simplicity . . . it's how He came

And so, with barely a ripple of notice, God stepped into the warm lake of humanity, without protocol and without pretention.
Where you would have expected angels, there were only flies. Where you would have expected heads of state, there were only donkeys, a few haltered cows, a nervous ball of sheep, a tethered camel, and a furtive scurry of curious barn mice. Except for Joseph, there was no one to share Mary's pain, or her joy. Yes, there were angels announcing the Savior's arrival—but only to a band of blue-collar shepherds. And yes, a magnificent star shone in the sky to mark his birthplace—but only three foreigners bothered to look up and follow it.
Thus, in the little town of Bethlehem . . . that one silent night . . . the royal birth of God's Son tiptoed quietly by ... as the world slept.
[from Intimate Moments With The Savior by Ken Gire]

We would like to have something to give, to pour out for love of Him, but we don't have even that. It seems we don't have anything.
Nothing to offer except our uselessness, and our choice to be with Him: and that is a choice that no one but Him is likely to put any value on.
[from Celtic Daily Prayer, Aidan readings, Dec. 3]

This Christmas, this Advent Season, why not reflect on the simplicity of Christ’s birth? Why not, even in the midst of the commercialism, the grand celebrations and concerts, the lights and fanfare . . . why not realize again, or for the first time, the truly ignoble and curious, but oh so sweet, birth of our Savior?

Silent night, Holy night . . .