Dec. 24 Luke 1:67-80 Erin Counihan
When John the Baptist was born, and Zechariah got his voice back, and the people were afraid of everything that was happening right in front of them, Zechariah praised God. And he offered a vision. A vision of salvation and mercy. A vision of hope and help. A vision of faith and justice. A vision of One to come who would guide us on a journey to peace.
It sounds like the kind of vision I need right now.
There’s this moment every Christmas Eve, after all the shopping and the wrapping, after worship and Silent Night, after the bubbly punch and the party and the people and the snacks and the fun. After all of it, late at night (more accurately, early in the morning), in my jammies, in the quiet, in my home, in the dark, there is this precious Christmas Eve moment, where I allow myself, every year, to really believe. What if this hope is real? What if it is real right now? What if the promise is true? What if Christ is coming? Right here. Right now. What if all that love is being born right now, in the dark, in the quiet, in the fuzzy socks, in our hearts, in our lives, and in this world?
By the tender mercy of our God,
the dawn from on high will break upon us,
to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.
May it be so. This Christmas Eve.
Right here. Right now.
Always. And again.