~ At last, Noel ~

I cannot bear the story of our salvation. It’s easier, I suppose, if you see Christ as someone apart from us; someone so holy, he must not have had a human heart to hurt; so much god that pain and disappointment would hardly loom large on his radar.

But when I allow myself to see it, really see it, I find that the reality is too much for me. The sacrifice too great. And the Christ only too real, and altogether too human and dear.

He was only thirty two or so when they killed him (though that is not the focus of this fete we are now celebrating). A young man. Family to us. So much family to us.

It is safer if we picture him only as a small piece of the nativity, or the glowing element in a fine old painting. But he really was a baby. The Son of God, a spirit so elegant and so powerful, all stuffed into a small, warm, cuddly baby.

His Father knew what was about to happen in the world – how much was riding on the choices this child would have to make. What does that say, then, about Mary? About God choosing Mary to be the guardian, the teacher of the crux of human salvation? She had the care of the tiny boy—in whom the soul of our saving was hidden. She taught him human love, human comfort, human manners, human self-discipline. She must have been one heck of a woman.

And Joseph, a man who dreamed of an angel and took the dream seriously, who loved a girl and believed in her story, who was willing to raise the child of another – what does the story tell us about him?

I don’t know how to explain the little I understand about how we came to be born in this place, and what we are supposed to do here; but I do believe there are things we are supposed to do here. To take care of one another. To create beauty. To protect the weak. To learn gratitude – born in wonder as we stand beneath a blazing sky at sunset, or in the holding of our own children.

What I do understand is this: that had this baby not been born, had Christ not condescended to enter the world as one of us, sharing our human experience of life and then giving up his own on the altar – none of the love we have felt in a lifetime, or the goodness we have done would have amounted to any meaning, and we would have been lost after our own deaths. Had that baby not been born, all mortal life would have been nothing but an academic exercise, an interesting ripple in eternity that faded in darkness and failure.

But he was born. And Mary loved him; Joseph too, I think. And that boy grew, making the choices that threw open the doors and windows of eternity and bathed us in light and gave our lives wings. Made our lives something significant.

He didn’t have to come here. But he did it.

And taught us what love might be.

Starting it all as just a little baby boy. Trusting in our arms. Hoping for our love. Poised to be our light.

May your celebration of Christmas be bathed in light and love. For surely, we have each other here to hang on to. And surely we bring him relief and joy in our own mutual joy and service. So hope. And sing. And be still and quiet of heart, knowing certainly that your life matters. Because the baby came for you.

Beloved family. Dear friends. We are so grateful for you. And to those who read, but I don’t know you – thank you for allowing me to sing to you.

Merry Christmas. Merry, merry Christmas.

Love and best wishes –

K