I shared in a previous post that this time of year, I re-read Ann Weems’ book of poems, “Kneeling in Bethlehem.” Here is one she titled, “Christmas Miracle.”
There are those who scoff at miracles.
I don’t know what they make of the birth of the Child.
For that matter,
I don’t know what they make of the birth of any child.
There are those who laugh at dreams,
so they’ve never heard an angel’s voice,
nor seen any unusual light in the night’s sky,
nor felt the yearning to set out in search of new life.
There are those who do not see the Star.
I wonder where it is they go
when everyone else sets out for Bethlehem.
To those of us who believe,
into every night is born a Star.
Weems reminds us that the real miracle of Christmas isn’t wrapped in grand spectacle. Instead, it slips quietly into the ordinary—into tired bodies and cluttered lives, and into hearts that are unsure whether, or how, to hope again.
The miracle isn’t that everything suddenly makes sense. The miracle is that God comes anyway. Christmas is not God fixing the world from afar; it’s God stepping into the mess, trusting that we won’t scoff at miracles or laugh at dreams. Trusting that we will see the Star.
The Christmas miracle is that God entrusts divine love to us. And perhaps the miracle continues each time we dare to believe that God still chooses to come … into a world that often feels anything but holy.
God comes anyway. God comes to us every day of our lives. That’s the miracle worth pondering.
Prayer: God, I confess that I often look for you in the spectacular and miss you in the quiet gift of presence. Open my heart to the miracle of your coming, not as I expect, but as I need. Help me make room for Christ again, and trust that love still enters the world through willing hearts. Amen.
