Downton Abbey and remembering and rejoicing...

         "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 us 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)

        Such familiar, beautiful words.  How many times have we heard them?  How many readings upon readings, years upon years, decades upon decades?  Yet they never lose their stunning and glorious wonder.  

        Every year we listen to the familiar, beloved carols.  We pull out the cherished old family ornaments and nativity sets.  We put up the same bows on windows and string that same roping on our staircases.  We hang those dear and precious ornaments made in preschool or elementary shop class.  We bring out the same worn plastic church my husband has loved since childhood that still faintly plays "Silent Night."  

       Year after year, we bake the same Alice Preyer candy cane cookies and Aunt Janie famous chocolate cake with marshmallow icing, and we savor Jane Preyer's yummy spinach artichoke casserole.  And we watch familiar old Charlie Brown, The Grinch, It's a Wonderful Life, and A Christmas Carol.  And once again we tear up at the end, because any beautiful depiction of grace always does that, doesn't it? 

       "And it came to pass in those days" that Almighty God suddenly, shockingly intervened to save this desperate planet by sending His Son as a helpless infant to save and redeem mankind.  It's the old, old story that we never tire of hearing and experiencing every Christmas.  "And it came to pass" that we savor Christmas as little children, then as teenagers, then as grown children, and eventually, Lord willing, as parents and grandparents ourselves.  

       "And it came to pass" that our own dearly beloved parents and grandparents celebrate Christmas with us--year after year, decade after decade--until they inexorably depart this ragged earth to finally and truly go "home for Christmas" and rejoice with the angels.  

        Our memories of Christmases past are both bittersweet and beautiful.  The joyous memories of those we love and have loved, of those with us but also those who have moved on to heaven, and even of those yet to be born...all those memories and thoughts seem to intensify this time of the year and bring both a smile to our face and a tear to our eye.  

       Yes, indeed, those days do "come to pass," and only the perfect love of Almighty God and that of our dearly beloved ones remains.  Surely that's part of the deep joy and sweet nostalgia in bringing out the familiar decorations, cooking the familiar recipes, and singing the familiar carols.  Yes, it's all about Jesus and how He came down to earth to save us, but it's also a reminder of His precious gift of our beloved family and friends.  All gifts from His hand.  All gifts of His grace.  

        Every year at Christmas, we rejoice in Jesus...we remember the past...we recall that someday, we too, shall "come to pass"...and we repeatedly--decade after decade, for as many years as the Lord chooses to give us here--give thanks for all of it.  With a happy smile...and with a nostalgic tear.

         Richard, my dear husband, shared with me a quiet yet remarkable, scene from Downton Abbey that conveyed this in a unique but powerful way.  Lady Mary is preparing to marry for the second time.  She has recently betrayed her sister Edith and seemingly caused Edith to forfeit all chance of happiness with the man she'd loved.  Yet remarkably, despite this terrible betrayal, Edith ultimately chooses to come home to be with her sister for her wedding.  

        A now repentant and stunned Mary (grace always stuns, doesn't it?) asks Edith why she has come.  Edith answers: "Because, in the end, you're my sister and one day, only we will remember Sybil... or Mama or Papa or Matthew or Michael or Granny or Carson or any of the others who have peopled our youth... until, at last, our shared memories will mean more than our mutual dislike."    Eventually, after years and years of mistrust, sarcasm, hurtful comments, and deception, the sisters reconcile, largely because they recognize that what they shared--the people they loved--bind them together deeply, powerfully, and lastingly.  

         Richard said that's part of the bittersweet but beautiful nostalgia of Christmas.  Even as we rejoice, we remember.  We remember Jesus.  We remember Christmases past.  We remember our loved ones.  And in remembering, we recognize God's great grace in our past, His relentless goodness in our present, and His sure and certain faithfulness for the future.  

        Yes, someday our children will pull out our beloved old nativity sets, battered ornaments, and beautiful old stockings...and they will remember.  The wider world won't remember us...but they will.  How I pray that when these days come "to pass," our children and future grandchildren will remember and rejoice in our glorious Savior and His amazing grace, infinite goodness, and perfect faithfulness in their lives.  

        To God be the glory.