Fish on Trees and God in a Manger

The last day Jonathan and I were in North Caicos, the pastor drove us along the ocean

and we got out a couple times to spot fish.

And at the cafe where we ate lunch, I couldn't help noticing the Caribbean Christmas ornaments!

Fish!

 We're used to everything from beads to bows to burlap, like this pretty tree set up in our church vestibule for Christmas.

Fish on a Christmas tree seemed so out of place! 

But hardly more out of place than a baby in a manger.

Or a Savior on a tree.

God's ways are so different than ours.

" He himself, lying in a manger, had been a sign of God’s way of doing things." I read in desiringgod.org this evening. "God had countered the violence of tramping warriors and bloody tumults by sending a child (Isaiah 9:5–6), and now he had inaugurated his kingdom by sending a child. That was so like the wisdom of God!"

 

Years later, when his disciples were dreaming of greatness, Jesus took a child, and told them of this greatness: “unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3). It’s the only way in. Even a Nicodemus (or an Augustine) has to enter the kingdom not as an Eminence, but as a spiritual baby: knowing nothing, bringing nothing, and needing all."

Last Sunday our pastor had a special reminder about the importance of Jesus in the midst of our Christmas.

He told about how the terrible wind one day had blown away the manger scene they had set up in their front yard. Mary blew away, and Joseph blew away, and baby Jesus blew away.

They found Mary blown up on the front porch, and they found Joseph way down by the fence somewhere but they could not find Baby Jesus!

Then finally, Mrs. Kearney went hunting again, and found the baby, not lying in the manger like the shepherds, but in the weeds!

Bro. Kearney showed us the Baby Jesus they had found and told on Facebook about,

posting, "I have found Him!"

He said how sad it was to not be able to find Jesus.

And what a joy when they found Him!

Then we sang the words on the left, "Lord I want Your presence for Christmas."

That evening we had candlelight service, and  our dear friend Katherine Gafford, organist, accompanied her father who played some pieces on the musical saw.

The choir who had gone to prison service handed out chimes to different ones in the congregation to play along as we sang.

I loved watching our friend, Candy, playing her note.

What a transformation God has worked in her life!

Meanwhile, this is how our Danny holds his candle for the candlelight part of the service!

"Monkey toes," as Jonathan affectionately called him.

The lights were turned off, and the cross, with its huge red Christmas bow,

glowed in the dark.

And all the candles glowed--except mine.

Jonathan's mother, sitting next to me, had lit mine, and then I had lit Jonathan's on the other side,

but as I sat in weakness, with head bowed, while others stood,

I realized my frail flame had gone out.

Sometimes our frail flames do just that.

For whatever reason, they  seem to flicker and go out. 

I didn't let it die more than the seconds it took to notice.

And I quickly held my wick close to Jonathan's--

and the flame from his warmed my feeble wick

till it glowed again.

Sometimes we need our spouse's flame, or the flame of a friend, when ours feels feeble.

We need each other! 

I watched our friend Tim holding his candle higher than anyone,

and it warmed my heart as I nudged Jonathan to look.

It was such a precious sight. 

At first, I was ashamed of how lowly I was holding my candle,
and I thought I should also hold mine that high, 

till I remembered that we don't always have to do what others do,

and in my weakness at the moment, it was a comforting thought.

My candle didn't have to be higher than I was able to hold it. 

We don't have to hold our candle as high as others.

We don't have to be the most passionate or most spiritual Christian around at all times.

Maybe not any of the time.

 Maybe this Christmas, we could just simply, and in a lowly way, love Jesus.
Maybe instead of being like these fish decorations that are all over the Miami airport,

we don't need to go swimming in crazy Christmas circles.

Maybe this Christmas we don't need to be the brightest candle,

or the highest one.

Maybe this Christmas it would be okay to just 

rest in God,

and to be thankful for Baby Jesus,

not a plastic baby blown by a fence,

but His very real presence  for Christmas!
And if there is someone whose flame has flickered low,
instead of scorning and scoffing at them and their weakness or confusion,
shall we  reach out to them our own warm candle,

so that both our candles can be bright again?