Here marks the end of another year. We mark it now with Christmas, the gift of the Christ child, the gift of Christ coming to us in an unremarkable form, a form defined by need and fragility. That lovely, lowly stable hosting eternity amidst mud and straw seems a poor, messy, unreliable host for a fragile King, let alone a needful Savior. And yet, that is us, so often standing with messy hair, muddy shoes, and pizza dough sticky hands trying to host the Christ child in my home.
Yes, we have had many unremarkable, poor and lowly moments hosting Christ this year in our home. Sometimes our eyes were too bleary eyed to really see him, but there he was nonetheless—no matter what. When we wiped our eyes and kneeled at the altar, he was there. When we lit our candles to pray, he was there. When we yelled at each other or worse, didn’t say a word to each other, he was there.
We humbly opened our stable each day and attempted to wrap the Christ child in warm blankets, but often it was really just the straw of scratchy words and irritation. “We’re sorry, Jesus.” we said, again and again. “This is all we have today. We can’t find the blankets. We found some muslin, but the straw pokes through. We’re sorry for the mess. We’re working on it.”
But Jesus just laid there and smiled. He waved his holy hands and made the sign of the cross. “Did you see that?” we asked one another. “He knows.”
We poured the broth from the roasted chicken and made soup. We served it to our sick children and invited the Lord to the table with us. Smile. Bless. He knows. We shushed each other impatiently during bedtime prayers and asked Jesus to forgive us our sins. Holy arms. Sign of the cross. Smile. He knows. We ran late to church. We lost our vision in piles of clean laundry, then later, dirty laundry. We gave up. We laid Jesus in the laundry basket. Smile. Coo. Holy arms. Bless you, children. He is doing something. He knows. I don’t know what he’s doing. We sang and sang and danced and played and studied and we asked Jesus to look what we can do. He laughed and smiled. Waved his hands in pleasure. He made the sign of the cross. He loved us.
And that is what he knew and we learned. His love is unending, great and powerful. His joy in us unnerving. His commitment to us full of justice. His peace beyond all knowledge.
In our simplicity, we just really wanted Jesus to be a part of lives, but we weren’t always sure how to welcome him in our stable. Until now, at Christmastime, when we realize how intentional God is. He didn’t end up in a stable by mistake. He arrived there quite on purpose. And if that is his choice, then it’s not all that far fetched to think that Christ feels quite comfortable in the middle of our messy, somewhat unstable, stable of a home. Straw, mud, and all.
“So no more apologies, Jesus. This is us and we are glad you’re here. Maybe this year, we can all move up to the house though.”
May you know Christ in your midst in 2023.