Dec. 25: Go and Search Carefully

The Edge, Barbara Takenaga, 2018. Acrylic on canvas, 54 x 45 in.

“Star” from the album 20. Performed byThe 2nd Chapter of Acts. Composed by Annie (Ward) Herring.

Poetry:

“Christmastide”
by Pauline Johnson

I may not go to-night to Bethlehem,
Nor follow star-directed ways, nor tread
The paths wherein the shepherds walked, that led
To Christ, and peace, and God’s good will to men.

I may not hear the Herald Angels’ song
Peal through the oriental skies, nor see
The wonder of that Heavenly company
Announce the King the world had waited long.

The manger throne I may not kneel before,
Or see how man to God is reconciled,
Through pure St. Mary’s purer, holier child;
The human Christ these eyes may not adore.

I may not carry frankincense and myrrh
With adoration to the Holy One;
Nor gold have I to give the Perfect Son,
To be with those wise kings a worshipper.

Not mine the joy that Heaven sent to them,
For ages since Time swung and locked his gates,
But I may kneel without—the star still waits,
To guide me on to holy Bethlehem.

WHEN SEEKING IS AS BIG AS FINDING

Searching is hard work. The intensity of it can make us frantic—panicked, with a sense of helplessness. You know when you’ve lost those car keys, a contact lens, or that two-year-old who dashes into the crowd as you’re paying at the counter. There can emerge a surreal sense that the thing, that person lost has vanished, becoming suddenly invisible. We can’t see it—even when it’s nearly right there, close enough to touch. The loss can paralyze us.

There’s another kind of search, that yearning for something or someone we’ve never seen but that we’ve heard about. Just the description of it triggers something in us, creating inner hunger. At its most intense it can become obsessive: we think about that something or someone constantly; to find it colors our day-to-day living. Its very elusiveness brings a kind of attraction, a persistence in the search.

To find something lost, we must change our minds. We must believe it is there to be found. The writer of Hebrews reminds us that faith is “evidence of things not seen” (11:1). And the paradoxical beauty of losing something is that it suddenly gains new value to us. We remember why we need it—we pursue it even more. Sadly, we live in a world leery of faithful pursuit. G.K. Chesterton called it misplaced doubt. “A man was meant to be doubtful about himself, but undoubting about the truth,” he says inOrthodoxy.

Barbara Takanaga, creator of theThe Edge, seen beside today’s devotional, says the images in her work that look like stars or swirling constellations are a mix of the intentional and the unintentional. As an artist, she loves seeing astronomical features come into her painting, but when they do, she sees it as a kind of leaning in her artistic soul, into that something beyond— a kind of searching.

In our gospel passage we see two contrasting but systematic approaches to the search for Jesus, the baby Messiah. The Magi, a respected group in ancient Persian culture who foretold the future by the stars, had been studying the skies for perhaps many years to find this “King of the Jews” (Matt. 2:2). Were they anxious about it? Perhaps. But their search was driven by faith, a clear grasp of this baby’s significance. Herod’s search was driven by fear. The Greek word for his being “troubled” in Matt. 2:3 evokes a sense of morose anxiety or grief—an unsettledness. His lie to the Magi was that he wanted to worship this child. His search was murderous. Did the Magi sense it? What the gospel writer tells us is that light from the star led them to Jesus’ home, probably a house in which he’d lived with his parents for years. Their joy—true delight—at finding Him is like what we see in Song of Solomon when the lovers reunite. All our pondering here is underwritten by swirling, celestial music, “Star,” from the harmonic group Second Chapter of Acts.

Prayer:
Thank you, Jesus, for the way you came. You left heaven’s glory and riches to be born into poverty and a quiet, hidden space. Yet those who believed were able to find you––lowly shepherds, an aged prophetess, and Magi from across many miles. What they found I have found. Immanuel, God was with them. God is with me as I worship you today, my Savior. Thank you for knowing me in all my humanity, my frailty, my inabilities. You loved me first, as you do all who search for you with all their hearts. Welcome to my world; I joyfully take Your hand, gentle shepherd. And I celebrate your birthday again with all that is within me.
Amen

Dr. Michael A. Longinow
Chair, Department of Digital Journalism and Media
Adviser, Print Journalism; Adviser,The Chimes
Co-Adviser, Media Narrative Projects
Department of Digital Journalism and Media
School of Fine Arts and Communication
Biola University

For more information about the artwork, music, and poetry selected for this day, please visit our website via the link in our bio.