Invasion
Written by Olivia Kershaw
The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.
John 1:14
As a child, each Sunday we traveled thirty miles to church. Thirty miles. It took about forty minutes. It might as well have been forty days for my sister, brother, and me. Hostages in the backseat. Like most children, we squabbled, over the same things most children squabble over.
“You’re in my space!”
“Mom, they made a mean face at me.”
“But you started it!”
In spite of the drudgery of the journey–how did my parents ever survive it!--some good things resulted. For one, we used something called a Preparation for Worship. It was a liturgy designed to prepare our hearts for the church service ahead. Liturgy is like a script or prescribed form for a religious service. Sort of like—perish the thought!—a ritual designed to facilitate a group to worship as a community.
Before you panic and “throw out the baby with the bath water,” it might be helpful to recognize that those of us from “independent” churches have our own liturgy. Ours looks something like this: Greetings. Worship music set. Prayer. Preaching. Worship Response. Closing prayer. You probably know it by heart. Liturgy can become rote, but it can also take the riddle out of how we’ll spend an hour and fifteen minutes together.
As part of the little service our family did in the car, we took turns reading a preset compilation of scriptures. Many were from the Psalms (“Hear us when we pray, O LORD.”), but there was also a section from the Gospels. Without realizing it, I learned those verses by heart. There are, after all, fifty-two Sundays in a year.
One passage is John 1:1-14.
“You’re in my space!”
“Mom, they made a mean face at me.”
“But you started it!”
In spite of the drudgery of the journey–how did my parents ever survive it!--some good things resulted. For one, we used something called a Preparation for Worship. It was a liturgy designed to prepare our hearts for the church service ahead. Liturgy is like a script or prescribed form for a religious service. Sort of like—perish the thought!—a ritual designed to facilitate a group to worship as a community.
Before you panic and “throw out the baby with the bath water,” it might be helpful to recognize that those of us from “independent” churches have our own liturgy. Ours looks something like this: Greetings. Worship music set. Prayer. Preaching. Worship Response. Closing prayer. You probably know it by heart. Liturgy can become rote, but it can also take the riddle out of how we’ll spend an hour and fifteen minutes together.
As part of the little service our family did in the car, we took turns reading a preset compilation of scriptures. Many were from the Psalms (“Hear us when we pray, O LORD.”), but there was also a section from the Gospels. Without realizing it, I learned those verses by heart. There are, after all, fifty-two Sundays in a year.
One passage is John 1:1-14.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God; all things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made. 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 . . .
The true light that enlightens every man was coming into the world . . . And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth; we have beheld his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father.
The true light that enlightens every man was coming into the world . . . And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth; we have beheld his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father.
That glorious proclamation—
of Eternity confining Himself to time,
Light invading darkness,
Immensity compressed into atoms,
Immortality submitting to human-ness,
the Creator nursing from the created,
Symphony reduced to a cry
--planted itself in my soul.God linked Himself to our chain of DNA. He shattered space to move in next door, intersecting our race–my life–in cells so small and yet so explosive.
Week after week, in the backseat of our car, “the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us,” illuminated Christmas for me. And it still does.
What about you?
Fleming Rutledge contends, “The authentically hopeful Christmas spirit has not looked away from the darkness, but straight into it.”
Into what darkness do you long to experience the invasion of Jesus’ light?
Talk with Him about it.
Blessing
This Christmas, may you perceive the Light of the world penetrating the darkness.
Week after week, in the backseat of our car, “the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us,” illuminated Christmas for me. And it still does.
What about you?
Fleming Rutledge contends, “The authentically hopeful Christmas spirit has not looked away from the darkness, but straight into it.”
Into what darkness do you long to experience the invasion of Jesus’ light?
Talk with Him about it.
Blessing
This Christmas, may you perceive the Light of the world penetrating the darkness.
Reflective Question for the Day
Into what darkness do you long to experience the invasion of Jesus’ light?
Talk with Him about it.
Olivia Kershaw is a recent transplant from Lakewood, CO. One of her favorite childhood Christmas memories is of stumbling sleepily from the midnight Christmas Eve service, to be awakened by the magical wonder of a clear, silent, CO winter night, complete with snowfall. Christmas Day meant Plum Pudding, aged for a year after being assembled by her British mother. The rum hard sauce was especially yummy! As a parent, she was delighted to see their four children anticipate Christmas Eve dinner. A simple affair, the focus was not food, but the tiny gift bag atop each place setting. Tucked inside was a handmade ornament symbolizing something from their year. Unique to each, aimed to accentuate/bless traits we observed . . . an Energizer bunny, memorializing a daughter’s continuous zip and zoom. A bell for another daughter nicknamed “Joybells,” who often awoke singing. A bundle of tiny dollar bills. Courage to run for Class Treasurer even though a more connected friend was also on the ballot. Tactile, artistic compositions highlight another daughter’s creative bent. Our son’s toy soldier (“because we see steadfastness in you”). Olivia is still pondering her own ornament for this year. Possibly a warrior. Or a calendar. Or some creative expression of the ocean. Intrigued? Ask her!