"Seest thou, my soul, with thy faith’s eyes, how He
Which fills all place, yet none holds Him, doth lie?"
- John Donne, Nativity
Like fresh-fallen snow, Christmas changes everything.
The first Christmas turned a stable into a throne, a virgin into a mother, shepherds into dignitaries, and wise men into worshippers. Most significantly, that first Christmas turned the world on its head when God turned into a man.
While we (say we) can understand these reality-shattering transformations that occurred in first-century Israel, we will never understand the colossal changes that Jesus himself must have experienced:
- From the perfection of Heaven to the putrefaction of a stable.
- From kingly robes to tightly wrapped swaddling.
- From choirs of angels to a chorale of cattle.
The list can go on, endlessly. It has to, since we'll never know how much Jesus really gave up in order to live as a human. It's easy, we think, to understand how much Jesus sacrificed on the cross — the physical pain, the humiliation, the brutal reality of a torturous death. It's not easy to quantify the seemingly infinite gap between earth and heaven, namely, how much he gave up simply to become one of us.
Isn't that the crux of Christianity? That we worship a God who descended to us instead of a god who requires us to ascend a hill to him? A God who, as so magnificently portrayed by Michaelangelo in the Sistine Chapel, earnestly reaches out to us? A God who sprints to the prodigal, gives wings to the weak, and rushes onto the world's stage as a baby, a bit part set in a backwoods town.
This tiny God-person lays in a manger, whining for milk and warmth — things he spoke into existence at the dawn of time (John 1:1-3). Long before the cross, the hopes of a nation were pinned on his back (Luke 1:32-33). Due to his unique genetic makeup and ancestry, Jesus' saving efforts expanded to include the entire world (Luke 3:38).
How can this child save the world from itself?
The Christmas story, by itself, doesn't make sense. The Christmas story, in context, elucidates the mystery.
If the story of Jesus ends with his birth, his life doesn't matter. In fact, if the story of Jesus ends with his death and resurrection, his life doesn't matter. The purpose of Christ's coming to earth can only be seen in the grand meta-narrative of Scripture, the alpha to omega of Genesis to Revelation.
We celebrate Christ's birth because we celebrate his defeat of death. We celebrate the day he came to earth because one day we'll leave this place to be where he is now. We celebrate Christmas because it's the turning point of history, where God did what we couldn't, out of sheer love for his creation.
It's unfathomable, really — to put into words what the First Word spoke into being, what he experienced in giving up his rightful place in perfection by his Father, what he must have endured when saying his final words before dying on a cross, what his first words to us may be when we meet him.
How are we to understand such things?
As the Advent season draws to a close, let us remember that we still wait for the Savior, just as the Israelites did for thousands of years (Luke 21).
Like his birth, his return will surprise us all.
Like his birth, his return will be for love.
Like his birth, his return will change everything — again.
Today, tomorrow, next year, forever — live in awe of his birth, gratefulness for his resurrection, and hope for his return.
Christmas changes everything. Has it changed you?
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