Lord Jesus,  thank you for coming to us and for us.  My mind can’t conceive of you emptying yourself and taking the form of a servant.  You who were God the Son from eternity, glorified by the heavenly beings, humbled yourself.  Not just to be born of a woman and laid in a feeding trough.  But throughout your life on earth you humbled yourself by serving the sick, the demonized, the lost.  You allowed the authorities to demean you and, in the end, to kill you.  For us.  You were forsaken by your Father to bear our sins away.

Now every good gift we enjoy–everything from our families to chocolate (!)–comes from you and through you.  The love that we share around the Christmas tree is your gift too.  The presents that we give are tokens of our love for each other, but also tiny expressions of your love to us.

We realize that not everyone enjoys a Christmas of peace.  In the Middle East Christians are homeless, wounded, facing death.  In America, as well as around the world, many of your people suffer critical or chronic illnesses.  Many are lonely, without their beloved.  However close you may be to them, nothing today replaces the love they’ve lost.

Christmas is one day out of the year’s 365.  You bless us; we rejoice.  But the joy of our ordinary days is always mixed with sorrow.  Joy is fleeting; the pains of life in a fallen world crowd in.  “Peace on earth”,  internationally and individually, slips through our fingers like sand.

We need you to come back, Jesus.  We believe the good news, not only of your birth, but of your resurrection and your promise to return.  Only then can all the promises, all the hopes and dreams that you have kindled in our hearts, be realized.  Even so, come Lord Jesus!

And on this Christmas, around the tree, among the presents, in the midst of family gatherings, come and be our unseen guest.  Sanctify our celebration with your presence.  Imprint our minds, so easily diverted to the “stuff” of the holiday, with your good news.  We–the best of us—are depraved sinners.  In ourselves we are without hope and without God in this world.  Forgive us, please.  We embrace the terrible shadow of the cross that hung over your manger.  Enable us to celebrate today in ways that honor you.  And to live all our tomorrows in ways that make much of you.

You, the baby in the manger, the criminal on the cross, are today the risen King.  We recall the wonderful story of your birth.  And we wait for you to come back for us in glory.

“Thank you” sounds so small.  So do the finest orchestras and choirs that sing your praise.  And so do our lives by which we try to do your good will and engage in what the Scripture calls “spiritual worship”.

But for now, it’s all we have.  Our “treasures” are tiny.  But like the wise men, we offer them to you.  You are worthy of so much more.  But we give what we have.  And from as much as we are able, we reach to the bottom of our hearts, and say “Thank you.”  Until that day when all the heavenly beings, all the redeemed, and all the new creation  sing your praise with music more wonderful than we dare to imagine.  Thank you, Jesus.