Chapter 24 The Power to Transform, Part 2

So, I decided to postpone the notion that this little Christmas metaphor meant only what I thought it did. Maybe I was getting close, getting warm, as if that was even possible on a day like this. But really, I should know by now that his word pictures aren't always limited to just one interpretation.

We walked toward the front of the house, leaving Tucker disappointed in the back yard, and I pondered the whole thing deep and hard, which, as you know, is difficult for me because I can’t stay focused for very long. So, I looked to him for some type of inspiration, in the silence, some supernatural affirmation for these random and wandering musings. He put his arm around me as we walked, and I was more than O.K. with that.

And then, well, he must have been willing to clue me in, or maybe it was his touch, but either way, I got to thinking about time, and about seasons -- then, all of a sudden it hit me over the head like a pile of old Rialto bricks.

Could it be that I’m one of the dead or dying trees in this little story of his, and so are you, and we’re smack dab in the middle of a proverbial December, the very last month of this great adventure, this end-of-the-timeline calendar for the ages? That, well, perhaps we’ve collectively been huddled as something of a dead or dying church, hastily constructed, without much beauty, through, say, most of November, but we’ve been spared from darkness, adorned in splendor, moved into the center of people’s lives, in this season, to enhance and encourage and illuminate love in this final chapter?

Without speaking, we looked at each other and I felt like I was on a roll, like the moment was deep and rich. It seemed like he was egging me on to continue, like he could read my mind, which, well, ... duh.

Could it actually be, I thought, since we’re on the topic of adornment (even though my English teacher warned me to never mix my metaphors) that we symbolize the loving embellishments -- the sequins and the lace and the pearls and the beads that mingle and dance reflectively to create the finishing, adorning touches on the bridal gown? The very one that’s been designed and patterned and sewn over time to allow the Bride to emerge from the dark hallways at the back of the church, as one, beautified at last?

Could it finally be the pregnant pause while the orchestra shuffles to prepare for the Wedding March, the very end of the processional, as the audience shifts in their seats to turn and witness the true Bride appear?

Oh, wow -- Here Comes the Bride, a glistening silhouette, radiated on all sides by the love that we’ve always known should be encouraged by us as the Church and welcomed, with its power to transform, if only for a moment, if only for this proverbial month at the end of a cosmic chronology.

It made my head swim, really, but it also made perfect sense, at least to me anyway.

There was some more small talk about Christmas, and the celebration of it and the man made traditions, which again he said he didn’t mind because they all seemed to focus and funnel us back toward love. And then, out of nowhere, he started talking about reconciliation, which seemed an odd and clumsy choice of a word for a holiday chat.

I told him to hold that thought, while I went in to get his coffee, which I hoped was done brewing.

When I returned, we settled on the stoop and he wrapped both hands around the hot mug, took a long sip and said that he liked where I was going with my imagination. Then he added that, basically, Christmas, or more appropriately, the day he was born, was ultimately about God reconciling me to Himself, so that I could be and should be changed by the love of God, who is in fact, love. And that I should respond by sharing this change with others through love, and action and justice.

Simple as that.

I found it odd that he personalized it, and so, foolishly, I blurted out, you said 'me', but you mean everyone, right?

Then he asked me if I saw anyone else around, or if it was just him and me, sitting on a porch stoop with a tangled mess of lights at our feet.

No, it’s just us, I answered, which, I suppose was his point exactly. He’s always been pretty good at personalizing and making me feel as if I’m the only person he’s talking to, as if I'm the only one that exists. I imagine it's like that for you, too.

If you truly love me, he added, this should break down all barriers. You should intentionally go about demonstrating it to others.

He got up, this Jesus of my imagination, and now he was excited, perhaps on a roll himself, and passionate too, just like he was when he was telling me his Christmas tree story.

Once you understand this, then you need to realize that everything about me, and why I came, the very Gospel itself, was meant to be holistic; that you reach out to people as whole people, and then from there, it all boils down to love. You have to first love them, really love them -- all of them -- not just certain parts of them, and you have to be reconciled to them before you can ever hope to reconcile them to God.

And then, he quoted some Scripture, which I thought was pretty cool, because it’s him, you know, the Word, and he’s speaking across time as if it's happening all at once.

Love others as well as you love yourself. There is no other commandment that ranks with this. (Mark 12:31 The Message)

And, Jeff since I said it, just like that, maybe you'll all start to get it, finally, here in December, that you and the Church I love -- my very Bride -- you really are the ones who will bring the splendor of heaven down to earth, just like the adorning touches on the bridal gown, just like that beautiful lit-up tree.

He came and sat next to me and took a few more sips of his coffee, which I'm confident was pretty good. I had put some whip cream on the top, because, well, it's Christmastime.

He eventually got up to go, and of course, it reminded me of Linus in A Charlie Brown Christmas, but the last thing he said was:

And that’s what Christmas is all about, Jeff.

He hugged me goodbye and rode off again, to other adventures, I suppose. I watched him navigate away from my cul-de-sac, down my street, and heard the deafening roar of that engine as he accelerated out of my neighborhood. Walking around back, I watched as Tucker ran the length of the fence, soccer ball in his mouth, following him momentarily on the stretch of road that leads to the highway.

Maybe he's on his way to see you. You know, to help you untangle your lights.