A steady snow had been falling through the night. The next morning dawned like one of those first days of creation. Everything felt new, fresh, sparkling, wonderful. Those early hours were perfectly still, and I knew it was time to get out the snowshoes.

From our back door where my wife and I lived at the time, I could track down the hill, pick my way through the woods, and link up with a series of trails that ran through an extensive nature preserve. Once on the trails, I would head for a stand of magnificent white pines. In that special place, it was as though a natural cathedral had been constructed and set down there for any woodswalker who happened by. The tall pines, reaching toward the clouds, had allowed for very little growth in the understory. The ground, when it was without snow, lightly reverberated with that cushioned, almost sacred sound underfoot, maintained by so many years of pine needles that had come to rest beneath the venerable trees.

On this snow-blanketed winter morning, the pine grove was perhaps more beautiful than I had ever seen it. I made my way over to a fallen log that served as a ready bench, caught between the trees in such a way that it rested about two feet above the ground. I brushed the powdery snow off and took a seat on what, to me, had now become the first pew in a private sanctuary. The woods were completely quiet. I realized then that I was praying. I hadn't planned it or willed it. The prayer was simply irresistible—as natural in that moment as breathing the clean, crisp December air.

As I gazed way up to the tops of the pine trees, I could see the crystal blue sky through the evergreen boughs. Just a whisper of breeze more than 100 feet above me played among the uppermost branches, stirring them to join together in a kind of gentle dance. I could feel the peace. It was tangible, and it filled me completely.

I've often thought about that moment of reverent peace. To me, it's at the heart of Christmas. On the night of the very first Christmas, there were shepherds in Judea who knew about peace. As the New Testament narrative tells us, those humble shepherds were "abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night." Angels—God's holy messages—came to them not only with the great and good news of Jesus' birth but also "praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." It was surely with this peace and goodwill kindled in their own hearts that the shepherds then headed for Bethlehem to see for themselves the promised Christ child. This was all so wonderful to them that "when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child" (see Luke 2:8—17).

Along with that spiritual peace, isn't the other great treasure at the heart of Christmas indicated in the angels' "good will toward men" message to those shepherds? For me, this goodwill essentially defines how we are to express the love of God to one another. And these two qualities—peace and love—aren't really dependent on human conditions. In their purest form, they come to us directly from God. God is both their source and substance. This makes them solid, indestructible, permanent. The peace and love that we realize from God can't be eroded by either time or circumstance.

Mary Baker Eddy, who discovered Christian Science and explained its healing mission in her book Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, once wrote an article titled simply "Love." She began: "What a word! I am in awe before it. Over what worlds on worlds it hath range and is sovereign! the underived, the incomparable, the infinite All of good, the alone God, is Love."

Further on, she described her ideal of how love is to be demonstrated: "Love cannot be a mere abstraction, or goodness without activity and power. As a human quality, the glorious significance of affection is more than words: it is the tender, unselfish deed done in secret; the silent, ceaseless prayer; the self-forgetful heart that overflows; the veiled form stealing on an errand of mercy, out of a side door; the little feet tripping along the sidewalk; the gentle hand opening the door that turns toward want and woe, sickness and sorrow, and thus lighting the dark places of earth" (Miscellaneous Writings 1883–1896, pp. 249–250).

I cannot think of a more appropriate Christmas message to our world today than these words of healing love, "lighting the dark places of earth." God is Love, infinite and universal Love, and we are each created to be the actual spiritual reflection of that divine Love. That is who we are meant to be. And at this special season of the year, God's angels are still pointing all of us to the transforming power of His pure peace and undeniable love. These two all-embracing, life-changing qualities of God come to you and me as free gifts. They will forever stay at the heart of Christmas.