I think I could read it a hundred times in a row. Every time it would stir me at the core with the hope and the beauty and the grit and the realness of the mountains and small town people.
Luke starts out the greatest story ever told with a backdrop of country living and a family, righteous and devout. With so much love for each other they shout when they meet, they walk for miles to go visit (I imagine barefoot), they stay for weeks on end, and they write their own music when their hearts are stirred.
Gabriel is there with words from the Father in Heaven — words of miracles and hope and peace — just to make sure we know we are reading about stuff that is way beyond anything this world could ever dream. Two baby boys destined to pioneer a story, both tragic and beautiful. They appear first as cousins, then as introducers, then instigators of this Kingdom of God right there in the middle of their own little world. Nobody even saw it coming.
One day I will get a country girl hug from Liz*. Might even show up at her house for breakfast. Something tells me she cooks a mean breakfast and does some yellin' too. Then there’s Zach. Yeah, I am going to sit around in rocking chairs with that old boy for a long, long time and just listen to him tell the stories.
And Mary, oh young and beautiful Mary. I want to look at her face, and read the lines, and look into those eyes. The eyes that saw it all from the humble and grand beginnings, to wine at weddings, to sermons on hills, to what appeared to be a tragic end and the resurrection and ascension and the whole time gathering it all up in her heart. She has been where she is for a couple thousand years, and by now she has it all worked out — what was actually going on.
There are gallant characters in this story: Uncle Zach and Aunt Liz, Joe and some smelly shepherds but I think I want to be like Mary. I long to participate in the story, even if it doesn’t make sense at the moment, and all the while gather it up in my heart.
*See Luke 1&2 for actual names.