“O Christ, King of Snow,
we bless you for bidding this blanket
of white to cover us in holy hush,
that our hearts might be quieted
at the sight, that we might sense
the emptiness of canvas
over which your Spirit broods,
and upon which you would
create
and recreate
our hearts in the image of the one
whose word first spoke snow into existence.

Amen” (Douglas McKelvy, Every Moment Holy).

“He gives snow like wool; he scatters frost like ashes” (Ps 147:16).

The Bible says in Isaiah that though your sins be like scarlet, they shall be white as snow. I never appreciate the beauty of that until I see actual fallen snow and realize that snow covers everything.

Snow almost feels like a new beginning, a blank canvas. It almost feels sacrilegious to walk over the snow and mar it with footprints. To see the world covered in white never fails to bring out the childhood awe in me.

But God says in the same way, your heart can become a blank canvas again for God to write His love story on. The Apostle Paul calls us living letters that everyone will read, more so than any leather bound Bibles. Together as believers, we show the watching world what God looks like.

You and I can know the promise of having our sins, mistakes, failures, and fiascos washed white as snow. God’s story is not about us being better or stronger or faster or smarter, but being made alive and made new. And it starts with the manger at Christmas and ends with the cross and the empty tomb on Easter.

Even now, a blanket of white covers the ground outside and the snow is still falling. For those of you north of the Mason-Dixon line, snow is not a big deal. It may even be annoying and unwanted. But here in Tennessee, even the possibility of a white Christmas is magical.

Right now, the temperature is an icy 13 degrees (Farenheit, not Celsius, for the record). It looks like those freezing temps will be sticking around until at least Tuesday, so the chances of December 25 being snowy are looking good.

I can only think of 2 or 3 times in my entire life where it has snowed on Christmas Day. Or in this case, there has been snow still around on Christmas Day. But here we are. Almost.

I believe that at some point between 6 and 7 am, the temperature will drop to -1. That’s cold no matter where you live, but especially in Middle Tennessee. I can’t remember ever seeing negative temperatures that weren’t wind chill numbers. This will be the actual temperature. Yikes.

Maybe the snowy cold will cause people to slow down and to remember the real reason for December 25 once more. It’s not the presents or packaging, the decorations or the parties. It’s not the hectic bedlam of mad dashing around that we’ve turned it into. The first Christmas was very simple, without any fanfare or hype. It was a stable, one tired carpenter, one beyond weary teenage mother, and one swaddled infant who just so happened to be the Word made flesh.

Maybe this snow will help us to get back to that infant in the manger who took on flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood and is still the only Hope of the world.

“To pray, I think, does not mean to think about God in contrast to thinking about other things, or to spend time with God instead of spending time with other people. Rather, it means to think and live in the presence of God. As soon as we begin to divide our thoughts about God and thoughts about people and events, we remove God from our daily life and put him into a pious little niche where we can think pious thoughts and experience pious feelings. … Although it is important and even indispensable for the spiritual life to set apart time for God and God alone, prayer can only become unceasing prayer when all our thoughts — beautiful or ugly, high or low, proud or shameful, sorrowful or joyful — can be thought in the presence of God. … Thus, converting our unceasing thinking into unceasing prayer moves us from a self-centred monologue to a God-centred dialogue” (Henri Nouwen).

To pray without ceasing is not to keep up an unending dialogue with your eyes shut the entire time. It’s not to roll out a never-ending laundry list of requests to God. Nor is it to remain separated from the people you’re interceding for.

Unceasing prayer is a mindfulness of God in everything. It’s to act and speak and live for an audience of one. It’s to see the image of God in the person in front of you and treat that person as holy. “And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him” (Colossians 3:17, NIV).

I think I post this poem just about every year because every year I see it pop up in my memories and it still impacts me so powerfully. To imagine that the God of the universe would allow Himself to enter the world through a dirty stable (or a dirty cave) is one thing. To know that God has chosen our hearts filled with all sorts of unclean and dirty things that we keep hidden from everyone else to be born into is almost too good to be true. But it is true.

