Are You Safe this Christmas?

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, “Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger” [Luke 2: 8-13, King James Version].

As I have shared with a few of you, I’m working on a book to follow up on my 2018 title, Questions of Faith: Encountering Christ at the Point of Doubt and Confusion. The working title for the new monograph is You Thought it Was Safe. Alas, I’m unsure when I’ll complete it. The demands of my professional writing generally conspire to pull me away from my more enjoyable keyboarding.

In the forthcoming book, I try to counter a rather popular theme in the church-going segment of our culture. The theme most often paints one’s encounter with Christ as a careful decision of an informed mind. A person senses that he or she is incomplete. Something vital is missing. The person may also sense that he or she has fallen short, either in actions or in omissions. The person comes to the realization that Christ offers a way out of the dilemma and so, the person choses Christ [see, e.g., the best-seller, The Case for Christ, by Lee Strobel].

While I agree that such a process is sometimes at work in causing a person to follow the Way [John 14:6; Acts 9: 1-2; Acts 24:14], it has been my experience that many more times than not, it is actually the Holy Trinity who pursues the person—the person who then, subsequently, becomes a believer based upon that pursuit—and not the other way around. God often comes to us when we don’t anticipate an encounter—when we’re not ready for an encounter. Often God comes to us when we don’t want an encounter. Just when we think we’re safe, when we think we’ve carefully compartmentalized our lives, that we have allocated a portion to God, to be sure, but we have withheld the rest to follow our own ideals, our own pursuits, and our own priorities, we are accosted by the Spirit, which fervently desires to break through all our defenses and thoroughly possess us at our core. In such moments, we need to be careful, for God will use anything and anyone to crack our defenses because that is God’s glorious nature. May I offer an illustrative story [adapted from “Going to the Holy Land,” Questions of Faith, pp. 15-23]?

It was early December 2000, the last full year of my Grandmother Lib's life here on earth. She was in her mid-nineties. Her age, her glaucoma, and her general physical condition had conjoined to require the use of a wheelchair. My mother and Uncle Jack had arranged for Grandmother to be moved to Courtland Terrace, a retirement home in Gastonia. It had a pleasant atmosphere, palatable food, and an attentive staff.

The youth leader at one of Gastonia’s churches had arranged a carol sing at the retirement home. It would give the teenagers a chance to attend to the needs of others instead of just themselves. Moreover, as a service project, what could be safer than singing to a bunch of old folks? And so, the group of young people assembled at Courtland Terrace one crisp December afternoon. They’d sing a few songs, flash a smile or two, and be gone in no time at all.

They sang "Silent Night" for the aged and the sick. They sang "Away in a Manger," "O Little Town of Bethlehem," and “It Came Upon A Midnight Clear." They asked their audience to join in on several of the familiar Christmas carols and many did, with varied bits of enthusiasm.

Alas, it was almost time for them to leave, for them to retreat from that world of the aged and the infirm, and to go back to the things young people like to do. Suddenly, however, one of the elderly ladies in the parlor said, “You know, it’s just not Christmas without the Christmas story from Luke’s Gospel. Could one of you young folks read us the Christmas story?”

Well, I’m sure one or more of the young people would have been happy to do so, but for one reason or another, there was no Bible handy. They looked on all the tables in the parlor. They searched the shelves. They spied various bits of reading material, but no Bible, no Gospel of Luke.

One of the elderly ladies sighed in disappointment, “Oh, I so wanted to hear the Christmas story.”

And then a quiet little voice spoke up from within the group. It was my grandmother. She’d been wheeled into the parlor by our mother so that she could enjoy the holiday music.

“I know the Gospel story,” rang out the quiet, yet assured words of Elizabeth.

And so, all heads turned to my 95-year-old grandmother, seated in her wheelchair, as she began the wondrous narrative that she knew so well:

And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.) And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David), to be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn … [Luke 2:1-7, a portion of the Gospel reading for Christmas Day, RCL, Year A].

Our mother said that by the time Grandmother had finished the entire Luke 2 narrative perfectly from memory, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Not a few of the young people were weeping; they sensed Miss Lib’s strength of faith, her devotion to her Lord.

You see, the young folks thought they were just taking a short time out of their life to do a good deed. What they hadn’t counted on, of course, was an encounter with a gentle, frail, 95-year-old evangelizer—an evangelizer called and claimed by God. You see, God will use anything and anyone to reach you, even an unobtrusive, frail woman named Elizabeth.

What the young folks had bargained for was a few minutes in a nursing home. What they got, of course, was a face-to-face encounter with one of God’s special emissaries. Just when they thought it was safe to sing a few Christmas carols, God reached out to them to touch their lives and their hearts. Oh, God might not have them fully that day, but God was signaling to them that He would have them in the end.

Six months later, I heard about another chorus; this time it was at Gaston Manor, a different nursing home, to which Grandmother had been moved because it provided greater levels of medical care. These singers were not as talented as the group of young people who’d come to Courtland Terrace at Christmas time. There wasn’t anything special about these folks; they were humble staff workers employed at the Manor. They had only known our grandmother for a few weeks, but each of them had already been touched by her life.

The 9-1-1 call had just been given, the call that would take their sweet Elizabeth to the hospital where she would spend her final hours. The group knew there wasn’t much time left. The ambulance would soon arrive. Each knew that she’d never see our grandmother again.

Grandmother was still conscious, but obviously in some difficulty. In unrehearsed unison, the half dozen staff people joined each other around her bed, each person touching the frail, little frame of the woman who had touched so many hearts during her 95 years. They sang “Amazing Grace,” tears of joy rolling down their faces.

You see, just when they thought it was safe to take an ordinary job, attending to folks who had little strength, but powerful needs, just when they thought it was safe to punch a time clock, to go about their daily habits, with thoughts of ordinary things, they had encountered sweet Elizabeth. They weren’t about to give her up without some final celebration, some final worship service in which they expressed their thanks to the Lord who lived within Elizabeth, who’d chosen Elizabeth so long ago as an instrument of peace, an instrument of joy, and an instrument of love.

Be careful, dear friends. The Holy Trinity will use anything to get to you. He used Elizabeth Grier. He has used countless others. He’ll even use a defenseless child, born to nondescript parents, and who has been laid in a manger. And for that fact: Thanks be to God!