journey onWord with us

The first snow of the season fell on November 9th where I live. It began as a very unsatisfying half-and-half that gifted neither nature’s nurture—in the form of a soft rain that feeds the grass—nor my own pleasure—of a snow globe-like squall (I have not yet aged out of the wonder and love of snow).

On that quiet and reflective Sunday morning, I chose to set down my study notes and simply stare out the picture window. I embraced the hush and the view. The longer I sat, the more the longing grew for some music to deepen the experience of the winterish wonderland I was enjoying. Near the end of a series of songs was a hauntingly beautiful cover of a four-stanza 1930s folk song, I Wonder As I Wander. In researching the song’s backstory, I observed the modern artist had chosen to honor the simple inspiration for the songwriter’s original adaptation (he authored additional lyrics in composing the hymn that is sung to this day). A simple, twice-repeat of three lines of verse a young preacher’s daughter sang for quarters in the downtown square of a rural North Carolina berg.

I wonder as I wander out under the sky
That Jesus my Savior did come for to die
For poor on’ry people like you and like I

These three simple lines speak a central truth of our dear Savior’s birth. A truth we too often attribute to a different season of advent and celebration. Hallelujah, He came. Yes! But Hallelujah, hallelujah, He “did come for to die.”

In eternity past, God chose a plan. His highest form of creation would choose other than Him, and their bite would birth a curse whose cost and ransom could never be paid by them or any one of their children whose number would exceed the count of stars in the sky. And yet, there was Another who was able … and Who would.

As the One who breathed all of creation into existence took His first human breath, it set into motion that plan authored in eternity past. His very first cry pierced the air with the collective weight of human sorrow and struggle and foreshadowed His forward ones in the garden and on the cross. Beginning at the moment of a conception like no other before it nor since, God the Father put pen to paper and began writing the gospel story. A story where the One offended would pay the penalty—of that first offense and every one since—by giving His life as the only possible ransom for ours. His death forever breaking sin’s power and satisfying its price. His rising again—as He said He would—putting death to death and opening the narrow gate to life now and forever with Him for those who believe.

For me, Christmas is a season of wonder. This year, my Advent has been deepened by the Wonder sung by a young preacher’s daughter nearly a hundred years ago. Yes, Christmas is about His coming. Hallelujah, He came! But the fullness of Christmas is in His coming for—”for poor on’ry people like you and like I.”