Wednesday, December 22, 2010

אלוהים איתנו

From the moment I pulled our nativity scene from its box three weeks ago, I was struck by the seeming absurdity of it all.

Those little figurines representing the ones present for the birth of Emmanuel seemed so ridiculous standing next to the glitter and gold and the sparkle and shine of my other Christmas decorations.

They were plain.


Unimpressive and unsexy.

Mary especially caught my attention.

As a woman who recently gave birth the old-fashioned way, I'm shocked at her birth experience. The whole scene, made too familiar and taken for granted by our traditions and art, is actually quite scandalous. I find myself thinking about details that never occurred to me before. I wonder why Joseph didn't knock down the doors of that inn--surely my husband would have. I wonder if some compassionate woman heard Mary's cry and helped her labor--I cannot imagine giving birth (without epidural) without the mothering and comfort of another woman, much less my mother or best friend.  I wonder if they had enough clean linens and fresh water to cleanse the wounds of baby and mother.

This birth experience, far from the comfort, predictability and safety that I counted on last October, is how Jesus chose to enter our world. It wasn't sterile. It wasn't measured and planned and calculated. It wasn't even average, by that day's standards.

The only glory displayed was intangible. The only glitter came from a beaming mass of gas and rock millions of miles away. The only fanfare, the songs of a thousand angels, was received by an audience of dirty, homeless shepherds.

Long before his infant lungs fought for their first breath, Jesus intended to announce to us what we should and should not expect, simply by choosing this birth story. A King had arrived, yes. The angels and astronomers concurred. But, were we tempted to expect a typical king with a typical kingdom, this birth story allows us no justification.

The humility and offensiveness of Jesus, lying in a donkey's feeding trough, born to a teenage girl with a blue-collar husband who couldn't even secure a motel room, screams to us that




That should we want to appease our superficial natures in the quest for a Beautiful King, a Handsome-Brad-Pitt-Celebrity of sorts, or a Military Leader whose power would defy Rome, or a Religious Leader draped in robes of pomp and circumstance,

we would not find Him.

We would not find a King made of the trappings of this world, because that is not what we needed. We needed a God who would dare to take on our stench, become familiar with our sufferings and weaknesses, who would know our pain and yet, in his God-ness, transcend the ugly human-ness of it all.

The Nativity scene, the real one, the unvarnished, dirt-under-your-fingernails-scene announces that this God has a Great Agenda, one that won't flirt around with the fleeting comforts of fame, popularity and wealth. This birth scene sets up the ultimate scene--baby is grown, revealed to us as God-Man, and is bleeding out on a tree, receiving into his spirit the rebellion of humanity and all of its darkness--

that to all who look to him,

they might know light. and life. and true-Jesus-breathed-redemption.

Emmanuel, God-with-us. 

Let us find You, and be changed.

Monday, December 13, 2010

and there will be glitter everywhere for the next month

Shortbread cookies and hot cocoa

glitter and pine cones and glue

a boy who creates

and a baby who coos   

make for one. perfect. afternoon.

Friday, December 10, 2010

a December prayer

thank you, God, 

that the dishes I wash mean I have a well-fed family;

that the gifts I plan mean I have children, brothers, parents, in-laws and a wonderful spouse to celebrate;

that the toys I pick up, strewn throughout the house, mean I have a happy son;

that the Christmas cards that take hours to address mean I have friends and family who love us;

that the spit up on my shirts, sheets and blankets mean my baby is feeding well;

that the clothes that don't yet fit my postpartum body mean God enabled me to carry and birth a miracle;

that the weariness I feel means I've been been running after my two sons, and not after a paycheck;

that the life I live is beautiful and blessed and filled with wonder,

and may gratefulness always be my response.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

jacob's river

all i wanted

was to cross a river

but you stand there, in the way,

and I cannot be unmoved. 

so i lift my hand

and you lift your voice

and my heart has bled

as my eyes searched your words

as my mind tried to comprehend.

Darkness has masked your face

midnight's dew has masked my tears

but i stay

and you stay

and i plead for your answers

                 (tell me you're not the one you appear to be).

the night is nearly over

i tire of my resisting

i'll take defeat

at least strike my hip

at least let me know

i've been wrestling with you.