Advent, Day 11: What Happens When the Holy Makes a Visit

“Fear not,” He says, but it is too late. I am already face down, fingers grasping stones, fingernails scraping dust.


I grasp at the familiar.


The glory burns and my knees come in tight. I fold up small hoping to hide.  I am unable to stand in the weight of all this glory.


For years I have lived in the shadows.


We are the late night, the 3rd shift sheep guards. The pinpricks of stars have became our companions. I walk around in the day with hands shading my eyes.


I cover my face, would do anything to put a veil over the light, contain it. I am not a holy chaser. I’d rather the mystery stay sanctioned off where it belongs.


I like things that fit in my hand, things I can move from here to there. Pick up.


Yet this light consumes more than darkness, it peels back layers of this pollution sunk deep in my skin. My sin sears. Have mercy, Lord, have mercy. Confession streams out violently.  Oh God. Oh God.


I purge.


I long to be free.


I long to belong to this Light, to lose myself in the Song.


This much holiness could kill anyone


…or kindle our hearts into a full fire praise.



The Voice of a thousand notes streams back and forth from nearby hills, “Do not fear. Listen! My good news will saturate the world in joy. Your Savior the Long-awaited  Messiah, the Lord, has just been born in the City of David.  This is the sign you are to look for:  a swaddled baby laying in a manger.”


The Voice burst into a million flaming Beings twisting and turning. Prismatic spotlights pulse across the black sky.   Their voices join and explode into a million waterfalls splashing praise back toward their King.


“Glory to God in the Highest, and peace to those who enjoy His favor.”


The song ends, the glory fades out so slowly the stones seem to glow, seem to have caught and held the light. We look up, search each others’ faces for recognition then slowly stretch out of our curled up selves.   We breathe deep, nod, grin crazy.


I am the first to run. We hurl ourselves downhill toward Bethlehem frantic, search stables, caves, barns until we find it: the light of a small lamp.


It sends a pool of glory around Him


and I sink down again,


grasp tight the hay.


You, my friend, what do you do with the holy?  Does the terror make you want to sanction it off…only keep the god of comfort close?  What sins/behaviors stand between you and being a part of the light? Are you ready to purge to come close?


We are on a journey to the manger together. Come with us? Don’t miss a day of the pilgrimage. Slip your email into the CONNECT box on the front page and receive the next stepping stone to the stable tomorrow morning.
linking with the fabulous storyteller Jennifer Dukes Lee here:

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