It is. And kudos and accolades to those who tell the story well. Some of them are pastors. Some are poets. Some write and sing music. Some are just regular old papas.
Last night we went to the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville to hear Andrew Peterson tell the story of the Old Testament and the incarnation in music form. We had already been introduced to it and iTunes says we have listened to it 60 times or so (since November). It was beautiful in so many ways, especially since we were with treasured friends.
Then during the night, Andrew Peterson explained why yesterday was such a wonderful day for him. He says, in part:
That Gospel draws us like the call of a jubilant voice deep in the woods. We hear, and we follow, and though we scarcely know how we know, we believe the source of the voice is good and the only thing worth knowing. All at once, we emerge from all sides in a clearing. We are cut from the thorns and weary to the bone. In the center of the clearing swirls a warm, symphonic light within which glows–depending on the tilt of the head–a patient eye, or an open hand, or the slender form of a man with his hands on his hips, laughing. And you know that it’s Him. Then the skill in your fingers, the ache in your heart, the talent in your soul–all of it–strains to do His work. It strains like a warhorse pawing the ground in the moments before the charge.
Then comes the downbeat, and the crowd falls silent as the story is told.
