In the Bleak Midwinter
Christmas is always so predictable. The same jingle bells following me around in the shopping centres. The same Christmas tree and ornaments are pulled out of storage every year. The same songs are sung—new renditions are made, but they all sound the same anyway.
Christmas is wonderfully magic. But sometimes I get sick of the repetitiveness. The same lame gifts are bought at the last minute. The same relatives we ignore for the rest of the year come to spend every moment with us from December 1 to December 25. The same Bible passage is read at every church service.
What could I do to make Christmas different this year? I can’t exactly buy a whole new set of Christmas decorations, or find new relatives, or change the nativity story.
I stepped over the dirty puddle on the footpath, checking my watch before breaking into a jog. My weekly Bible study started in one minute, I was three minutes away, and rain was coming in two minutes.
The one thing that wasn’t predictable about Christmas was the weather. It was supposed to be a glorious summer day, but the gloomy clouds chased away any Christmas spirit. Not that I had any.
The rain began to pour just as I knocked on the door of the house decked out in the same Christmas lights I had seen last year.
When I came into the room, I set my container of chocolate-coated pretzels on the table full of biscuits, amidst a strong aroma of peppermint from an array of sweets—too much like toothpaste, I thought. I squeezed in on the end of a lounge, mumbled hello to the girl beside me, and waited for the Bible study to begin.
I opened my Bible to Matthew 1, the passage every Christmas-themed Bible study began with. If we were reading the stories of everyone in the genealogy of Jesus, we would be here long past sunset.
But then I was instructed to turn to 1 Samuel 1 and 2.
Two whole chapters? I closed my eyes and waited for the familiar whine of our leader’s voice to kick in. Yet when she reached the passage where Hannah was dedicating Samuel back to God, my mind decided to tell the story for me.
The crisp early morning breeze brushed away the tears on Hannah’s cheeks. A small hand tugged on hers, its warmth shivering through her. As she bent down to look into the eyes of her son, she saw concern staring up at her.
She closed her eyes, and recited her prayer: “If You will only remember me and give me a son, I will give him to the Lord for all the days of his life.”
God had given her a son; the greatest gift she had ever been given, and now it was her turn to give him back to the Lord.
Turning towards the temple, she knew that past the golden articles and lush, colourful curtains were evil men. Was she giving her son into their hands only to have him grow up to terrorize the people of Israel?
“I will give him to the Lord for all the days of his life,” she whispered.
“Mother.” Samuel tugged on her hand again, drawing nearer to her side. “What are we doing?”
“Samuel, I…we’re doing something very special. Now, you have to promise me you’ll be a good boy. I made a promise to the Lord that I would…that I would teach you how to serve Him. Samuel, I love you so very much, and the Lord loves you too. When the Lord gave you to me, He gave me a very special gift, but now it’s time to give that gift back to Him.”
The next few moments moved in a blur through her damp eyes. Samuel stood firm and strong, as far as she could see. Even as a little boy, he loved his Lord, and knew what right was. Hannah had taught him that much, at least.
“Goodbye, Mother.” Samuel wrapped his little arms around her legs. “I’ll see you soon, won’t I?”
Soon. Tomorrow? Next week? Next year? “Soon. I’ll see you soon.” Gathering him into a fierce hug, she stared into the priest Eli’s eyes over Samuel’s head. Look after him, her eyes said. And don’t let him become like your sons.
Hannah turned from the temple, rushing out to Elkanah, halting at the sight of tears streaming down his face. He rubbed his cheeks as if he was unfamiliar with the salty sting. “Remember, Elkanah, there is no one holy like the Lord; there is no one besides Him; there is no Rock like our God. Samuel will be fine. I just know it.”
I couldn’t see how that was related to Christmas, but turning to Luke 1 moved us one step closer.
It was only ten minutes before the children would be called in for dinner. Elizabeth leaned closer to the window, watching as the children in her neighbourhood ran around outside, laughing and playing games. Soon, it would be her turn. With one hand she reached down to stroke the soft cheek of her baby boy, and with the other she twirled a grey lock of hair. Albeit having several decades on the mothers she knew.
But that didn’t matter. Old as she was, she couldn’t be more grateful that God had gifted her with a son.
The front door creaked open to Zechariah. The wrinkles on his face were becoming more evident day after day. His excitement over John was wearing him out. He sat beside Elizabeth, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel, because he has come to his people and redeemed them. He is our strength. Wasn’t it so wonderful of the Lord to give us a son? Elizabeth, we must do our very best to raise him in the way that is right, so he can know God’s plan for his life.”
