Away In A Manger

I don't often think of God - or Jesus - as a baby.

I think of God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit.  God my Strength, God my Stronghold, God my Tower.  God my King, God my Lord, God my Saviour.  God my Hope, God my Peace, God my Healer.  God my Bridegroom, God my Friend, God my Redeemer.

But I received this beautiful Christmas card yesterday, along with my birthday cards and the image of Jesus as a baby really struck me.

 

 

Jesus as a baby is weak and vulnerable.  He is completely dependent on the loving kindness of His parents.  His life is in their hands.

 

I often wonder why Jesus came to earth as a baby: God could have stepped down into this world as a fully-grown man and could have started His ministry immediately.  He could have had one or two years of preaching Good News and healing the sick and then still died on the cross.

 

So why did He come to earth as a tiny, helpless baby?

 

God isn't interested in a quick fix.  He's playing the long game.  He was more concerned about living His life alongside us and being a part of our lives, than He was about His own comfort and convenience.

 

The Bible describes Jesus becoming human this way,

 

        "[Jesus] who, being in very nature God,
        did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,

        but made himself nothing,
        taking the very nature of a servant,
        being made in human likeness.

        And being found in appearance as a man,
        he humbled himself
        and became obedient to death—
        even death on a cross!"

 

       [Philippians 2:6-8 NIV]

 

In order to empathise with us and to understand our struggles and temptations, Jesus made Himself completely like us.  He humbled Himself so that He could fully understand our humanity.

 

I love this verse from the beginning of John's gospel, too -

 

"So the Word became human and made his home among us.  He was full of unfailing love and faithfulness.  And we have seen his glory, the glory of the Father’s one and only Son."

 

        [John 1:14 NLT]

 

Jesus made his home among us.  He didn't just pop to earth for a brief visit.  He came to stay and to live alongside us, in all the messiness of our lives.  He came as a baby so that He could grow up among us and enter into our humanity.

 

I love this section of Hark the Herald Angels Sing about Jesus becoming a baby:

 

       "Veiled in flesh the Godhead see
       Hail the incarnate Deity
       Pleased as man with man to dwell
       Jesus, our Emmanuel
       Hark! The herald angels sing
       'Glory to the newborn King!'"

 

Jesus died for us as a man.  But He came to us as a baby.  Vulnerable and humble and longing to be loved.

Autumn

I love this time of year.

 

Every year I am surprised by how bright and vibrant the leaves are on the trees.  Some of them are so beautifully rich that they actually seem to be glowing.

 

I love seeing the leaves on the trees and I love watching them drift silently and slowly to the ground, like snow.  I love kicking through them on the floor and scuffing my boots through huge piles of dried, curling leaves.

 

I love how predictable the trees and plants are through the different seasons - even with our awful British weather. 

 

The Bible talks about their being different times and seasons for things in life too:

 

         "There is a time for everything,
         and a season for every activity under heaven:

         a time to be born and a time to die,
         a time to plant and a time to uproot."

 

         [Ecclesiastes 3:1-2 NIV]

 

We don't tend to think of 'death' as having a season or a purpose.  It usually signifies the end of something.  But when we look at the trees in Autumn, we see that death is part of a necessary cycle.

 

In the film 'Calendar Girls' one of the characters describes this cycle:

"Every stage of their growth has its own beauty, but the last phase is always the most glorious."

 

We don't usually think of death as being beautiful or glorious.  It is something to be mourned and grieved.  But there is a real freedom in stripping away the things in our life which are dead.  Things which have no life left in them. 

 

It may make us feel vulnerable and exposed, in the same way that trees are bare through Winter.  But without shedding that which is dead, we cannot expect and eagerly anticipate new life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vulnerability Is A Risky Thing

Today, I treated myself to some lilies. 

 

I know lots of people don't like them because of their smell, but I adore them.  They are my favourite flower.  I love how they fill up the whole room with their sweet, creamy scent.

 

Since I bought them at lunch time, two flower heads have opened up completely, and one is just starting to peel open its petals at the top.

 

I love watching them slowly opening up.  They start off as dark green, firm buds, which poke upwards at the sky.  But as they begin to bloom, the dark green buds fade through light green to creamy white.  And slowly, ever so slowly, their petals begin to separate from the bud and peel back to reveal a vibrant hot pink centre, which is simply breath-taking.

 

From the outside, you would never think that they would be so full of beautiful colour, or that the stamen and carpel could 'fit' inside the bud.

 

There is more than meets the eye.

 

It's the same with us.

 

There is always more beneath the surface.

 

We may seem like tightly closed buds, but we all have something beautiful within us and God sees beneath the surface to this beauty within.

"The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”

 

[1 Samuel 16:7 NIV] 

 

However, whilst my lilies have opened up this afternoon, they have only done so because they have water and flower-food and warmth and light.  They have the right conditions.

 

It's the same for us.

 

We don't feel comfortable or secure 'opening up', or revealing what's really inside us, unless we feel safe.  Unless we have the right conditions.

 

We all have something beautiful to reveal, but opening up and revealing our hearts is risky, because it makes us vulnerable.  Anything or anyone can get in and they could hurt us.

 

Vulnerability is a risky thing, but it is also the most beautiful and freeing thing.

 

As Anaïs Nin said,

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."
 

Risk blossoming.  Risk being vulnerable.