Another year is nearly done and, all around us, tinsel and lights seek to pull our attention away from the troubles of the world. From wars. From political upheaval. From grief and fear. To remind us of a foundational hope…a holy promise kept so a world which seemed, even then, to be lost might be redeemed.
When I was a boy, I would stare at the chipped ceramic nativity set in our simple parsonage and try to picture that babe in the straw, wondering what it must have been like for those simple shepherds and well-traveled wise men to have a front-row seat for THE night of nights. The wait was finally over. God the Son had dropped by for a visit.
I wonder if the Christ child stared up through a hole in the stable roof, delighted to see His handiwork of stars from a new angle. I wonder, too, if He thought of what awaited Him on the cross while he was doing his chores or playing tag with his friends? I like to imagine that He put it out of His mind. Ecclesiastes tells us there is “a time to weep, and a time to laugh”, so I like to think He laughed a lot, being a bit silly with his siblings, teasing his earthly father whenever a table he built had a wobbly leg. The time for sacrifice would come, so I like to think He embraced joy in its season and spread it with wild abandon.
We know, of course, He suffered as we do: the pain of rejection, the sting of a friend’s death, the oppressive weight of a future that seems overwhelming. He put up with ignorant friends, posturing elites, and religious scholars who missed the forest for the trees. He got angry. He wept. He laughed. All because, one starry night, into a broken world, He came to see us. To know us. To be not just FOR us but WITH us.
I admit I avoid the news. It’s a vampiric devil that steals the lifeblood from me. My human mind, weak as anyone’s, is too quick to despair. My heart, however—the very soul of me, where His word is written—knows that God isn’t driving an ambulance. What seems sudden and awful to me He saw coming miles away. He’s already at work. He’s already written the story’s end. And I know I can trust Him…even when I’m afraid and discouraged.
He’s never let me down. And that’s what I need to remember when life is at its human worst. Even when I prayed for what I thought was best and the answer was “no”, He’s never not been present with me in the darkness. He’s stood in the gap for me. Taken the lash for me. Let His sacred head be wounded…for me. The promise was never that life would be grand, or the world would be our oyster. The promise was, no matter what comes, He’ll be with us. And He has been. When I’ve fallen on my face. When my parents passed away. When I fear for my children. When I worry for the world around me. He’s right here. Reminding me of His goodness. Reminding me that my story is safe in His hands. And that His love isn’t as limited or fragile as my own.
This year, as you celebrate the holiday in whatever way you do, remember that poor child in the straw. Remember that it was for YOU that He came to this hard world. And for YOU that He laughed, cried, and bled. Remember that even when His answer is “no”, it is for your good and His glory. Remember, too, that the ending is already written, and He has won. Whatever troubles you is less than nothing to the One who holds tomorrow. And His love for you is so great that He tore the veil and gave you unlimited access to Himself.
Wars will rage. Death and destruction will make the headlines. And, while we breathe, we must work to preserve what we can for those hurting and in need. But let despair become a stranger that we leave outside the door. Trust in the greatest gift of all…a simple babe of not-so-simple origin, the Word made flesh that we might know Him.
Merry Christmas,
J. Patrick Lemarr
