They saw him and they worshipped him. They opened their treasures and presented them to him. Matthew 2:11
There were 3 of them, at least that’s how it’s always depicted in nativity scenes.
This gig, it’s just mother-daughter.
I didn’t pack for a journey that would last months, maybe years.
I left with a carry on and a backpack.
I didn’t cross the desert on a camel with the night sky as my map.
I boarded a plane, then rented a Volkswagen with Bluetooth GPS guidance and a perfect Spotify playlist of choral anthems, rich in Scripture, just like the girls used to sing.
I didn’t camp under the stars.
My mother in law loaned us a Wyndham timeshare in Sedona, Arizona with a 102 degree hot tub, perfect for admiring Orion’s belt.
I didn’t hover over the baby Jesus manger today. Not like the magi did.
But I saw him, gazing out over the canyon rim. And I, too, wondered at the miracle of such mysteriously lavish mercy and grace.
I didn’t offer him costly perfumes or precious metals.
But I presented Him with my sincerest worship. And so did she.
Each in our own ways, because we are both unique image-bearers on our own spiritual journeys. And today, we were traveling together.
Hers was a quiet expedition, transpiring in private places deep inside her soul and tethered to her worn, blue, leather Bible, a journal and pen she carried in her backpack.
Mine was more like a spring bubbling up at unsuspecting moments, leaking out the tear ducts and babbling from the mouth. The words all nuanced versions of “What kind of amazing God created all this?”
We walked the rim together for several miles then attached our Krampons to our hiking boots and headed down the canyon. The snow only added to the splendor but made the switchback ridge trail icy and dangerous. It was 101 flights down a winding path to Ooh-Aah Point, every twist and turn, a new panoramic slice of gorgeousness.
I was almost to the scenic vista when I took my first fall. The provision that kept me from slipping caused me to stumble—twice. The first time, my micro-spikes caught on a rock and I went forward on my left side right into the mud. My personal off-duty nurse checked my wrist, verified that I could move my fingers and tried to dust off some of the dirt. I was shaken for a bit. I’ve never tumbled downhill a few feet from the edge of the Grand Canyon but the angels softened and directed my blow and I continued on lavished in grace.
There’s a reason they call it Ooh-Aah Point but no words to explain it, so, we took pictures to try and capture the grandeur even though the scale is all wrong. They’re a dim reflection of what’s real. Then, we each sat quietly for a while just savoring. And in my head, I was hearing the deep, resonant voice of George Beverly Shea bellowing out that old hymn, How Great Thou Art, like poetry:
O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder,
Consider all the worlds Thy hands have made.
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder.
Thy power throughout the universe displayed.
When through the woods, and forest glades I wander,
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees.
When I look down, from lofty mountain grandeur,
And see the brook, and feel the gentle breeze.
And when I think, that God, His Son not sparing,
Sent Him to die, I scarce can take it in.
That on the Cross, my burden gladly bearing,
He bled and died to take away my sin.
When Christ shall come, with shout of acclamation,
And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart.
Then I shall bow, in humble adoration,
And then proclaim: “My God, how great Thou art!”
Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee.
How great Thou art, how great Thou art.
Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee.
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
Eventually, we had to leave, to climb back up the canyon. The trek uphill was an entirely different kind of challenge. My spike snagged a stone again and this time, I went down on my right side before I reached the rim.
Worship is like that hike….
Falling on our faces, repeatedly.
Humbled by our sin and our human frailty.
It’s in the prostrate position that we best contrast our weakness to His strength.
Our dirty clothes to His pure holiness.
Our limited understanding with His omniscience.
Our finiteness to His eternality.
Our self-serving, temporal affections with His sacrificial and enduring love.
It’s exhilarating to worship in the rush of awe and wonder that comes from your first gaze on the Canyon from the edge of the rim.
But, on the ground, in the mud, we’re pillowed in His fresh mercies too.
And God celebrates both forms of honor.
It’s the beginning of a new decade and I got to spend my first Sabbath rest of this year in the sun-saturated, breathtaking beauty called the Grand Canyon.
And on this gift-giving holiday called Epiphany, I gave Jesus the gift of praise.
And He gave me the gift of hope.
Hope that when the curse of sin that mars the original design of creation is broken, God will restore it to its original glory.
This whole world.
And even me.
I bow my knee to receive this gift Lord Jesus with gratitude.
Thanks Be To God.