On that blessed night, in the visible world, Grace was born...
- Out of a socially shameful out-of-wedlock conception and apparent illegitimacy
- From a carpentar and a peasant girl
- Alone without any of the direct family around
- In the most insignificant of small villages
- In a stable with smelly animals, with unsanitary conditions
- Placed in a feeding trough with spittle and munched straw
- Clothed with common rag strips, probably his mother’s underclothes
- Visited only by sheperds, the despised dregs of peasantry
But in the invisible world...
- Legions of angels were filling the sky and singing glorious praises
- A special star was guiding wise men to a majestic destination
- Four thousand years of prophecies were being fulfilled
- God was manifesting himself in the space-time continuum for the express announced purpose of dying as a sacrifice for our sins
- The definitive way back to God was being revealed
And so everything about the Christ's day doesn't scream Grace in today's noise. It humbly whispers it in the invisible.
Christmas. It's the quiet Grace.