O God you make us glad by the yearly festival of the birth of your only Son Jesus Christ: Grant that we, who joyfully receive him as our Redeemer, may with sure confidence behold him when he comes to be our Judge; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen
Congratulations! It’s a boy. With those four words spoken by the maternity nurse, only ten days ago, Dick and I were transformed from aging baby boomers into grandparents.
We followed a perky nurse down the hall and quietly entered the birthing suite. There we saw our own holy family. Our son Toby, beaming, our daughter-in-law Heather, pale against the white pillows, and the baby, wrinkled and red and tiny nestled in her arms. They were beautiful.
Tears gathered behind our eyes, we were face to face with love, in the flesh. Our flesh, their flesh, new flesh. The moment was as tender as any I have ever known. We were as awed as any shepherds, as adoring as any wise men. The love feast continued until Heather’s eyes drooped and we crept away with promises to return soon.
As we drove back to Portsmouth, I thought about today’s Gospel. I am bringing you good news of great joy, to you is born this day in the city of Cincinnati your grandchild who will change your life forever. The message was the same as the message received over 2000 years ago by the shepherds.Only the baby Jesus was born and wrapped in bands of cloth, not a plush blanket from Pottery Barn Kids; he was laid in a feeding trough, not a warming cradle. He was born in a dank, dark, dirty stable not a birthing suite with blond wood furniture and high tech lighting. Mary didn’t have an epidural to numb her pain; instead she had to yield to the crushing pain of labor on the cold, hard ground. Not that I’m not thankful for the comforts of birthing suites and epidurals or soft blankets, but why would God choose to be born in a painful, frightening mess, when clearly he could have chosen a easier, softer way?
Like Mary, I pondered this question in my heart and realized several things. From the start, when God decided to come to earth, he chose to identify with what was weak and poor and downcast. He assured us by being born under pathetic conditions that he would come to us in the poorest and most miserable of situations. He would come to us as we are, not as we hope to be. No doubt, Mary had hoped to deliver her baby in the inn at the very least, and as a married woman, not as a disgraced outcast. She didn’t have the opportunity for the perfect birth experience. Any control she might have wanted was stripped away. A stable or a cave, after days on the back of a swaying donkey.
I thought about how I’ve struggled over the years and particularly these last few weeks to allow Christ to be born in me. I know that I’m waiting for things to be perfect. Trying to get my birthing suite in perfect order, trying to have the room ready and waiting, but like the shepherds I’m afraid. Afraid I can’t get it right, afraid I won’t measure up, afraid I’m not spiritual enough or good enough for the God who can create new life, to dwell in me. In the mess, I call myself.
Perhaps, you can identify with the fear that you can’t get it quite right. In the letter to Titus we heard this evening; it says we are to be living self-controlled, upright and godly lives while we wait for the blessed hope of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ. That’s hard to do. We frantically run from work to pleasure, stuffing our lives full of the wrong food, and chemicals and people and activities. All the time knowing that Christmas is coming and if Christ is going to be born in our hearts, we better do some serious house cleaning and definite rearranging.
For me, it’s easier to let my fear keep God in my head, never allowing him anywhere near my heart. I’m better at reading about prayer, than praying; better at talking about God, than to him; better at studying about God, than experiencing him; all the while holding him back as I put off preparing my birthing suite. I hunger to carry him, and yet I keep him at a distance.
Somehow, the idea of giving birth to the Christ means that I will have to change, and it may be as scary and painful as any labor and childbirth. It means that I might have to follow God’s agenda and not my own. I might have to allow God to be God in my life. It means I might have to love all the unkind and different people and messy places that Christ identifies with from the moment of his birth. I might have to go places and do things that I can’t even imagine, and most of all, I’ll be asked to do it in obedience and love. Quite simply it means I will be transformed, changed, not just into a grandmother, but into a new creation. No wonder I shy away from the birth! No wonder we all do!
We went back to the hospital. Heather and Toby looked a bit rested, and the baby was lying in his cradle. I asked if I could hold him. As I stared into his face, I wondered, is this how Mary felt when she looked into the face of her baby? Did she have a clue that he would change the world? Did she know that he would save her and all humanity? Did she know he was going to be the light of the world in addition to the light of her life? I could only imagine. Looking at the miracle of that tiny face, I knew it was time for me to allow the Christ to be born in me.
I bring you good news, Sallie, and Tom and Jane and Ed, there is nothing so messy or so pathetic or so disgusting in you that he is will refuse to dwell within you, or within you, or in that difficult co- worker or that nasty sales clerk or that meddling neighbor.
But how? I don’t know an easy way, but I believe if we spend more time in prayer, in meditation, in worship, in reading and thinking about the scripture that we’ll prepare a place for him, we’ll begin to get our birthing suites in order. We’ll begin to give up our fear and replace it with acceptance, and like Mary we’ll yield to the irresistible force of the birthing process no matter how much progress we’ve made at getting things right.
Tonight is a good time to begin. Step into the birthing suite, and it won’t be long before you hear: congratulations, it’s a boy who’s going to change your life!Amen
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