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Isaiah 9:6

What is Christmas?

As I looked back through several of my old Christmas messages, I noticed a familiar pattern. Every year, I start the same way: “This year, we’re going to focus on the real meaning of Christmas.” It is a noble goal, but after a few decades, it begins to sound like a scratched record to anyone sitting in the pews. I imagine they are thinking, “Here we go again.” Still, it is hard to avoid the sentiment because Christmas is such a beloved season. We love to talk about “keeping Christ in Christmas,” but somehow, Christ always ends up buried under ribbons, receipts, and fruitcakes. J. L. Wilson humorously observed that perhaps it is impossible to get to the real meaning of Christmas during Christmas. “I look for Christ at Christmas,” he said, “but the tree, wrappings, and lights block my view.” He even joked about having Christmas in August to get away from the chaos. Now, that might sound strange, but who among us has not felt that same desire to escape the seasonal frenzy and actually experience peace on earth?

Wilson’s dilemma is ours too. Between school programs, work parties, and church events, we often arrive at Christmas Day feeling more exhausted than enlightened. The irony is rich: we celebrate the “Prince of Peace” in the most stressful month of the year. It seems the moment we hear the first jingle bell, our calendars explode. We rush to prepare our homes, our meals, and our gift lists—but seldom our hearts. The real challenge of Christmas is not finding the perfect present; it is finding quiet time to appreciate the perfect gift. The tree, lights, and glitter are not the enemy—they are merely the distractions. Hershel Hobbs wisely wrote, “Christmas is more than tinsel and toys, trees and toddies, gifts and greetings. It is a message of peace on earth among men who are pleasing to God.” He reminds us that Christmas is not a date on the calendar—it is a divine interruption in human history.

Christmas is the story of God stepping into our noise to bring us His peace. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14). The cradle in Bethlehem points forward to the cross at Calvary and the crown in glory. Hobbs said it best: “It is God in a cradle, the Eternal in a tender baby’s flesh and form.” The shepherds came to see Him and left rejoicing; the wise men brought gifts and bowed in worship. They understood something we often forget—Christmas does not end at the manger. It reaches all the way to the resurrection. That is what Christmas is really about: God bending low so that we could be lifted high. Amidst all the hustle and bustle, that truth still shines brighter than any string of lights.

John 3:16

No “L”

I am ready for Christmas—or at least as ready as I ever get. I have done most of my shopping, the lights are up on the house (thanks to a crew that knows what they are doing), and Kathy already has two Christmas trees standing tall, with the possibility of a third. We may get a bit carried away, but that is part of the fun. Our grandkids are coming, the dinner plans are in motion, and Christmas music fills the house like cinnamon in the air. Kathy keeps the classics playing almost nonstop—“Joy to the World,” “Silent Night,” and “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” It all brings back childhood memories of singing carols at church and hearing my mother’s old vinyl records spinning in the background. I love this time of year because the air itself seems to hum with music. Yet, amid all the melodies and merry chaos, I am still trying to focus on the true meaning of Christmas—something I attempt every year with varying degrees of success.

Speaking of carols, one of my grandsons wondered why we sing about “No L” at Christmas. I had to laugh, but it made me think. Every year, people seem to sing about “No ‘L’.” I thought, “Why in the world are we celebrating a missing letter?” Imagine a Christmas without the letter “L.” We could not talk about Jesus bringing eterna_ _ife into the wor_d. The ange_s could not sing, the shepherds could not watch their f_ocks, and John 3:16 would say, “For God so _oved the wor_d that He gave…” How can we share God’s _ove without the “L?” And what would Christmas be without _aughter? Without that letter, the conversation around the dinner tab_e would sound pretty odd, and our chi_dren would not know the joy of opening their presents! Christmas would lose its meaning, its music, and its heart. Fortunately, the song is not about missing letters—it is “Noel,” not “No ‘L’.”

The word “Noel” means “Christmas,” from the old French word naël, meaning “day of birth.” How fitting! Christmas is all about a birth—the birth of Jesus, the Light and Love of the world. The angels declared, “Unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:11). The “L” we thought we lost is found perfectly in Him—Light, Life, and Love all in one. As John wrote, “In Him was life, and that life was the light of men” (John 1:4). So, Merry Noel—and may your Christmas be full of love, laughter, and just the right number of L’s!

