those carols...

As much as I love Christmas carols, I sometimes get lulled to sleep by them, and I'm talking spiritually. It is too easy to mindlessly sing along in church as the piano plays softly, lyrics mostly memorized after a lifetime of Christmases. Even when singing "We Three Kings" my senses are usually dulled to the dramatic narrative surrounding Jesus' entrance onto the world stage. 

Imagine receiving wealthy visitors who have obviously traveled from a faraway land, dressed and decked in their uniquely crafted cultural garb. They enter reverentially, humbly, kindly requesting to worship the new King. Jesus is no longer lying in a manger under the shafts of a lowly stable. He and his parents have moved into their own home, perhaps one built by his carpenter father. I like to think of Jesus anywhere between 9-18 months, his mother constantly on her toes keeping track of him. 

The night sky seems exceptionally bright that night, but it's not the moon, it's a single star the strange guests claim has guided them to this particular house. They are astrologers. Their GPS, the night sky, and in no uncertain terms, it has stated they have arrived. 

Matthew 2:13 records that "when they were departed" the angel spoke to Joseph while he slept. He explained how they were to get out of town quick. The angel mentioned Herod, and Joseph knew as well as anyone that their king was capable of unimaginable cruelty. Without waiting till dawn, the family of three vanished! I don't know if they left a note with the neighbors, or sent word to relatives of their whereabouts. Maybe their neighbors didn't associate and the family had cut ties with Mary and Joseph due to gossip and a perceived scandalous reputation. As the head of his household, Joseph did not owe anyone an explanation. He was obedient to the Lord's leading in protecting and providing for his own. Mary trusted him. Providentially, he didn't have to worry about the financial strain of what it would cost. The valuable gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh traveled securely with the family.  

We read next how the outraged king, in unrestrained anger, unleashed an order to execute every single baby boy in and around Bethlehem. He didn't care that boys were the glory of their fathers, every Jewish male "called holy to the Lord" (Luke 2:23), the firstborn entrusted to a patriarchal blessing and inheritance. He only cared about his own executive power and authority being thwarted by some upcoming Jewish prophecy, ignited by a potential rebellion. Whenever Joseph's neighbors experienced the horror, I wonder if they thought of how wise he was to have taken his family out of there. I wonder if they ever made the mental connection. 

The next time I sing a Christmas carol, I'm gonna think of the wild script no one could have written but God. He spoke to those who were listening and obedient to his voice. Am I listening and obedient? He still speaks!