for her. “Please tell God that I just really want a script!” Hannah replied.
I nodded, understanding my third-born’s plea. A script feels like a good thing, indeed.
A script offers comfort. If we stick to what’s written, we know exactly what we’re supposed to say and do.
A script breeds security. We can be prepared for sudden scene changes or thorny plots if we already know how the story will unfold.
Hannah’s prayer was answered, and she diligently learned those lines highlighted in yellow. But on opening night, we were reminded that the best stories don’t always follow the script.
The musical unfolded without a hitch until the last scene. Then, the spotlights began to quiver and the sound system began to cackle.
The little ones in the chorus whimpered as the stage grew dim.
The young thespians missed their cue for the closing song, the prima-donna refused to dance her final number without music, and the audience waited awkwardly in the dark.
A few kids tried to force their lines over the mayhem, but the script didn’t make sense in the midst of the chaos.
Just as the show seemed to be crumbling, the director appeared on stage. Wrapped in a shaggy shawl and armed with an industrial-sized flashlight, she inserted a few lines into the struggling story and tied it all up with a happily ever after ending. As the young thespians followed her off the stage in a silver sliver of light, one little boy declare with awe-“That was so awesome…and we didn’t even follow the script!”
This morning, as I read the tale of Christ’s birth in the twinkle of Christmas-tree lights, I wondered if the very first Christmas had felt a bit like Hannah’s musical mayhem.
There they were- Mary and Joseph-living out the lines they’d rehearsed all their lives; pounding nails, planning a wedding, dreaming of the home they would share. Then an unexpected angel’s visit left Mary’s heart quivering. And her stretching womb made the town cackle. Surely Joseph felt like his dreams had grown dim as he grappled with his fiancee’s ludicrous tale. The script he’d planned just didn’t make sense in the midst of the brewing bedlam.
And right when their lives seemed to be spiraling into complete chaos, when the inn had no room and the labor pangs had begun,
God wrapped Himself in soft baby skin and stepped into their darkness. Into our darkness.
On a hillside not far away, Heaven’s glorious light cut through the velvet sky and offered to show a group of shaggy sheepherders—and all of us ragamuffins to come- the way to joy.
Then, Heaven’s hosts spoke those lines that would invite every one of us into a happily ever after ending–
“I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord.” (Luke 2:10-11)
I don’t know about you, but as the clock presses toward Christmas morning, I’m grateful that 2000 years ago God didn’t stick to a human script.
The Author of Life could have left us stumbling upon this world’s dark stage; but instead, He stepped into our flailing story armed with a love bigger than our greatest sin and a story wilder than our wildest dreams, and He invited us to follow Him out of our self-consumed chaos into life that is really life.
May this be the year that we trust Him to be both our Savior and our Scribe!
Merry Christmas, dear friends!
