We’re here. It’s December. I’m not just reflecting on the year, but watching it come to a close.

With this time of the year comes all of the Christmas finery, from a surplus of cookies to extravagant decorations all over the house. It’s familiar, fun, and something we look forward to every year. Tradition isn’t just the history of theology, it’s repetition of the same beloved words and actions for years and even generations. And at Christmas, it’s at its finest. 

One of my favorite Christmas traditions is attending Andrew Peterson’s Behold the Lamb of God concert. Last year I caught the plague and was much too sick to go, which made this year extra special. There’s nothing quite like listening to music sent forth from a stage filled with most of your favorite artists.

The music in this album is absolutely beautiful. The skill is there, complete with hammered dulcimer and fascinating composition. But while it is lovely, I don’t think it’s the music itself that keeps me coming back to this album each Advent season.

It’s the story.

As the first song, “Gather ‘Round, Ye Children, Come” states, it’s the “old, old story / Of the power of death undone / By an infant born of glory.” 

What is there about this story that never loses its beauty? 

I think maybe it’s that it’s still true. The incarnation, the idea that the King of kings and Lord of lords laid aside His glory and took on the form of a servant man in order to save His people. That’s a story we can come back to. And it’s a story that Andrew Peterson and co have splendidly retold for twenty-five years now. 

Sometimes I marvel that I never get tired of the Christmas story.

“In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration when Quirinius was governor of Syria” (Luke 2:1-2). What just happened to you? If you’re like me, you adjusted your shoulders and sunk further into your chair to hear the familiar, beloved story you’ve heard several, if not many times.

Maybe it’s because we don’t talk about this aspect of the gospel quite as dedicatedly during the rest of the year. During Advent, we think about it, dwell on it, savor it, and learn about it. The story gets a lot of attention during the Christmas season, but not as much throughout the year. It isn’t repeated to the point that we glaze over it as quickly as other parts of the gospel that are not as liturgical calendar-specified. (I am not by any means suggesting that it is good to confine certain parts of the gospel to certain parts of the year–just observing that some are emphasized more emphatically in different seasons.) 

It’s something I love about the gospel–it’s always true. It’s always there. And no matter how often I wander, Jesus is waiting for me to return. He’s waiting to remind me of the truths I forget so quickly. 

I think the wonder of Advent is one of those truths we forget extra easily. We forget the whole point–just as we celebrate the first coming of Christ, we are awaiting His second coming, a coming made possible by what He did on His first. The presence of Christ in the world, to love, to heal, to redeem, is not something to take lightly. It is of earth-shattering significance. It grants us a hope that cannot be denied. 

A hope that we come back to each time Advent restarts on December first, and every other time we consider the incarnation. 

Merry Christmas, friend. Praise God for a gospel that never dies and a King that forever lives. 

“Return to your stronghold, O prisoners of hope; today I declare that I will restore to you double.” Zechariah 9:12 

Merry Christmas!