Visions Of The Nativity
Stories
Vision Stories
True Accounts Of Visions, Angels, And Healing Miracles
Christmas Eve
Luke 2:1-20
Visions Of The Nativity
Rochelle M. Pennington
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us." (v. 15)
Visions. Conversation with God. Holy encounters with the Heavenly.
Until one evening during the Christmas season, 1990-something, I had never experienced any of these, but had always marveled at hearing stories of those who did, including the ancients of biblical scripture: Abraham, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Jeremiah, Jonah.
"Incredible," I'd think, amazed that such divine dialogues could actually take place. My relationship with God, up until this point, was one continuous monologue: I talked, God listened ... I hoped.
But then it happened. And it happened like this ...
Our family had just returned from our annual pilgrimage to Holy Hill Cathedral in Wisconsin, a couple of hours from our home, to see the living nativity set up there beneath the night sky. Joseph, Mary, an angel, and kings took their place among the animals that included goats, sheep, a donkey, a llama, and even a camel. These are the ones who came, as we did, only once a year, only at Christmas.
There is "something" about this sanctuary atop the mount that draws visitors from around the world to pray, to worship, and to climb its towers that reach upward to touch infinity. And there are those who come for healing. Wheelchairs left behind, now empty, attest to the power of this place. Crutches and leg braces rest against the great wall, a visual affirmation of the lame who left walking. People pause and stare at the crutches, especially the little ones. Some murmur among themselves in wonder. Some are silent. What is there to say? Yes, there is something here that reaches out to you from somewhere else. One can sense it. And this was the backdrop for my vision.
We returned home that evening, following the nativity. We had eaten supper there in the old monastery cafe outside the cathedral: homemade chili and hot cocoa. We also stayed to hear the symphony concert, performed every Christmas in the great church with its marvelous acoustics, as we always do. The concert concluded with the traditional congregational singing of carols. If you've never experienced singing "Silent Night" and "Joy To The World" with a chorus of hundreds of other voices joined to your own, and hearing those voices accompanied by both a massive pipe organ and an entire orchestra, well, words fail to express what opens in your heart at such a moment. At least mine do.
It was particularly cold traveling home that evening. When we finally got to bed, with the heating blanket turned on high, sleep came readily. Then, sometime during my drowse, I heard a voice ask of me, "Who are you in Bethlehem?" I knew the voice was God's. I still wonder how I knew this, and I'm still unable to answer my own question.
My response was a less than brilliant, "Huh?"
Again came the question, "Who are you in Bethlehem?"
I was confused. How could God be asking me who I was in Bethlehem when I wasn't even in Bethlehem? If God is supposed to know everything, how could he not know rural Wisconsin is nowhere near the Middle East? God's question did not make any sense and I decided to tell him so. Perhaps this was not the brightest idea, but it was the only one I had at the time.
"I don't know what you're talking about," came my second and final contribution to the conversation. Then visions came, many of them: visions of shepherds and angels, of an innkeeper and a donkey, visions of a young woman named Mary, wise men, and a star.
"Look closely," God told me, indicating the innkeeper in Bethlehem. "I still stand at the door and knock," he said, "the door of every heart of humankind. Do you make room for me within you? Do you welcome me or instead say, 'I have no place for you; my heart and my life are full'? Have you sent me to the barn of your heart, apart from you, out back, forgotten?"
"Look closely," God then pointed at a simple donkey, laboring to carry a woman, great with child, up hillsides. "Is this you?" he asked. "Are yours the humble efforts that serve in roles necessary, but so often taken for granted? Without the donkey, the Christ child would not have arrived in Bethlehem, nor could the church stand without the efforts of those who, in quiet humbleness, labor outside positions of attention. They build, they roof, they paint, they scrub bathrooms, they mow lawns and clear jungles in order that mission sites may be erected."
And then I saw Mary, kneeling before the angel Gabriel, bringing her the news that she had been chosen to give birth to the Messiah. I heard her respond, "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. Let it be to me according to thy word."
"Is this you?" God asked, "Is yours a heart desiring acceptance of my will for your life? My will for your life is in my word. Does your spirit respond, 'Let it be to me'?"
