My Christmas Reflection
The Christmas story is at once completely familiar, yet so steeped in mystery as to be beyond our grasp. Our efforts to translate a miracle of infinite scale into a version suitable for our limited minds have led us down the road to representations like the little drummer boy. How many times have we watched this shoeless puppet, all wide eyes, glycerine tears and jerky stop-motion movements, as he marveled at the babe beneath the star?
His childlike wonder at the child draws us a little closer to the heart behind the miracle, but that glimpse of the mystery has been obscured over time with memories of Rudolph and Yukon Cornelius, our young children crying in terror when placed on a mall Santa’s lap for the first time and bizarre mental images of singing Christmas trees, stubborn camels and portly white men in bathrobes with mascara on their temporary beards and towels tied to their heads. These are all well-intentioned efforts by loving people, but sometimes they are focused too much on recreating the environment or causing an emotion and not concerned enough with the reality of the miracle.
To me, the miracle of Christmas is that a God of infinite power who previously had been too intimidating to even look at, even for someone as holy as Moses, was suddenly vulnerable and real, with more in common with us than we ever would have imagined possible.
The Jesus of the Christmas story is, more than anything, real. You know what babies feel like when you hold them, whether they’re cooing or complaining, they’re real. You can feel their weight and their warmth and blissfully close your eyes as you bury your nose in the nape of their neck and drink in that distinct aroma of Johnson’s Baby shampoo and slightly spoiled milk.
The Jesus of Christmas is as real as the person sitting next to you right now. Like them, Jesus had a family and a story, he got hungry and he got frustrated. Jesus is as real as the person sitting next to you, and we know that every person is beloved by him.
And so, our choice in the midst of the Christmas miracle is not to discard these memories and cultural interpretations of the holiday, but to admit that they’re just attempts by well-meaning people to capture that which can barely be grasped.
For us, Christmas can and should be about gratitude, leaving us thankful that God knew us well enough to know we needed his love boiled down, squeezed into a figure that looked like us, lived with us and died for us. And our response to that gift can only be to live in a way that makes him just as real to everyone we meet, by listening to them, loving them and serving them.
I’ll always love the little drummer boy, but it was the baby boy he met who loves us most of all.
His childlike wonder at the child draws us a little closer to the heart behind the miracle, but that glimpse of the mystery has been obscured over time with memories of Rudolph and Yukon Cornelius, our young children crying in terror when placed on a mall Santa’s lap for the first time and bizarre mental images of singing Christmas trees, stubborn camels and portly white men in bathrobes with mascara on their temporary beards and towels tied to their heads. These are all well-intentioned efforts by loving people, but sometimes they are focused too much on recreating the environment or causing an emotion and not concerned enough with the reality of the miracle.To me, the miracle of Christmas is that a God of infinite power who previously had been too intimidating to even look at, even for someone as holy as Moses, was suddenly vulnerable and real, with more in common with us than we ever would have imagined possible.
The Jesus of the Christmas story is, more than anything, real. You know what babies feel like when you hold them, whether they’re cooing or complaining, they’re real. You can feel their weight and their warmth and blissfully close your eyes as you bury your nose in the nape of their neck and drink in that distinct aroma of Johnson’s Baby shampoo and slightly spoiled milk.
The Jesus of Christmas is as real as the person sitting next to you right now. Like them, Jesus had a family and a story, he got hungry and he got frustrated. Jesus is as real as the person sitting next to you, and we know that every person is beloved by him.
And so, our choice in the midst of the Christmas miracle is not to discard these memories and cultural interpretations of the holiday, but to admit that they’re just attempts by well-meaning people to capture that which can barely be grasped.
For us, Christmas can and should be about gratitude, leaving us thankful that God knew us well enough to know we needed his love boiled down, squeezed into a figure that looked like us, lived with us and died for us. And our response to that gift can only be to live in a way that makes him just as real to everyone we meet, by listening to them, loving them and serving them.
I’ll always love the little drummer boy, but it was the baby boy he met who loves us most of all.
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