But, as frustrating and depressing as those moments at church seemed, it doesn't change the fact that a couple thousand years ago a squealing baby Boy, who was born a bloody mess like every other human child, was bundled in rags and cradled in a feed trough so He could live our [too often] depressing reality. If life gave anyone lemons, I think Jesus could have taken down Minute Maid in a heartbeat. He definitely had the most anyone's ever had. To name just a couple, townsfolk and neighbors thought He was an illegitimate son. Mary must have been sleeping around, they say. For this His whole family was no doubt frowned upon. His brothers didn't believe in Him or support Him, quite the opposite actually. His synagogue family [similar to church family] was no help either. To be honest, I could write a whole book on the relational dysfunction, pressure, and stress Jesus faced in His short life here on earth. Oh, wait. That's already been done.
The first gasps of air His tiny, infant lungs inhaled smelled of hay and manure, human wretchedness and hellish pain. He breathed in our reality from the moment contractions forced Him from Mary's womb. He was bundled up in our normal. And He did this simply to show us that what we think is normal, what we think is reality--pain, death, hurt, failure, struggle, pride, selfishness, fear--isn't reality at all. No matter how loudly the devil shouts that it's true--that life is all those things and that is all it will ever amount to--it's a lie, Jesus says. None of this is normal, only usual. (I know that's a paraphrase of a quote I read somewhere, but for all the presents in the world, I can't remember who said it.)
We're told that when Jesus funneled his Godness down into Mary's womb and became a human fetus, it was the world's darkest point. "The Light appeared when the world’s darkness was deepest" (Education, pg. 74.1). Desperation was off the charts. Life was bleak and the world was a colder than any industrial sized freezer. I could easily imagine some sorry soul--maybe the innkeeper who owned the stable or another lonely Bethlehemite--watching sweet, chubby-cheeked baby Jesus in the first few days after His birth, when Mary and Joseph carried Him around to the temple or to the market. I imagine this stranger watching and thinking, "Another sad life brought into the world. His parents are poor, pitiful peasants. He's going to grow into a young man, eagerly pull the strings and wrapping paper off life, only to discover it to be a bleak, coal-black experience."
But perhaps this same stranger could somehow see Jesus when He was grown. Maybe he could hear of the many miracles He worked for whole villages of broken people. Maybe he could see His compassion and unconditional love that crossed cultures, races, skin color, social protocol, caste, gender, or any other seemingly insurmountable brick wall humanity created. Perhaps he could see that all these brick walls are really flimsy pieces of cardboard we erect out of pride, selfishness, and fear. And maybe, finally, he could see this volcano of love--Emmanuel: God with us--erupt at the not-so-beautiful, in-fact-very-ugly, lacking-wrapping-paper-ribbons-and-bows cross (I hope I punctuated that sentence properly). Maybe he could see all that and realize that lumps of coal can actually be turned into diamonds. A life black with hurt, disappointment, anger, and sin can be transformed into a sparkling, white diamond.
And maybe, just maybe, you too can see this Baby's story. Perhaps you can open your dusty Bible this Christmas and watch His love unfold. Your hardened heart can be warmed and you'll be willing to let Him transform your life into a diamond that will "shine like the stars forever" (Daniel 12:3 NLT).
