During my communion thought this past Sunday, I shared a story I read. It really is quite moving:

In 2010, at the age of 94, George Vujnovich was awarded the bronze star for organizing what the New York Times called “one of the greatest rescue efforts of WWII.” Vujnovich, the son of Serbian immigrants to the US, had joined the US Army. When word arrived that downed American airmen were being protected by the rebels in Yugoslavia, he returned to his family’s homeland, parachuting into the forest to locate the pilots. Dividing the soldiers into small groups, he taught them how to blend in with the Serbs (wear Serbian clothes and eat Serbian food). Then over months he walked each small group out one at a time to C-47 transport planes waiting at a landing strip they’d cut out of the woods. Vujnovich rescued 512 elated, joyful men.

Every Christmas we celebrate what I consider to be the greatest rescue event in history. God became man so man could be rescued. He willingly gave up all He had to come to earth to give up even His life. But He didn’t go from heaven to miraculously show up on a cross. No, it started with a baby. And that led to the greatest rescue event in history.

“Father, thank You for the reminder of rescue we happen to observe each week. But what is important is that we recognize the impact and importance of what we celebrate.”