What Jesus wants for Christmas is a vacancy, an opening, some room. He can’t be crammed into my heart if I keep everything I’ve accumulated. I have to do some letting go, I have to get on my Spring cleaning here in late November.
What Jesus wants from me for Christmas isn’t so much some ability I might have – although he gave me whatever ability I have so I could use it for him. What Jesus wants isn’t my ability but my availability. I may have ability, but frankly I’m just not available to God, or to the people God loves – and thus I am a noisy gong, a clanging cymbal. No wonder I wonder what the point of it all might be.
Can my prayer be listening more than talking? Dare I pray Speak, Lord, your servant is listening?
Can I divest myself of a few things this Christmas? Santa Claus wants to haul more things down the chimney and into my cluttered world. Maybe in my imagination I reverse that chimney function and toss my busyness, my over-commitments, my divided loyalties, my frenetic pace, into the fire, and let the holy smoke waft up toward Jesus, who will then know I’m here, I’m available, there’s room in the inn.