Christmas Eve

It is Christmas Eve. There is no snow on the ground; instead, it is cold, dark, and rainy. But hearts are warm as the church members, bundled in parkas and boots, stop at houses, apartments, and gas stations to sing Christmas carols.

Our last stop for the night is the jail. I've always wanted to go to the jail, not as a prisoner, but as an ambassador of grace. The policeman on duty comes around the building and lets us in the side gate, leading us into the corridor between the jail and the outdoor gymnasium. There, he opens the door into the hallway of the jail, and we circle around and start singing, our voices echoing down the long hallway. “Joy to the world, the Lord has come…” The policeman paces back and forth in the dark on the outside of the fence. We sing on. “Let every heart prepare Him room…” And as the group sings on, it hits me. This room. Room like this. Room worse than this.

Room in the stable was no better than this long, cold corridor. Room in my heart, too, is little more than a bare prison cell. But that was the point. Oh, how far He came, when He came from heaven down to earth!

We finish the song and leave; the policeman rattles the side gate locked behind us. Under the rainy, starry sky, we get back in our cars and drive away. Let every heart prepare Him room, and heaven and nature sing…