Christmas on a Broken Heart

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I don’t remember ever not knowing that Christmas was about baby Jesus being born in a stable, but honestly I’ve never felt the significance. Why do we need to celebrate a baby? They’re helpless, red faced squallers. How was Jesus any different? It’s not like he slipped out of the womb and immediately healed the donkey’s lame knee or anything magical like that.

But this year, with my heart shredded in more ways than I can even list, I see him – this infant alchemistic anthropologist. And oh what I wouldn’t give to hold that infant in my arms, look down into his face, and feel his gaze locked on mine. I feel a bit like Simeon: “God, don’t let me die until I’ve held this blessed child in my arms!”

I wonder what sort of incredibly sweet and overpowering feeling Mary had as the Holy Spirit literally came upon her – body on body – and conceived the very son of God in her womb. It had to be an immensely spiritual moment. There is just no possible way that it “just happened” without Mary even realizing. You can’t be in direct contact with the living Spirit and not feel it.

As that tiny Jesus swam and wiggled inside Mary, he was busy already performing his alchemistic duties. His very being was an act of mystical, divine magic. This was a child created from nothing (as in not a human father), so completely 100% human and yet completely 100% divine. How? I don’t know. It’s just his alchemist ways.

As a divine being, this infant had the ability to choose his very own delivery day and time. He could have insured that there were midwives and Mary’s mother right there to guide him into this world, but he did not. He chose to come when it was just Mary and Joseph. He chose to come in a small and lowly setting. He came for the entire world, but he wanted his entrance to be intimate with the two people who would have the most interaction in his childhood.

When his wet, matted head crowned and Joseph reached out to catch him, I think something divinely electrical went through Joseph’s body. It was human fingers touching the very skin of God. How can such a moment not be charged with divine fireworks? As Joseph took that slippery, wiggly body into his arms and rubbed the slime and goo off with his cloak, Jesus turned his big wonder filled eyes and gazed directly into Joseph’s, seeing everything in his soul… every joy, every tear, every sin, every victory, past, present, and future… and Jesus loved him as deep as love can go.

Joseph laid the infant on top of Mary’s chest, and again divine electricity surged as the skin of God touched the skin of Mary. Jesus quickly latched on and suckled, lifting his eyes to Mary’s and again, he saw it all – joys, tears, sins, victories, past, present, and future – and he loved. Loved as deep as love can go.

That night in that stable, amidst all the straw and dirt and animals, the most intimately divine of all events took place. That moment when the divine being of God entered the human world must have been the sweetest in all of history. How very much like our Savior to make it the most intimate as well.

Oh to have been there! Oh to have looked into the infant God’s eyes and felt his anthropologic gaze! Oh to have felt him see my heartache – to have him wrap his tiny alchemist fingers around mine and surge wholeness and love into my veins!

And so I look for him this Christmas, because he is there – in the eyes of my children, in the face of the bell ringers, in the souls of the homeless sign holders. He is there, waiting for me to see him and to see that his gaze has not changed. He is still just as intimately connected as he was the night he slid, wet and slippery, into Joseph’s hands.

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