We finally moved to the Christmas story, but I created a story of my own.
Abigail closed her eyes as the bundle was passed to her. So small, so soft, so priceless. The Messiah. She forced her eyes back open, to find Mary’s face beaming at her. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?”
Abigail nodded. Yes. Of course he was. He was the Messiah, after all.
“When I met with Elizabeth all those months ago, I was so happy about this baby, and hers, that I just broke into song. Would you like to hear it? I’ll do my best to remember what I said.
“My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant.
“Yes. That’s what I said. I was so happy, but I felt so undeserving. And there was nothing else for me to do but be grateful for what the Lord had given me.”
Abigail traced a finger along the baby’s smooth cheek. He wiggled in her arms, then scrunched His little face up.
“Oh dear.” Mary held her arms out. “I better take Him back now.”
Clutching her hands to her dress, Abigail looked on in envy as Mary sang to the baby. It had almost been a year since Mary had come rushing into her house back in Nazareth, tears streaking down her face as she told her best friend about the angel and Joseph, and the baby that would be called Messiah.
Abigail was one of her only friends during those long months. Despite the hardships of the past year, there was one thing Abigail knew for sure. Mary had been chosen by God for a very important task.
But where did that leave her? Why hadn’t God chosen her? What had she done wrong? Was she not brave enough? Not godly enough? Not motherly enough? Abigail bit her lip as she noticed her eyes beginning to water. She was happy for Mary. Mostly. But what did God want her to do? God has clearly asked Mary to raise His Son. Abigail didn’t know what God had asked her to do.
Abigail lay the baby down on His blanket. “Mary,” she spoke in a quiet voice.
“Yes?”
“I, uh, I was wondering if…what’s it like? Raising the Messiah? Do you feel like…like God chose you for a reason?” Abigail swallowed the tears away.
“I don’t know why God chose me. I know for sure there would be other women who could do a better job than me. I guess God chose me not because I could do the best job, which I can’t, but because I was the one that needed Him.” Mary smiled into the abyss. “What about you, Abigail? What do you think God has chosen you to do?”
Abigail’s body began to tense. “I…I don’t know.”
“Abigail, I couldn’t have done this without you. You were a friend to me when nearly no-one else was. You gave me the courage to continue this journey. And you are so good with baby Jesus, even though I know you are jealous.”
“I’m not—”
“Yes.” Mary gave her a pointed look. “You are.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be, it’s just that—”
“I know. I understand. But I want you to know that God hasn’t forgotten you. He might have put me in the spotlight, but He has given you a special job, too. I don’t know what that is, but I know it will be just as important as mine. All you have to do is give Him your heart.”
Just as important as mine. Just as important as mine. The words echoed in Abigail’s head. Just as important as mine. Surely not. No job could be as important as raising the Saviour of the world. The Wonderful Counsellor. Mighty God. Everlasting Father. Prince of Peace.
Abigail smiled down at the baby Jesus, swaddled in white linen. He was perfect. God was perfect.
God’s timing was perfect. He would choose a special job for her, too. In time. She just had to give Him her heart.
I shook my head out of story-making land. If I was asked a question about what we had just read, I would have to say all the peppermint was making me woozy. But at least I had seen the Christmas story from a new angle.
And I think I realised what the point was.
The stories fit so perfectly together. Hannah, Elizabeth and Mary were given a son from the Lord. All three of them. God gave them such a wonderful gift. They were inadequate to give Him anything back except their own sons. And their praise. All three sang songs of praise.
But the greater connection, though, is the gifts. God gave all of us His Son. It was the greatest gift of all, and sometimes I wonder how I can ever thank God for it. I think are are two things that I can do. I can praise Him, and I can give Him my heart.
That reminded me of a song. In the Bleak Midwinter. And then another song. It’s called The Carol of Joseph. It makes me look at things from Joseph’s perspective.
The quiet melody of The Carol of Joseph filled my mind.
Breathless, trembling, wondering what’s gonna happen next.
Questions upon questions, His little heart beating on my chest.
How can I be the one, the one to father the Father’s Son?
How can I raise a King, when this humble life is all I bring?
Joseph was scared. He didn’t feel worthy to raise Jesus and he needed support and guidance. But it was the gift that God had given him, and he decided to give his heart.”
What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb.
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part.
Yet what can I give Him, I’ll give Him my heart.
One thing would remain the same about my Christmases; each year, and each day, I’m going to give my heart to God.
