Sometimes it seems that Christians get a reputation of being people who blindly follow their faith. Their accused of being people who refuse to think about their faith.
“Your church is great when everything is going well, but what about in my life? It just won’t fit.”
How do you find God at the children’s cancer ward, the mortuary, Christmas morning after a bitter divorce and a night at the bar? After nine one one, or an ambush in (fill in the city).
Praising God is easy(?) in church on Sunday morning, but does He really exist in our world, now?
To me, in any circumstances, I have to praise Him, proclaim him. I’ve met Him.
I can’t say He doesn’t exist. I’ve met Him.
I can’t say He’s not relevant today. I’ve met Him.
I can’t say He doesn’t care. I’ve met Him.
And He’s given us all a message. In a manger. Immanuel doesn’t just speak about His physical presence, but also His emotional presence. He does care.
And that was what Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem “I Heard the Bells” was all about. He was one of America’s best loved poets, but his wife had just died and the Civil War had just broken out.
Where does anyone look for hope at a time like that?
In two of the strangest, most illogical places. A manger and a cross.
Jesus is still here with us. Just sometimes it’s hard to see Him through the dust, smoke, and tears.