1 Kings 11:43

Soloman’s Christmas

This chapter closes the curtain on Solomon’s life, not with fanfare, but with a funeral dirge. The chronicler does not mention more of his accomplishments or wisdom but records the sad reality that “his heart turned away from the Lord” toward the idols of his foreign wives. What a tragic epitaph for a man who once built the temple of God and filled it with praise. It is striking that the chapter is not about Solomon’s glory but about his enemies—Hadad, Rezon, and Jeroboam—each named as an instrument of divine discipline. As long as Solomon walked with God, the writer cared to record his every act, but when he turned from God, his story dimmed like a candle burned down to its wick. Dilday writes, “As soon as he forsook Yahweh, he became insignificant, an empty vessel discarded by the wayside.” The light of his wisdom faded into shadow, and the kingdom that once glittered like gold began to crack like a broken ornament after Christmas morning cleanup.

It is a sobering reminder for us who decorate, celebrate, and sometimes overindulge during the holidays. Solomon’s story is not so far removed from our own tendency to exchange substance for sparkle. His downfall came not through war or poverty, but through comfort, pleasure, and compromise—three forces that still have a way of pulling hearts from the center of devotion. The same man who once wrote Proverbs warning against the seductions of folly became her most prominent student. It is as if he hung all the tinsel of his success but forgot to keep the light plugged in. The wisest man in history finally confessed in Ecclesiastes, “It’s all worth nothing. The best thing for man is to enjoy his work and obey God.” Experience was his teacher, but the tuition was high. We can learn from his lessons without repeating his failures. Paul reminds believers, “Do not lie to each other, for you have stripped off your old sinful nature… Put on your new nature, and be renewed as you learn to know your Creator and become like him.” (Colossians 3:9–10)

At Christmas, we celebrate the coming of a greater Son of David, whose wisdom never waned and whose heart never strayed. Jesus, born in humility, grew in wisdom and favor with God and man, and unlike Solomon, He finished His course in perfect obedience. His kingdom does not crumble with age or fade with wealth but shines eternally with grace and truth. The angel told Mary, “He will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end.” (Luke 1:33) Solomon’s glory ended in darkness, but in Bethlehem’s stable, light broke through again—light that no silence, sorrow, or sin can ever eclipse.

Luke 1:78-79

The Benedictus

Mary’s song, the Magnificat, was followed by the second Christmas song ever written—the Benedictus. The opening line in the Latin Vulgate reads, “Benedictus Dominus Deus Israel,” or, “Praise be to the God of Israel.” It was sung by an elderly priest named Zechariah, who had just regained his speech after nine long months of silence. When the angel Gabriel first announced that he and Elizabeth would have a son, Zechariah responded not with faith but with skepticism. Asking for a sign, he got one—though perhaps not the kind he expected. His voice was taken from him until the baby’s birth. When it finally returned, it came out in melody rather than conversation. Some scholars see Zechariah’s silence as symbolic of the four centuries of silence between the Old and New Testaments, a long pause before God’s symphony of salvation began again.

Those 400 years between Malachi and Matthew were often called “the silent years.” No prophets thundered, no visions blazed, no divine messengers knocked at temple doors. But as in every great story, the silence was not the end—it was the setup. When God first spoke creation into being, He said, “Let there be light,” and light shattered the darkness. John’s Gospel picks up that theme when he declares, “In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:4-5) God was preparing the stage for a sunrise. The angelic announcements to Zechariah and Mary, the meeting of two expectant mothers, and the song of Mary herself were all like faint streaks of pink on the horizon before dawn. If you’ve ever sat in the dark waiting for the first glimmer of morning coffee—or light—you know the feeling: anticipation, tinged with hope, ready to burst into joy.

When John was finally born, the dawn broke. Zechariah’s tongue was loosed, and his song poured out like sunlight. In obedience to the angel’s instruction, he named his son “John,” though it broke with family tradition. His song, filled with over thirty echoes of Old Testament promises, ends with radiant prophecy: “Because of the tender mercy of our God, whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high, to give light to those who sit in darkness… and to guide our feet into the way of peace.” (Luke 1:78-79) The long night of silence was over. The Light of the world was rising.

