On day 22 of reading the Gospel of Luke in December, with a chapter a day. I’ve got a kitty in the window, beagles at my feet and coffee to warm. As I’m viewing the frost-coated morning with a sun peeking through the dark, an Amazon delivery driver is dropping off a package and snapping the obligatory pic (I wish I had a present to give him for working in the bitter cold on a Sunday). As I’m taking in the Last Supper in Luke chapter 22, I’m struck with the agony of my late online shopping juxtaposed with reading about Christ’s journey from the manager to the cross and real meaning of Christmas: It starts at the end.