Luke 2:1 - 14
In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to their own town to register.
So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.
And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”
Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,
“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”
It doesn't take a lot of room for Christ to be born. I suspect that his birth in the Bethlehem stable is just one example of how he continually squeezes into tight places, or shows up in out-of-the-way settings, or is found among that which is lowly and ill-esteemed rather than what seems significant and worthwhile.
Early witnesses seem to confirm that people were drawn to Christianity in the early centuries not because it was trendy to do so -- it was not -- and not because they wanted to be seen in the church -- most who were seen in the church were ostracized and belittled -- and not because they thought they could get ahead by hanging out with other Christians -- rather than get ahead, they often were beheaded! Persons were drawn to Christianity because Jesus came as a poor child of lowly means among parents of common stock.
He was not a royal king, lording over his subjects with command and self-assurance.
He was not a wealthy landowner with cattle and scores of servants at his beckoning.
He was not a successful entrepreneur who navigated the nuances of business strategies and workplace politics.
Early Christians noted that he was a person's person, a human's human. He filled out completely in his flesh what it meant to live a fully human life. He lived completely into the shape of his life as it was given to him by the Father.
I read a Henri Nouwen vignette years ago in which he wrote about presiding over a Christmas Mass in Central America. After the Mass, an old man approached Nouwen to express appreciation for the Mass. Nouwen deflected the praise and said something about the Christ who was at the center of the Mass. The old man's reply was something like, "Ah yes, the baby Jesus. He was poor and little . . . like us."
That seems to be the message I'm hearing more than any other this Christmas. The baby Jesus, he's poor and little like us. We may think that we're not poor and little. We can convince others and even ourselves that the clothes really do make the man (or the woman) . . . that we're as good as our reputation . . . that we can wear some kind of mask in order to convince others that we're really all together. . . .
But each of us in some way are little and poor. All of us have some kind of lack, some deficiency, some point of need. We cannot give ourselves the very things we most need for full and abundant life. We each live with an inner poverty, a God-sized vacuum that can be filled by nothing and no one else. It is an emptiness that is Christ-sized, a hole that waits and waits for the birthing of Christ within us.
The acknowledgment of that inner poverty is the beginning point to the filling of that emptiness. To acknowledge our real selves, to say with honesty that we are little, poor and in need leads to the richest, most florescent life.
Christ comes small. Humbly. He doesn't need much room to be born. Just a sliver. A crack. A small stable. An open heart. A willing spirit. Someone who believes beyond the nearly seen world.
If you are reading a meditation like this on Christmas Day, I suspect you might be this kind of person. You likely have the kind of heart-space into which Jesus continues to be born. You may be a kind of midwife, helping Jesus be birthed into our world in the lives of other people.
So I pray that on this most holy day, you would create just enough space within the stable of your own heart and spirit for Christ to be born. If enough of us clear a corner of the stable today . . .
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