Christmas Eve 2020

As many of you know, this is Melanie’s and my first Christmas as parents, and I tell you what, being a parent changes Christmas for you in so many ways. And I’m not talking about the logistical changes like how much stuff you’ve got to bring with you when you take your kid somewhere, nor am I talking about how none of your family is really interested in your presence, you’re just a vehicle for their grand-baby. All of that I was ready for. What has been a true surprise is how differently I imagine that scene in Bethlehem, with Mary and Joseph, when Jesus is born.

For the most part, images of the nativity are idyllic. Mary and Joseph look so happy and put together, the shepherds are off to the side, admiring from a safe distance, the cows and sheep and donkeys are all just chilling quietly in their stalls, and Jesus is swaddled neatly in a totally instagram-worthy bed of straw. It’s all so picturesque, and that’s how I thought of Christmas. It’s all so picturesque.

But then we had a baby, and I saw firsthand the truth of what life with a newborn is like. I saw that labor is hard and messy and chaotic and loud. It’s not serene. Giving birth to a child is not tame, nor is living with an infant. It’s messy and chaotic and loud. And Mary and Joseph were doing it away from home, away from family and friends, all on their own surrounded by animals. I mean, think of the smells! The smells of that first Christmas was not peppermint and nutmeg, it was blood, sweat, and feces.

And then there’s a baby. Who is completely and utterly dependent on his parents for everything. You know, there is a paranoia that every first-time parent has to overcome, and it’s this overwhelming fear that something bad will happen to your child. At times it can feel like their life is impossibly fragile, because they are so vulnerable. They are so needy. They are so weak.

Being a parent changes how you think about the miracle of Christmas, because you are filled with wonder that this is how God chose to enter the world. He could have come with the crushing impact of unbearable glory, but instead he came in weakness. When we hear from the great prologue of John’s gospel, “The Word became flesh,” we need to hear the unsanitized truth of what that means. It means God became hungry. God became thirsty. He became tired and sore. He became dirty, sweaty, and smelly. As an infant, God became incompetent, immobile, and impossibly vulnerable. This is how God chose to enter the world. The infant Jesus was a humble, naked, and helpless God who allowed us to get close to him in a way that no one could have ever imagined.

You see, God is not ashamed by our lowliness. He isn’t put off by the messy chaos of our lives. He doesn’t turn away from our broken backs, our tired eyes, or our needy hearts. God marches right in. He is near to the lowly, the tired, and the broken. He identifies with the lost, the weak, and the poor. He is not ashamed of your messy, compromised life. In fact, just as he did on Christmas day, he wants to show you the depths of his love by stepping into your life - not your picturesque and polished life - but the blood, sweat, and tears of your unfiltered life. Christmas tells us that is where our God wants to be: in our mess, in our pain, in our cries, in our weakness. But we must let him in. We must make him room.

So tonight, on Christmas Eve of perhaps one of the most difficult years of your life, would you let him into your pain, your exhaustion, and your mess? Would you give yourself to the one who gave everything up for you. Give your weakness to the one who became weak for you. Give your exhaustion to the one who grew weary for you. Give your mess to the one who for love’s sake gladly clothed himself in the worst that life had to offer. And let him do what only he can do: heal, redeem, and make beautiful.

The scene in Bethlehem was messy, chaotic, smelly, and loud, just like our lives today, but there’s an undeniable truth that in the midst of all it, it was also gloriously beautiful. And why? Because the Lord was there in the midst of it all. In the mess, Jesus is present, and that makes all the difference. It made all the difference then, and it makes all the difference now. Tonight we celebrate that God has entered our mess, and he has declared that it will be beautiful. Tonight, we rest in the presence of Christ in our midst. Our God is near. Our God is here. Let’s pray.