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| "Nativity" by Sandro Boticelli 1445-1510 |
And the Word became flesh and lived among
us…(John 1:14a)
We all love the story of Christmas Eve—of
the night when Jesus was born in a stable and the angel told the shepherds
about the birth of the Messiah. But do you ever wonder what happened that next
morning? I would think that after all of the excitement of the previous
evening, what with a bunch of shepherds running through town glorifying and
praising God for all that they had heard and seen, that our Holy Family would
be pretty exhausted. I like to
believe that all of the attention given to this new little baby would’ve
prompted someone in town to offer the
family a room in their home in which to stay until they completed their census
duty in Bethlehem. Maybe news reached a distant member of Joseph’s family, and
the mother and infant were taken in and given a proper bed or at least a clean
mat on the floor.
I fancy that Joseph, early on this morning
after being assured that his wife and new baby were safe and warm, headed out
into town to do his civic duty and be registered. As with all bureaucratic
activities, he probably had to stand in line somewhere while the officials
shuffled papers and counted beans.
Maybe there was a guy in line next to him
who struck up a conversation. “So you live here in Bethlehem or is your family
from here?”
“My family. My wife and I live in
Nazareth,” says Joseph.
“Nazareth, huh? That’s a long trip just to
satisfy these Roman s.o.b.’s. Say! Did you hear those drunken shepherds last
night? A whole bunch of these guys came runnin’ through town screamin’ and
yellin’ and claimin’ that an angel told ‘em the Messiah had been born. You know
anything about that?”
Joseph is silent for a moment. “Yes,” he
says. “I think I heard something about that.”
“You couldn’t miss it,” the guy says.
“Those clowns were sure makin’ a racket. It’d be nice if the Messiah really was
born, though. We could sure use some help, times bein’ what they are. So you got any kids?”
“My wife just had a baby last night.
That’s why she’s not with me.”
“No kiddin’? Last night? Hey! Maybe your kid’s the Messiah! Wouldn’t that be a hoot?!”
Joseph and the man chuckle. Joseph’s turn
in line comes, he answers the Roman official’s questions, pays his registration
tax, and goes home to check on Mary and the baby. Life in Bethlehem goes on as
if nothing has happened.
And so life goes on for us, Christmas
comes and goes, and we forget about the miracle that the Word became flesh and
lives among us.
Somehow, the word “flesh” got a bad rap in
our lexicon. We so often hear of “the desires of the flesh,” referring to
sexual lust or some other kind of immorality. Lots of ancient philosophers
acquainted “flesh” with impure, earthly matter as opposed to “spirit,” which
was pure thought. We even repeat the old saying, “The spirit is willing, but the
flesh is weak.” And we’ve developed a certain loathing for our own flesh. It’s
never quite smooth or small or pretty or young enough, is it? We try to punish
our flesh with dieting or alter our flesh with cosmetic surgery.
And yet, the very Word of God chose to become flesh and live among us.
The youngest person I’ve ever met was only
fifteen minutes old—a tiny bundle of pink flesh, utterly helpless and small
enough to fit into her father’s one hand like a football. But what power that
small piece of mortality had! Her very weakness compelled all around her to
gentleness, to compassion, and to the awe of human life. And there, in the
wonder of a newborn, is the totality of God’s love. The Word becomes flesh so
we can see it and know it and love it and recognize ourselves in it. God’s love
is so vast. The Immortal put on mortality so we could know we are part of God.
God is with us in all of our frailty. God loves us in our mortal flesh so much
that he came to clothe himself in flesh and endure its weakness and pain.
The pageantry and hurry of the season will
pass. The radio will stop playing Christmas songs by the stroke of midnight on
the 26th of December. We’ll put the tree out on the curb and take down
the lights. But the mystery of the Word becoming flesh must linger with us. In
our moments of self-doubt and fear and worry we can know that God loves our
weakness enough to share it with us. We are adored in the flesh. As the beloved carol says:
“Long
lay the world in sin and sorrow pining ‘til He appeared and the soul felt its
worth.”
A blessed Christmas to you all!
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