Visions of other angels appeared, multitudes of them, their voices raised in praise from the skies above Bethlehem, "Glory to God in the highest!"
"Is this you?" God asked. "Do your lips proclaim my praise? Do your words example those of the Psalmist, 'I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth'?"
Then came the wise men, in search of the Christ child, asking directions to the one they had sought for two years: "Where is he that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the east and are come to worship him."
"Is this you?" God asked. "Are you determined to kneel before me and worship or do you, instead, have no time?"
"Look closely," God said, indicating shepherds hurrying to Bethlehem to find "a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger" as told to them by the angels. After finding the Christ Child, "the shepherds then made known abroad all that had been made known unto them concerning the child. Everyone who heard the shepherds wondered at their telling."
"Is this you?" God asked. "Has the message of Jesus been made known unto your heart? Have you, like the shepherds of Bethlehem, taken this message to others? Do you go forth sharing with others the truths you have heard, and seen, and believed?"
Then the visions ended with one final face: that of King Herod, who wanted nothing more than the life and name of Christ silenced forever, as others still do.
But that did not happen, because shepherds of the message kept coming to tell all that had been made known unto them abroad, and donkeys kept coming to serve in a humble and necessary way, and angels kept coming to voice praise and glory unto the Lord, and innkeepers kept coming to make room in their hearts for the honored guest, and Marys kept coming, obedient to the will and word of God, and wise men kept coming to worship and kneel before the King of kings, and stars kept coming to shine the Light of the World to others.
"Look closely," God then told me of a star above Bethlehem, shining with brilliance. "Without words, the star's light proclaimed the message that Christ was among men and led travelers from distant lands to seek him.
"Is this you?" God asked. "Does the light of your faith radiate from within you? Are others led to seek the Light of the World by what they see, and not hear, from your life?"
I awoke and understood. Bethlehem's story is our story. When we look to Bethlehem, we look to ourselves.
As I crawled out of bed in search of pen and paper, my husband heard me and asked where I was going.
"God just spoke to me and I need to write this down," I told him.
He muttered something. I don't remember exactly what it was, but I think it went something like, "Huh? I don't know what you're talking about."
Luke 2:1-20
Visions Of The Nativity
Rochelle M. Pennington
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us." (v. 15)
Visions. Conversation with God. Holy encounters with the Heavenly.
Until one evening during the Christmas season, 1990-something, I had never experienced any of these, but had always marveled at hearing stories of those who did, including the ancients of biblical scripture: Abraham, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Jeremiah, Jonah.
"Incredible," I'd think, amazed that such divine dialogues could actually take place. My relationship with God, up until this point, was one continuous monologue: I talked, God listened ... I hoped.
But then it happened. And it happened like this ...
Our family had just returned from our annual pilgrimage to Holy Hill Cathedral in Wisconsin, a couple of hours from our home, to see the living nativity set up there beneath the night sky. Joseph, Mary, an angel, and kings took their place among the animals that included goats, sheep, a donkey, a llama, and even a camel. These are the ones who came, as we did, only once a year, only at Christmas.
There is "something" about this sanctuary atop the mount that draws visitors from around the world to pray, to worship, and to climb its towers that reach upward to touch infinity. And there are those who come for healing. Wheelchairs left behind, now empty, attest to the power of this place. Crutches and leg braces rest against the great wall, a visual affirmation of the lame who left walking. People pause and stare at the crutches, especially the little ones. Some murmur among themselves in wonder. Some are silent. What is there to say? Yes, there is something here that reaches out to you from somewhere else. One can sense it. And this was the backdrop for my vision.
We returned home that evening, following the nativity. We had eaten supper there in the old monastery cafe outside the cathedral: homemade chili and hot cocoa. We also stayed to hear the symphony concert, performed every Christmas in the great church with its marvelous acoustics, as we always do. The concert concluded with the traditional congregational singing of carols. If you've never experienced singing "Silent Night" and "Joy To The World" with a chorus of hundreds of other voices joined to your own, and hearing those voices accompanied by both a massive pipe organ and an entire orchestra, well, words fail to express what opens in your heart at such a moment. At least mine do.
