merry christmas
i found this photo on a found photography site. found photography, obviously, deals with the pictures that are found in the garbage, at flea markets, along the side of the road, etc. i love found photos because there are stories in them, but only you can tell the story!
and speaking of telling the story, it is Christmas, a time when we tell and re-tell a story that has been told for many years now. its a story of hope. its a story about the beginning and ending of everything. its really a story about a baby, but everything else hinges on this story, so its no insignificant story, this one.
its everything. its fragile. its unbelievable angels in the sky, singing songs i'm not sure we can understand. its the smell of animal dung. its the aching of the centuries, the hope of everything broken. its the shame of sin, and the fear of being dismissed quietly. its the audicity of hope, that you indeed won't be let go of quietly, that you are accepted, loved even, and that something amazing is going to happen. its vulnerable. its kind of silly, what with all those stupid shepherds. its simple. its spectacular. its surreal. its so real that even amidst the absurdity of frosty and rudolph and everything we have tried to stifle the spirit of the thing, it still finds a way to shine, like a star in a pitch black sky. it is light. it is light when you are at your darkest. it is that moment of silence in childbirth when you are praying that the baby will scream just to prove life. its the word made flesh. its coming home. its incarnation. its being known. its just a wrinkly wet baby.
its everything.
merry christmas,
greg.
i found this photo on a found photography site. found photography, obviously, deals with the pictures that are found in the garbage, at flea markets, along the side of the road, etc. i love found photos because there are stories in them, but only you can tell the story!and speaking of telling the story, it is Christmas, a time when we tell and re-tell a story that has been told for many years now. its a story of hope. its a story about the beginning and ending of everything. its really a story about a baby, but everything else hinges on this story, so its no insignificant story, this one.
its everything. its fragile. its unbelievable angels in the sky, singing songs i'm not sure we can understand. its the smell of animal dung. its the aching of the centuries, the hope of everything broken. its the shame of sin, and the fear of being dismissed quietly. its the audicity of hope, that you indeed won't be let go of quietly, that you are accepted, loved even, and that something amazing is going to happen. its vulnerable. its kind of silly, what with all those stupid shepherds. its simple. its spectacular. its surreal. its so real that even amidst the absurdity of frosty and rudolph and everything we have tried to stifle the spirit of the thing, it still finds a way to shine, like a star in a pitch black sky. it is light. it is light when you are at your darkest. it is that moment of silence in childbirth when you are praying that the baby will scream just to prove life. its the word made flesh. its coming home. its incarnation. its being known. its just a wrinkly wet baby.
its everything.
merry christmas,
greg.
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