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It is a season of senses. Our eyes search for light in the midst of darkness, our ears are tuned to sleigh bells and choirs, we taste and smell the “for a limited time only” gingerbreads and evergreen scented candles. Today we talk about the sense of touch, the power of touch. Instead of following the suit of three weeks past, saying something like, “This is what our eyes see and ears hear this time of year, but the sights and sounds point us to a deeper calling. Our eyes see and enjoy the lights downtown, but our eyes shouldn’t stop there. We should see the person hanging the lights. What is his or her story?” You’ve now heard that sermon. So instead of saying, “This time of year our hands touch wrapping paper and debit cards and stamps for letters, but our hands should be busy serving instead of wrapping or fingers busy dialing that number you’ve been avoiding,” I would like to meditate not what our hands should be doing; rather I would like to ponder the mystery of the Incarnation, the Christmas mystery that God now has hands and feet and eyes and ears. This season of senses should point us to the realization that God now has senses, the radical vulnerability of the Incarnation.
Stanley Hauerwas writes:
To be human is to be vulnerable, but to be a baby is to be vulnerable in a manner we spend a lifetime denying. In deed Jesus was a baby refusing to forego the vulnerability that would climax in his crucifixion. And as such, Jesus was entrusted to the care of Mary and Joseph. They could not save him from the crucifixion, but they were indispensable agents to making his life possible (Hauerwas, Matthew Commentary, 35).
The savior had parents. I’ve known this fact for quite a while, but it took on new meaning this past week. God really surprises me sometimes. The savior having parents sounds like a terrible plan. Parents don’t always get it right. Parents don’t always keep their composer. Parents forget things, heck, Mary and Joseph were traveling from Jerusalem when Jesus was 12 years old and it took them a full day to realize that Jesus wasn’t with them. Some days I do alright and other days I look up at the ceiling and say, “God, I wish I was better at this.” What was God thinking when God decided to empty the divine self, and then rely on humanity in order to save humanity?
“Nativity” by my friend, Sarah Duet (http://society6.com/duetartanddesign/The-Nativity-tqq_Print#1=45)
The Incarnation reveals the essence of faith–the vulnerability of trust. Faith is not a protective bubble against the dark places of the world. If it were, God would have never allowed himself to be raised by a pair of human, fallible, everyday, albeit blessed, parents. In other words, Christmas reveals that God trusted humanity more than humanity has ever trusted itself.
Christmas is so mind-numblingly profound. God trusted humanity in order to save humanity. Now I’m reading Romans 1:17 a bit differently this morning: “For in it the righteousness of God is revealed through faith for faith; as it is written, ‘The one who is righteous will live by faith.'”
“Through faith for faith.” God had to trust in humanity in order to save humanity? What does it mean for God to trust in the broken, imperfect, screwed up people of the world? If God can trust in the midst of imperfection, I guess I can too . . .
That’s what Christmas is all about Charlie Brown.
Athanasius once said, “God cannot redeem what God did not assume,” meaning that God entered into brokenness, God entered into an imperfect household, God had eyes to cry and ears to hear the question “Why Lord,” a mouth to taste the bitter herbs of poverty and oppression, and hands stretched upward toward his mother—hands outstretched saying, “Here is your mother,” to the beloved disciple, hands offered to Thomas because that’s what Thomas needed, hands held forward to offer perpetual blessing—Go and change the world, I believe in you—believe in me . . .
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.