"Joy to the World, the LORD is come!" Christmas reminds us of many things that bring joy. When we think about the birth of God on earth, the coming of Immanuel, we can't help but rejoice that God keeps his promises and that he will eventually redeem all of his creation and set it all free from sin and death. Christmas is joy!
Maybe because, I am a visual learner, I can't help but close my eyes and imagine the place of Christ's birth. Maybe because, I grew up helping care for newborn lambs, my picture of that event smells and sounds and feels an awfully lot like the sheep barn that I remember as a young child. It is cold but warmed by the animals; it smells of dung and sheep but also of hay and earth; it sounds removed from the bustle of the street, and full of the noises of animals shifting, chewing, breathing. What better stage on which the Lamb of God should make his entrance into the world for which he came to die? He is right where he belongs with shepherds, whose job it is to watch the sheep, to gaze first upon his holy face.
In my mind's eye, after imagining the place of his birth, I can't help, but try to imagine a bit of what Mary must have been thinking. As a mother, I think that Mary must have been marveling that this was the Seed of God. Surely, she must have held other infants. Maybe she looked him over to see if he was different in any way from other infants that she had seen. She must have like other mothers, counted fingers and toes. She must have gazed into his tiny face and thought, "So this is the face of God."
It is then that my own emotion takes over and tears blur my vision. I have held my own children moments after their births and marveled at their perfection and their imperfections that make them unique. I have counted fingers and toes. I have held five of my children after birth and looked into their tiny faces and loved them as Mary must have loved Jesus, God born in the flesh. And that is what causes my tears. One of my own children held after birth was born too early. He was born because he had passed away in my womb and needed to be born so that he could be buried. When I picture God the Son as a tiny child in the arms of his loving mother, and I meditate on the flesh that God the Son took on to be born, I remember that flesh is weak, that flesh dies, that we cannot overcome our flesh, but that God has conquered it for us by taking it on and dying too.
There is comfort in knowing that Jesus, Immanuel, God's Anointed One, didn't stay buried. He rose, conquering sin and death, and flesh. And there is comfort in hoping that one day, I will get to know the children that God chose to give for only a short time. Christmas is joy and sorrow mingled with hope that is founded on the faithful promises of a God who is powerful enough to keep each and every one.
The Lord is come!
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