Luke 1:78-79, Psalm 14:5-7

When Dreams Come True!

The people of God had been living for centuries in what David called “the valley of the shadow of death.” Generation after generation clung to the promises God had made from the very beginning—that one day, a Redeemer would come to crush the serpent’s head and end death’s dominion. Then, in a humble stable in Bethlehem, the promises found their fulfillment in the birth of a baby. The songwriter captured it perfectly: “The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.” Humanity had waited so long for this child, the one through whom heaven’s light would pierce earth’s gloom. As the poet wrote, “Do not ask for whom the bell tolls—it tolls for thee.” But now, the bell that had rung for death would soon ring for life, because the long silence of sorrow was about to be broken by a newborn cry.

Zechariah’s song, the Benedictus, celebrates not himself or his son John, but the Redeemer John would proclaim. After nine months of holy silence, Zechariah burst forth in praise, announcing that the ancient promises to Abraham and David were now being fulfilled. His song declares, “Because of the tender mercy of our God, with which the Sunrise from on high shall visit us, to shine upon those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death.” (Luke 1:78–79) John’s birth signaled that the dawn was about to break. Like a herald standing on a mountain shouting “The sun is rising!” he called all who would listen to prepare their hearts. His message was simple but urgent: open the doors of your life and let the light in. The dark valley of sin and despair would not last forever. The long night was giving way to morning, and the angels were already rehearsing their song.

When Jesus entered the world, the sleep of death was shattered forever. The Apostle Paul later wrote, “Awake, sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.” (Ephesians 5:14) The best dreams come true when we wake up to the reality of redemption. Eugene Peterson paraphrased it beautifully in The Message: “God turns life around. Turned-around Jacob skips rope; turned-around Israel sings laughter.” At Christmas, laughter and light return to the world. The night has passed, the Daystar has risen, and Bethlehem’s baby has turned mourning into music. The valley of shadows has become the dawn of everlasting joy.

Ephesians 5:20

There’s Always Something!

The Bible tells us to be thankful, but some days it feels like that command was written for someone else. When life goes sideways, when plans crumble, or when the car refuses to start in the cold, “thank you, Lord” does not exactly roll off the tongue. The truth is, we do not always feel thankful. Paul’s admonition to “give thanks in all circumstances” (1 Thessalonians 5:18) can sound overly cheerful to those trudging through disappointment or pain. Yet gratitude, in Scripture, is not tied to circumstance but to confidence—confidence that God remains faithful even when our feelings falter. When Paul declared, “I can do all things through Christ,” (Philippians 4:13) he was not bragging about strength training; he was describing the secret of contentment—how to sing in the sunshine and in the storm. Still, I sometimes wonder: isn’t it hypocritical to say “thank you” when you don’t feel it? Shouldn’t sincerity count for something?

Nike says, “Just Do It.” Scripture might paraphrase that to mean, “Just Thank Him.” Gratitude is not hypocrisy when it’s obedience. When we thank God through gritted teeth, it’s not false piety; it’s faith in motion. Feelings may lag behind, but obedience often leads the way. Many of us have practiced “hypocritical Thanksgiving” in the wrong way—smiling through gritted teeth at family dinners, pretending to be grateful for the casserole no one can identify. True thanksgiving, however, is not about pretending; it’s about trusting. When we say “thank you” even in sorrow, we are not trying to impress anyone—we’re inviting the Holy Spirit to transform our outlook. Gratitude is not always spontaneous; sometimes it’s strategic. Like exercise, it feels forced at first, but afterward, the heart beats stronger. Our duty to give thanks opens the door for God to change duty into delight.

Matthew Henry once demonstrated this kind of holy humor after being robbed. In his diary, he wrote, “Let me be thankful first, because I was never robbed before; second, because although they took my purse, they did not take my life; third, because although they took my all, it was not much; and fourth, because it was I who was robbed, not I who robbed.” That is gratitude with perspective. Paul told the Ephesians, “Give thanks always and for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.” (Ephesians 5:20) Jesus modeled this when He gave thanks before breaking the bread that would symbolize His suffering. Even in His darkest hour, thanksgiving preceded the miracle. Real gratitude is not about how we feel—it’s about who He is.

