Infancy

 Infancy is weak, fragile, cute, maybe even a bit scary.

I know infancy. Not only holding my own infants, but the infancy of hope in my own soul: the infancy that seems only a tiny spark of light in a long, dark, tunnel - this is a fragile and even scary dawning of hope. 

These 24 hours are some of the hardest of the year for some: there are hopes, fears, expectations, longings, moments of despair, regrets, losses, hardships - this list is not exhaustive. And somehow the hopes and expectations seem to all land on this day, and how easily we forget space must be made to accommodate the losses and hardships as well. In fact, even the lack of fulfilment of hopes needs space to be grieved on a day set aside for celebration and joy. 

"The hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight" - and as we sing this Christmas hymn, we mean it. The hopes AND fears - of this loooooong year - these meet together in this infant child, Jesus. 

I imagine the time of Jesus' birth and place myself in the scene - am I 10, 25, 45, or 79? How would my perspective of His birth - His coming - change based on which decade I'm in? I can imagine myself being in my final years, leaning over a cane, weak, frail, the life ebbing out of me slowly, and considering the infant Christ child: "I'm so glad you're here; this life has been a tough road- I'm thankful for the tiny spark of hope You are, as I come to the end of my days. You are a longing fulfilled." Maybe I'd say that. Or maybe it would be more bitter: "I wish You'd come sooner. Look at all the muck of my life, all that pain, sorrow, difficulty! I'm supposed to believe that the answer, the balm, the healing, the hope, are to be found in this small, helpless baby lying in a manger?!" The cynic might rise and crowd out the inner voice of wisdom, that voice of tender love that is Hope alive in me. 

Infancy seems such a strange answer to the world's pain.

It is counter-intuitive. 

'Silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given, So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His heav'n.'

Many today will weep. They will feel deeply the sting of loss. Some losses are simply tragic, unexplainable, chaotic, and perplexing. Some losses come through betrayal, and an extra layer of grief is added to the crushing weight of abandonment. How are we to reckon with an infant Jesus, whose infancy, while miraculous, seems incapable of bearing the weight of our suffering and grief? 

"Surely, he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows."

A new baby is for a time of celebration, of unbridled joy. If tears are shed, they are tears of gratitude and relief. 

How can an infant, this baby Jesus, hold my grief, sadness, loss? 

"Our God, heav'n cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain, 

Heav'n and earth will flee away, when He comes to reign!'

The words float past in heavenly, haunting melody. The angels couldn't have sung it better, I imagine, than humble human voices whose lives don't have super-powers like wings to hover in mid-air, yet hold untold burdens of discordant suffering. In 1 Peter, he writes, "Even angels long to look into these things." I imagine what angels long for (the things they long to look into), and realize it is because they can't praise God from the standpoint of suffering and pain, - they can't praise God through eyes of faith (their faith is sight; ours is not!). They praise God because that is their function. They are ministering servants, sent to do God's will. In our lives, we may be sent, but it's up to us to respond. For those of us that do, or seek to, the angels marvel. 

It seems ridiculous to look at a helpless infant and put all our hopes and fears on Him. 

But all things are not as they seem. 

It seems ridiculous, but God has chosen the foolish things of this world to shame the wise. His wisdom is beautiful, serene, powerful, and beckons wonder. 

"I wonder as I wander out under the sky, How Jesus the Savior did come for to die, 

for poor ornery people like you and like I - I wonder as I wander out under the sky."

My prayer today is that our celebration of Jesus' birth would be a dawning of hope. 

"Dayspring from on High be near! Dayspring in my heart appear!"

 I pray the light that has come into this dark world will powerfully overcome the darkness. That the fragility of a poor infant child, born and placed in a manger, would introduce us to the Mighty God Who powerfully stoops to the lowly, to reach us IN our grief and wail long and hard into the night, with the might of infant lungs, that seem to scream:

 "I know. 

    I know. 

        I know."

 An infant's cries are full of need, longing, want: "I thirst! I hunger! I hurt!" Infant Jesus breaks the still, calm night with the urgent longings of all humanity.

This infant King enters the world through the birth canal. The Mother Mary delivers Him through anguish, pain, and extreme discomfort - socially, emotionally, physically. The infant Jesus tastes the world of suffering in the human condition the moment He is born. Jesus will grow up to lose his father, to grieve the scornful rejection of community, to bear the glances and whispers of His unusual birth. Somehow the hopes and fears of all of us are met in Jesus' earthly experience.

I want to wish all of you: Merry Christmas. But how can those who carry grief be 'merry' on this day? Being merry seems like a splash of red wine on a mourners veil. Grief is a sacred space in the soul that needs a shroud - an honoring understanding. Let me instead wish you a Christmas that is happy, joy-filled, that your joy, hope, and happiness reside in the infant incarnate - the unconquerable Son of God, Whose birth brings the dawn of a new day. All the world recognizes this day, even those of other faiths. Every modern calendar, every computer date-stamp operates from the time of Jesus birth. 

Indeed, a light does shine in the darkness - and not only does the darkness not overcome it: it simply can't comprehend it. An infant child lying in a manger is to be the Savior of the world?! Only God could come up with such a gift, such a simple, tangible, reality that cannot escape any of us.

May it be that the 'blessings of His heaven' descend on you today. Make room in your soul to receive Him:

"Where meek souls will receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in."