Not an insult but a reference to your size, which is about 25. In old days 25 cents was called two bits.
Christmas Eve is here, and presently I shall conduct two services, and somewhere north of 2000 people shall attend. That is wonderful, a veritable host, to make another allusion.
Just a short while ago we held our first service, intended for families and itself largely a ragged pageant, which is exactly what it should be. The blankets and bathrobes and cheesy props are part of the experience, precious parts. And when the angels were mentioned, from our balcony popped a dozen preschoolers in white shifts, gossamer wings and an assortment of halos. Shepherds arrived, in equal number, and then kings of course so that our very large dais cum stable was quite crowded; far more than those who read these words.
But even if the story as written actually happened as it was written, the grand total of characters would be less than you few you drop by from time to time.
Which are you?
Expectant parent? Innkeeper? Shepherd? Sage? Angel? Baby? I’ll wager one of those fits you pretty snug.
Ponder that in your heart, this season. What is your role in the drama of redemption? We need them all, I think.
The sun has gone away. It was cloudy all day today and yesterday, but I am hoping, even praying, for the clouds to vanish later because tonight is a full moon.
We have new snow.