JESUS RECONCILES

In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see — I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people." (Luke 2:8-10 NRSV)

In the Dead of Night

I don't remember the age it happened for him, but it was magical.

The realization was almost too much for Grey, my oldest son, who probably was four or five years old at the time. Waffle House was open all night. He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't get over the idea that while he slept, other people were beginning their day — working through the night, serving food to people. The concept became an onion his little mind was set on de-layering. "What about their families? Do mommies work at Waffle Houses? Who's eating in the middle of the night?"

I promised him that — some day, eventually — we'd go in the middle of the night so he could see for himself. Obviously making such an excursion would take either solid, intentional planning or an unreasonable collision of unlikely circumstances. I chose to wait for the latter.

Fast-forward three years. Grey, then seven or eight, still had not been to a Waffle House in the middle of the night. Nor had Penner, his brother, who was two years younger. At that point in our lives, my wife and I both worked for a local church, where I served as director of youth ministries and she as director of children's ministries. That January, we had continuing education events that overlapped. Grandparents covered the parenting gap, and when I returned, Granddaddy picked me up at the airport, boys in tow.

Exhausted, I headed to bed soon after the boys that night. I was glad to be home and even more grateful to be in my own bed. Sleeping. Ahhhhhhh.

"Dad. Dad."

"What ... what on earth, Grey," I mumbled.

"I had a bad dream. Can I watch TV?"

I wriggled around trying to find a clock to consult. No glasses on. Useless. So I said, "What time is it, anyway?"

He pat-patted away to the kitchen and then came back. "It's 3:08 a.m.," he informed me.

"No, Grey, go back to bed. That's nuts. It's the middle of the night."

My words echoed in my head. It's the middle of the night. Stupid promises. It's the middle of the night. Mom is out of town. Waffle House is open.

Darn it. I couldn't not do it.

My words came in an exhausted rush. "It's the middle of the night and Mom's not here, so we can probably go to Waffle House if you want to, but we have to ask your brother because if he doesn't want to go it would be mean waking him up, and we can't go without him. Okay?" I sucked in one of those long, high-pressure yawns.

"Okay," Grey said.

I went to Penner's bed, hoping against hope that he would decline the invitation.

"Penner. Penner." Maybe he wouldn't even wake up. "Penner."

He squeezed up his eyes and wrinkled his nose, a customary first response.

"Penner, it's the middle of the night. Do you want to go to Waffle House and get a waffle in the middle of the night?" I was over explaining it, but it was the best I could manage at the time. He scrunched up his nose again. Maybe he would just fall back asleep.

"Yyyyeesssss," he exhaled.

So we loaded up a three-way jammies party and headed into town.

As you might imagine, there's not a much cuter sight than two little boys in their pj's in the middle of the night at a Waffle House, so there was no shortage of conversation. All the wait staff came by to talk. We got to meet a handful of truck drivers and factory workers. The experience was otherworldly for both the boys and me. We'd stepped into a time and place that wasn't our own and had glimpsed a different way of life.

As we drove home, Grey leaned his head against the seat and closed his eyes. A few minutes later, I heard him quietly say, "Dad?"

"Yes, Grey?"

"I'd like to go back and visit the night people again sometime."

Every now and then, we do.

Come to Reconcile

Even when I was a kid I wondered why Jesus was born in the middle of the night. That curiosity did not subside after having two children of my own, each heavily involving the middle of the night in their births. You'd think that if anybody could be born at a convenient hour it would be Jesus. Even if it was just as a courtesy to Mary — "Hey, sorry about the surprise pregnancy; let's put you up in a nice hotel and have the birth around brunch. Sound good?" Nope. Middle of the night.

But God was coming to bring things back together — to reconcile.

Fitting, then, to announce the coming Christ Child in the middle of the night. The angels appeared to the overnight shepherds; honor enough. How exciting, to be among the first to be in Jesus' presence! But imagine the people who approached them in the coming days — if you wanted to hear more about that middle-of-the-night miracle, you'd have to seek out the "night people."

Just as Jesus came to reconcile, we are called to join in that work of reconciliation. Fortunately, the real work of reconciliation is done by God, but we have a great role of inviting people into that relationship. Not a hard-nosed accept-or-reject invitation, but a relational coming-alongside invitation. Just being in community with other people allows your life to offer God's love in the lives of others.

An example of that, once again courtesy of Waffle House:

It was Christmas Eve. I was at the home of my girlfriend Britta's family, not too long before we would be married. We were watching a movie, when suddenly Britta's brother Pete asked, "When are we going to Waffle House?"

Everyone exchanged glances. "Why would we go to Waffle House?"

Pete said, "We always go to Waffle House on Christmas Eve!"

The conversation went back and forth. Pete was increasingly agitated, now pacing. The fact was, it was at least my fifth Christmas Eve spent with Britta's family, and in that time we'd never gone to Waffle House. Eventually, though, to appease Pete, we loaded up and headed out for waffles.

It immediately became a family tradition (or continued an existing one, depending on who you ask). Even with our families scattered apart by a few hours' drive, we manage most years to land at a Waffle House somewhere on Christmas Eve.

The meal has a feeling of reconciliation — reaching out to spend time with night people who are separated from their families on a holiday. Some are there for the extra holiday pay. Some are there because they don't have family to visit. Whatever the reason, there's a feeling of community in a place where usually there isn't.

I wonder if the shepherds sensed some of that community on the first Christmas.

Going Deeper

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