And here’s the poem:

Let the stable still astonish:
Straw-dirt floor, dull eyes,
Dusty flanks of donkeys, oxen;
Crumbling, crooked walls;
No bed to carry that pain,
And then, the child,
Rag-wrapped, laid to cry
In a trough.
Who would have chosen this?
Who would have said: “Yes,
Let the God of all the heavens and earth
Be born here, in this place”?
Who but the same God
Who stands in the darker, fouler rooms
of our hearts and says, “Yes,
let the God of Heaven and Earth
be born here–
in this place.” (Leslie Leyland Fields, Let the Stable Still Astonish)

I serve on Mondays at Room in the Inn through Brentwood Baptist Church. It’s a blessing to be able to minister to homeless men once a week. Especially on a week like this so close to Christmas.

We had a special night with Christmas carols and the reading of the birth story of Jesus from Luke 2. One of the men noticed the subtle double meaning from the part about no room in the inn.

In once sense, it means Joseph and Mary had no place to go for her to deliver the baby who was Emmanuel, God with us in the waiting. Obviously, there were no Ramada Inns or Holiday Express rooms back then. Most likely, the word for inn meant a spare room in the back of a house used for animals. So Joseph and Mary took up in a cave with a feeding trough and a bare floor.

But in another sense, Room in the inn didn’t exist. There were no organizations for people with no place to stay the night, people like Joseph and Mary.

Room in the Inn helps homeless men meet their basic needs of food and shelter. On cold nights like this, it’s a good and much needed service to keep people from sleeping on the streets on wintry nights where the temperatures are below freezing.

At Brentwood Baptist, we sit with them and talk with them, listening to their stories and praying for their requests. We give them a good meal, a hot shower, a place to sleep, and some of their basic toiletry needs. We offer a Bible study for any of them who are interested, but we don’t force them to come — it’s up to them.

Maybe when we do something like this for the least of these, we’re serving Jesus in a way those in 1st century Bethlehem could not. We’re inviting Him in from the cold and giving Him food. We’re clothing Him and giving Him a place for the night.

That’s why Room in the Inn exists. We’re serving homeless men, but ultimately, we’re serving Jesus.

I did something I haven’t done in a long, long time. Not since college. Maybe even high school. I went caroling, complete with printed sheets of lyrics and everything. Just like it was back in the late 1900s.

It’s been that long.

Back in the day, we’d all gather together and carpool from place to place with our arsenal of festive seasonal classics. I’m sure we were joyful and triumphant in our attempts to pull off the carols and jingles. We probably came closer to making a joyful noise than anything else. I couldn’t tell if the guy next to me was trying to harmonize or was just really off-key, but it didn’t really matter in the end. A good time was had by all.

Tonight, we started off visiting the house of a deacon who very recently had been fighting for his life. It was heartwarming to see him standing in the doorway, a sort of miracle in itself, with his wife wiping away tears of gratitude as we sang loudly and zestily (if not always in tune or in the same key).

Then we headed over to my pastor’s parent’s to do more yuletide crooning. They’ve both had health issues and have had a rough 2022, but they were both pleased and grateful to see us gathered in their front yard, singing about those herald angels.

The last stop was the next-door neighbor who was a founding member of Brentwood Baptist Church along with her late husband. She lost him around this time last year, and I’m sure she was thankful for the company. Christmas is a beautiful time, but sometimes I forget that it’s not the easiest season if you’re missing a loved one.

I snapped a picture of this forlorn little reindeer in one of the yards. Hopefully, someone got a good snapshot of all of us singing in different keys and sometimes different verses at the same time. The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir we were not.

But I’d do it all again tomorrow night if I could. In fact, I hope this caroling thing becomes another tradition that I can look forward to through the spring, summer and fall.

I ran across this little poem that speaks to those who are going through a first Christmas without a loved one. This is for those with an extra empty chair at the table, one less present under the tree, and one less smiling face at the door on Christmas Eve.

The woman who wrote it had a 13 year old daughter with severe cerebral palsy who had a seizure on Christmas Day in 1997 and was in a coma for 5 days before she died. The poem was written during those 5 days:

“I see the countless Christmas trees
Around the world below,
With tiny lights like heaven’s stars
Reflecting in the snow.

