Lucy Pevensie, the Star of Bethlehem, and Christmas Eve

At this moment, on Christmas Eve, a thin pane of glass separates me and this warm living room from thousands of snowflakes parachuting to earth, adding layers of white to lawns, streets, sidewalks, and tree branches. All the rigid right angles of the human world -- corners of fence posts, square houses, neat rectangle lawns -- are softened and rounded with the curving slopes of snow mounds that encase everything in sight.

I've begun reading the Narnia Code, and the wintry scene outside reminds me of the one inside these pages: "Do you remember when you first heard the story of Lucy Pevensie pushing her way through the back of a wardrobe and finding herself in a snowy wood? Do you recall how you felt when Lucy had tea with Mr. Tumnus and learned that his world, the kingdom of Narnia, was ruled by an evil White Witch, who had banished the old days of jollification? Undoubtedly, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe contains one of literature's greatest fairy-tale openings."

I think the feelings experienced in the Narnia story -- those vague aches and longings in the heart for something hard to describe -- come close to the feelings one has when they think of the Christ's birth. Except in the latter case, the stuff of the supernatural -- of prophecies fulfilled, of God entering the human race through a womb, of Jupiter and Venus drawing so close together on the night of His birth that they formed the brightest object in the sky in history -- is all a part of human history.

The childlike wonder that Lucy felt when she walked through the wardrobe into Narnia captures what we feel when look through the centuries and see the Nativity Scene in all its wonder, grandeur, and timeless mystery.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

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