Psalm 105:1

Just say it: “Thank You!”

The Psalmist gives simple yet profound advice: “Sing out your thanks to Him” (Psalm 147:7). He adds in Psalm 105:1, “Give thanks to the Lord and pray to Him.” Gratitude, it seems, belongs in both song and speech. Paul echoes this theme in Philippians 4:6 when he writes, “Tell God what you need, and thank Him for all He has done.” There is something profoundly healing in that combination—ask honestly, and thank freely. Yet our society has developed a curious allergy to public gratitude. I recently read about efforts in some southern states to reinstate the Ten Commandments in schools and even return prayer to classrooms. It reminded me of the 1963 Supreme Court case that banned prayer in public schools. The offending prayer, written by kindergarteners, was hardly controversial: “We thank you for the flowers so sweet; We thank you for the food we eat; We thank you for the birds that sing; We thank you, God, for everything.” One might think such a prayer could only offend birds or flowers. But Madalyn Murray O’Hair, who led the charge against school prayer, went so far as to object to astronauts praying in orbit. She said their prayer from space was a “tragic situation.” Evidently, even gratitude was too close to heaven for her liking.

Something happens to the heart when it forgets how to say “thank you.” Gratitude, like oxygen, sustains the soul. When we cut it off, everything starts to suffocate. Paul warned about this very thing in Romans 1:21: “For although they knew God, they did not honor Him as God or give thanks to Him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened.” A thankless spirit is not simply bad manners; it is spiritual decay. Dr. David Soper, in God Is Inescapable, once wrote that the difference between a prison and a monastery is the difference between griping and gratitude. If that’s true, then a person who complains in comfort is as bound as one who rejoices in chains. Gratitude transforms walls into windows.

Ultimately, gratitude finds its fullest expression in Jesus Christ. The night before His crucifixion, “He took bread, and when He had given thanks, He broke it” (Luke 22:19). In His darkest hour, thanksgiving still flowed from His lips. Paul wrote that in the last days, people would become “lovers of self, lovers of money… ungrateful” (2 Timothy 3:2–5). Yet Christ shows us another way. Gratitude is not just good manners—it is the melody of redemption. When Jesus gave thanks in the face of death, He turned a cross into a doorway and despair into song.

Psalm 147:7

Gratitude in your heart

Thanksgiving may have passed, but I am not done with it yet. My leftovers may be gone, but my gratitude should not be. I keep thinking about how we say “Thank You” to God for all He has done and continues to do. From the dawn of creation to the present day, God’s people have been called to “give thanks in all things.” Psalm 147:7 says, “Sing out your thanks to Him; sing praises to our God.” I doubt the psalmist meant we should only do that once a year, right after the pumpkin pie. As Christmas approaches, my thoughts turn toward the greatest gift ever given—the gift of Jesus Christ. The turkey may be gone, but the tune of thanksgiving should linger. Christmas carols, in that sense, are just Thanksgiving hymns with tinsel.

As it was for Israel in the Old Testament, it is for the Church today: we are a worshipping community called to make our gratitude audible. Paul told the Colossians, “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly… as you sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God.” (Colossians 3:16) Singing is not filler between sermons—it is theology with a melody. Psalm 100 invites us to “enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise.” Gratitude turns the ordinary into worship, and worship turns the weary heart into joy. Deep within every person is a thirst for God, a longing that nothing else can quench. The psalmist said, “As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for You, O God.” It is that longing which finds satisfaction only in communion with Him. Psalm 16:11 explains it perfectly: “In Your presence there is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” The joy of gratitude is not found in what we possess, but in the One who possesses us.

But let us not mistake motion for emotion. Singing thanks to God must come from the heart, not just the hymnbook. John Piper once wrote, “Without the engagement of the heart, we do not really worship.” It is possible to sing every verse of “How Great Thou Art” and still miss the point entirely. Jesus warned, “These people honor Me with their lips, but their heart is far from Me.” (Matthew 15:8) True gratitude sings not because the tune is familiar, but because the heart is full. So even as Thanksgiving fades and Christmas draws near, may our songs still rise—not out of habit, but out of joy. After all, the manger was the beginning of a melody that never ends.

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