The sight is so spectacular
Please wipe away that tear
For I’m spending Christmas
With Jesus Christ this year.

I hear the many Christmas songs
That people hold so dear
But earthly music can’t compare
With the Christmas choir up here.

I have no words to tell you
The joy their voices bring
For it’s beyond description
To hear the angels sing.

I know how much you miss me,
Trust God and have no fear
For I’m spending Christmas
With Jesus Christ this year.

I can’t tell you of the splendor
Or the peace here in this place.
Can you imagine Christmas
With our Savior, face to face?

May God uplift your spirit
As I tell Him of your love
Then pray for one another
As you lift your eyes above.

So let your hearts be joyful
And let your spirits sing
For I’m spending Christmas in Heaven
And I’m walking with the king!”

“Hope is a song in a weary throat” (Pauli Murray).

For those in Christ, hope is not wishful thinking. It’s not “I hope my team wins on Sunday” or “I hope I win the lottery next time.”

Hope is a certain assurance. Hope is a person, and the person’s name is Jesus. If that is where our hope lies, then hope will never ever disappoint.

“Maybe you need those arms to surround you. You need Him to fix something that is broken, like a relationship, or a career, or a life. . . . Gather up the broken pieces of your life and take them to Him to fix. Whisper His name: “Jesus!” Find the words to tell Him: “Jesus, this is broken; will you fix it please?” Speak His name.” (Jim Altizer).

“Don’t bargain with God. Be direct. Ask for what you need. This isn’t a cat-and-mouse, hide-and-seek game we’re in. If your child asks for bread, do you trick him with sawdust? If he asks for fish, do you scare him with a live snake on his plate? As bad as you are, you wouldn’t think of such a thing. You’re at least decent to your own children. So don’t you think the God who conceived you in love will be even better?” (Matthew 7:7-11, The Message).

I wonder how much more God is waiting to give us that we have yet to ask for. I know God is sovereign and in control and probably already knows what we will ask before it even enters our minds, but I also know that He says for us to ask — not assume, not imply — but straight out ask.

I’m also all for praying for God’s will and in God’s name, but I also believe that if something is a desire of your heart and a constant thought in your mind, it’s better to speak it and name it and pray it specifically. I’m not saying there’s a magic formula that forces God to give you every single thing you want. I am saying God will often grant you what you ask for, or He will delay your request to make you into someone who can handle it, or He will give you something way better that you probably would have asked for had you known what God knows.

But it starts with asking. Not a one time then give up kind of asking, but a persistent continual asking and seeking and knocking until you sense a definite no or a not yet from God.

Pray for healing. Pray for a romantic relationship. Pray for a better job. Pray for improved finances. Pray for all these things, believing God will provide for all your needs. Sometimes, it helps to speak the words out loud.

Remember, the best part of prayer isn’t getting from God but in getting to know God and getting more of God as you understand and obey Him more. Then you pray more wisely and more in line with what God wants for you.

“’Aslan, Aslan. Dear Aslan,’ sobbed Lucy. ‘At last.’ The great beast rolled over on his side so that Lucy fell, half sitting and half lying between his front paws. He bent forward and just touched her nose with his tongue. His warm breath came all round her. She gazed up into the large wise face.

‘Welcome, child,’ he said. ‘Aslan,’ said Lucy, ‘you’re bigger.’ ‘That is because you are older, little one,’ answered he. ‘Not because you are?’ ‘I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger.’ (C. S. Lewis, Prince Caspian).

That’s how it goes. The older I get, the bigger I find God to be. The less able I am to explain who God is and why He does what He does. But then again, a god I could figure out an explain wouldn’t be very big, would he? A god who only acted to my standards and my ways would be one created in my own image rather than a God who created me in His.

I also find that as I get older and (hopefully) more mature, that my own awareness of my need for God grows. I don’t ever come to the place where I’m self-sufficient and can do all things in my own strength, but I’m God-dependence and can do all things through Him who strengthens me.

I don’t need a god who I can completely comprehend. I need a God who is bigger than me, bigger than my problems, bigger than anything that will ever come against me — even me. And this Advent season reminds me that the God small enough to fit in a manger is still bigger than the entire universe.