It was particularly cold traveling home that evening. When we finally got to bed, with the heating blanket turned on high, sleep came readily. Then, sometime during my drowse, I heard a voice ask of me, "Who are you in Bethlehem?" I knew the voice was God's. I still wonder how I knew this, and I'm still unable to answer my own question.
My response was a less than brilliant, "Huh?"
Again came the question, "Who are you in Bethlehem?"
I was confused. How could God be asking me who I was in Bethlehem when I wasn't even in Bethlehem? If God is supposed to know everything, how could he not know rural Wisconsin is nowhere near the Middle East? God's question did not make any sense and I decided to tell him so. Perhaps this was not the brightest idea, but it was the only one I had at the time.
"I don't know what you're talking about," came my second and final contribution to the conversation. Then visions came, many of them: visions of shepherds and angels, of an innkeeper and a donkey, visions of a young woman named Mary, wise men, and a star.
"Look closely," God told me, indicating the innkeeper in Bethlehem. "I still stand at the door and knock," he said, "the door of every heart of humankind. Do you make room for me within you? Do you welcome me or instead say, 'I have no place for you; my heart and my life are full'? Have you sent me to the barn of your heart, apart from you, out back, forgotten?"
"Look closely," God then pointed at a simple donkey, laboring to carry a woman, great with child, up hillsides. "Is this you?" he asked. "Are yours the humble efforts that serve in roles necessary, but so often taken for granted? Without the donkey, the Christ child would not have arrived in Bethlehem, nor could the church stand without the efforts of those who, in quiet humbleness, labor outside positions of attention. They build, they roof, they paint, they scrub bathrooms, they mow lawns and clear jungles in order that mission sites may be erected."
And then I saw Mary, kneeling before the angel Gabriel, bringing her the news that she had been chosen to give birth to the Messiah. I heard her respond, "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. Let it be to me according to thy word."
"Is this you?" God asked, "Is yours a heart desiring acceptance of my will for your life? My will for your life is in my word. Does your spirit respond, 'Let it be to me'?"
Visions of other angels appeared, multitudes of them, their voices raised in praise from the skies above Bethlehem, "Glory to God in the highest!"
"Is this you?" God asked. "Do your lips proclaim my praise? Do your words example those of the Psalmist, 'I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth'?"
Then came the wise men, in search of the Christ child, asking directions to the one they had sought for two years: "Where is he that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the east and are come to worship him."
"Is this you?" God asked. "Are you determined to kneel before me and worship or do you, instead, have no time?"
"Look closely," God said, indicating shepherds hurrying to Bethlehem to find "a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger" as told to them by the angels. After finding the Christ Child, "the shepherds then made known abroad all that had been made known unto them concerning the child. Everyone who heard the shepherds wondered at their telling."
"Is this you?" God asked. "Has the message of Jesus been made known unto your heart? Have you, like the shepherds of Bethlehem, taken this message to others? Do you go forth sharing with others the truths you have heard, and seen, and believed?"
Then the visions ended with one final face: that of King Herod, who wanted nothing more than the life and name of Christ silenced forever, as others still do.
But that did not happen, because shepherds of the message kept coming to tell all that had been made known unto them abroad, and donkeys kept coming to serve in a humble and necessary way, and angels kept coming to voice praise and glory unto the Lord, and innkeepers kept coming to make room in their hearts for the honored guest, and Marys kept coming, obedient to the will and word of God, and wise men kept coming to worship and kneel before the King of kings, and stars kept coming to shine the Light of the World to others.
"Look closely," God then told me of a star above Bethlehem, shining with brilliance. "Without words, the star's light proclaimed the message that Christ was among men and led travelers from distant lands to seek him.
"Is this you?" God asked. "Does the light of your faith radiate from within you? Are others led to seek the Light of the World by what they see, and not hear, from your life?"
I awoke and understood. Bethlehem's story is our story. When we look to Bethlehem, we look to ourselves.
As I crawled out of bed in search of pen and paper, my husband heard me and asked where I was going.
"God just spoke to me and I need to write this down," I told him.
He muttered something. I don't remember exactly what it was, but I think it went something like, "Huh? I don't know what you're talking about."
