It is indeed a favorite time of the year for many: the lights, the decorations, the festivities, the caroling, finding the special gift for a loved one, and eating homemade goodies. I always look for that first automobile with the tree tied to the top knowing the great excitement and anticipation that awaits it back home. But, the greatest element of the season is the fact that all over the world, it is the one time of the year when there is the most focus on Jesus Christ.
Church denominations perform drama re-enactments and musical productions in every church building on every corner. Many good deeds are performed for less fortunate families, and every soup kitchen is at full capacity.
But, each year when Christmas rolls around I want to climb up on a rooftop somewhere and shout “Jesus isn’t in the manger anymore!” When I was sitting on a pew in Talbot Park Baptist Church thirty-three years ago, yearning to be free from homosexuality, I didn’t need a baby in the manger; I didn’t need an empty cross or empty tomb. I needed a touch from the resurrected Jesus Christ.
As I sat there on the pew, I wondered if this Jesus I had heard about in Sunday school was still in business or had he faded into the pages of time. Was He still healing and delivering people? Was He the same?
I was fortunate that I had never been told the “gay gene lie,” so I did not entertain the thought I was born this way and stuck forever in homosexuality. I did know though that no matter how hard I tried not to be a lesbian I could not stop myself. I was so tired and wanted out of it.
So, what did I really believe about Jesus Christ? If I believed Jesus was the same as yesterday, all I needed to do was call upon Him. I had the pre-requisites: a broken heart, a contrite spirit, burdened and heavy laden. But did I have the faith the size of a mustard seed that He could free me from the chains of sexual sin?
I recalled all of the miracles Jesus had performed when He walked the earth: restoring sight to the blind, enabling the lame to wall, healing lepers and even raising the dead. If He were alive and not just a historical figure, He could certainly heal me of homosexuality.
I cried out to Him and He showed up. The encounter was quite supernatural. He touched my life the same way I had heard and read about in centuries past. He forgave me; He healed me; He restored me. He became an active part of my daily life and still is to this day.
Every Christmas, American Christians place nativity scenes in front of buildings in celebration of Jesus’ birthday. They are displayed on tables in many Christian homes. One year, a well-known Christian bookstore sold figurines of Santa Clause kneeling to the baby Jesus in a manger. I have always wondered why we don’t celebrate the Living Christ.
Imagine a Church that grows up and sees Jesus as the Lord of Lords and King of Kings coming one day to judge the earth. Imagine Christians making Jesus Lord of their lives. Imagine living daily preparing to meet Him and be His Bride. Imagine what America could become if by next Christmas believers realize Jesus is not in the manger anymore, and that He is alive and is still waiting and wanting to save lost souls before He judges the earth.
The opinions expressed by columnists are their own and do not necessarily represent the views of Barb Wire.