Christmas
It is an unlikely story. First we have to believe in a God who created everything, the universe and all the living and dead things that are in it. Then you have to believe that He cared about an insignificant creature not far removed from the monkey. That He cared so much that He sent His Son to be born human, a Man born of woman, to be born One of them. Not to reign as an earthly King, the only crown He was to wear was one of thorns. He was proclaimed a King only by His executioners, on a scrap of paper nailed, as He was, to a wooden cross.
Raised by a carpenter, He lived in a simple home. Later He found shelter where He could, in sinner's home, or by the road. He didn't spend much time in temples, He often prayed in gardens or the desert. He was an itinerant Preacher. They called His home Nazareth, and everyone knew that not much good came out of Nazareth, though He was born in Bethlehem.
Then there were the stories, unlikely too, of a bright star guiding wise men who came bearing gifts, and of angels and shepherds, and a king who wished Him dead. Surely there was laughter, when they spoke of a virgin birth, and a nasty joke or two. What sort of God would allow His Son, a part of Himself, to be born a Man, to die a Man, to be tortured and ridiculed, to be nailed naked to a cross in public? To be nailed upon a cross with common thieves? Who would believe such a story? What reason could God have to do such a thing?
And the answer the Bible gives, who would believe that, that God sent His Son into the world to die for our sins, yours and mine, to pay a ransom for you and me? It is a story both outrageous and unnecessary. Would the Son of God, God Himself, be born in a stable, rest in a manger, and be wrapped in swaddling clothes?
There is no logic to it. Yet, if there is a God, I would hope that He loved us that much, and I would like to think He walked in dust as we did, that He walked in our shoes. I would like to think he rode a donkey over hard ground, drank cool water from a well, learned a craft at Joseph's side, drank wine at weddings, and knew fear and pain like me. If the story isn't true, it should be.
Raised by a carpenter, He lived in a simple home. Later He found shelter where He could, in sinner's home, or by the road. He didn't spend much time in temples, He often prayed in gardens or the desert. He was an itinerant Preacher. They called His home Nazareth, and everyone knew that not much good came out of Nazareth, though He was born in Bethlehem.
Then there were the stories, unlikely too, of a bright star guiding wise men who came bearing gifts, and of angels and shepherds, and a king who wished Him dead. Surely there was laughter, when they spoke of a virgin birth, and a nasty joke or two. What sort of God would allow His Son, a part of Himself, to be born a Man, to die a Man, to be tortured and ridiculed, to be nailed naked to a cross in public? To be nailed upon a cross with common thieves? Who would believe such a story? What reason could God have to do such a thing?
And the answer the Bible gives, who would believe that, that God sent His Son into the world to die for our sins, yours and mine, to pay a ransom for you and me? It is a story both outrageous and unnecessary. Would the Son of God, God Himself, be born in a stable, rest in a manger, and be wrapped in swaddling clothes?
There is no logic to it. Yet, if there is a God, I would hope that He loved us that much, and I would like to think He walked in dust as we did, that He walked in our shoes. I would like to think he rode a donkey over hard ground, drank cool water from a well, learned a craft at Joseph's side, drank wine at weddings, and knew fear and pain like me. If the story isn't true, it should be.
posted by Rex Allen Brewer at 1:00 PM
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