Even in its most secular manifestations, Christmas reminds us that there is something more. It is is indeed a Holy Day.
For our sake He became poor, born in obscurity, practically unnoticed. This is how it had to be.
So we light the candles as the shadows deepen, and mark off the calendar as the days lengthen. It’s the Babe of Bethlehem that we long for, for God to come and dwell with us.
The winter will end. The darkness will recede. Everything will be as it should be. Every celebration points to this day and every disappointment does too.
Tonight there were four candles on our table, but only one was lit. It is the first week of Advent and, if you let it, every meal can be turned to worship.