Addicted to the shivers...

Everybody gets 'em this time of year.

The first major case we ran into this time was courtesy of my eldest son, Jordan. We were visiting the Eaton Center in downtown Toronto-- a 'Christmas Mecca' of sorts for my family.  We used to go at Christmastime when I was just a kid, and to take my kids now is time warp city.

Anyway, this was our second or third trip this year and each time we've made a point to visit 'The Big Guy' (as our kids call 'Santa').  It's a neat experience to see all four of them sitting with the old dude.  We have pictures of Jordie with the same 'Santa' from when he was just a baby.  The same Santa, all these years.  So strong an impression has the Eaton Center Santa made on my kids that they're sure he's the 'real' one and that all the others are just 'helpers' 'cause they know Santa can't be in two places at once and can't move faster than light except on Christmas eve.

So, on this second trip to the Eaton Center there was a different Santa in place of the 'real' one. Our kids were a little 'thrown' by this, but after some coaxing, made their way up to him.

And he gave Jordie the shivers.

"Seriously Dad.  All the way up and down my back.  He gave me this warm feeling. He must be the real Santa!"

And that got me thinking about 'The Shivers'.

See, I bought Niki a Christmas album yesterday, Josh Groban's "Noel" (a wonderful CD buy the way, well worth the purchase--not a dud on it) which we've been listening to non-stop since I brought it home.  I do this every year, show up with a Christmas album as an early Christmas present for her.  She loves Christmas. Intensely.

So I'm cleaning up after dinner last night and Josh is singing "O Come All Ye Faithful" from the living room.  It sounds glorious (in the authentic sense) and I find myself in the living room, transported.

I got the shivers.

And I got to thinking about the glory of God and the way in which that glory is strong enough that it works its way through all our fallenness to connect to us and call us to the heights.

See, David Foster produced the album and since I'd had the misfortune to tune into his reality TV show a couple of times for a couple of minutes last year I had come to realize that he doesn't seem (and I use 'seem' intentionally 'cause, after all, who the heck am I to judge or label anybody?  I'm just sayin' it's how it seemed to me...) to be the kind of guy in whom the thirst for godliness runs especially deep.

And I got to thinking about friend David standing in the recording space as Groban and the London Philharmonic ripped through the glorious tunes on that album and I wondered if he would have been feeling 'em.

The shivers.

Then it hit me.  Of course he's feeling 'em.  That's how he knows what's good and what's not.  That's how he writes the theme to the '88 Winter Games in Calgary and it's so damn good.  That's how he knows how to arrange the songs so that they soar so high they make us all want to take wing.  

That's how all great artists (filmmakers and preachers included) create work(s) that are worth the audience's time and investment.

They must know God.

To what degree, in what capacity, to what end, these are not for me to discern or decide.

What I can do is marvel at the greatness of the 'Author of the Shivers' and the way in which He causes people to experience those moments of clarity and transcendence where they connect to that great unknown whose incarnation (aka: making Himself 'known') is being celebrated this time of year by 'shivers addicts' the world over.

Noel, indeed.

T