You may have heard of that tea called “Sleepytime,” the caffeine-free herbal blend by Celestial Seasonings designed to help folks relax and unwind before bedtime. Well, I must have been drinking a new flavor this week called “Weepytime,” as the tears have begun to flow a little more freely these days. How come?
The temperatures outside are plunging, and the turkey inside awaits a good smoking. The leaves on the ground are rustling around and painting the landscape with perfection. Tthe holly berries out back have erupted, stippling their way across the massive green backdrop that pricks all who come near. That can only mean Thanksgiving is close at hand—the wonderful American holiday in November where we push the pause button on life and celebrate the goodness of God to us. “Count your many blessings, name them ton by ton.”
My sister has been safely resting in Jesus for a year now, and that touches the heart. So does the thought of receiving a new daughter-in-law next year. Samuel and Levi, of course, continue to delight my soul, as do the growth and expanded ministries of our church, which is motivated to follow hard after Jesus. (God gave us a Christian preschool out of the blue this year after a time of fasting and prayer.) There’s been good progress on a massive dissertation, which is turning out to be my life’s work and the best of all I know about God and his ways from Scripture. Food, clothing, shelter, family—the list of things for which I can be thankful is long and lovely.
But the floodgates opened in earnest a few days ago when I unpacked our new Nativity scene. I’ve been wanting to get a replacement for several years now because the one we’ve been using is a bit too antiseptic for my taste. The new one is much more rustic and realistic. It’s earthy and crude, which I like because the first Christmas was really a Christmess.
God came down. All the way down. And landed in a manger—right on top of cow spit and barnyard bacteria. Right on top of King Herod’s royal bombast and bluster, thus inflaming his rage and insecurities. Yes, Jesus came a long way to save us. Two thousand years ago, the eternal Son of God stepped across the stars of the universe to become a zygote in the womb of Mary, a teenage girl from a tiny town no one esteemed. And then he was born like one of us. Did he suck his thumb that first night in the feeding trough?
The Prince of Peace came in peace. Nothing is more disarming and unthreatening than a baby. But how is this possible? This is Almighty God we’re talking about here. The one who fills the universe is now filling his diaper? I still can’t fully get my mind around the incarnation. No worries, though; it has captured my heart and unleashed my imagination, and that’s good enough for me. It reduces me to a puddle every single year, whether I want it to or not. I suspect that’s because I believe it with the totality of my being.
We won’t display the new Nativity scene until the last dish is dried from the Thanksgiving feast. After all, we’re not decoration heretics. But even then, it won’t contain the newborn Christ until Christmas morning. Advent comes first, and we’re taking Samuel and Levi on an Advent-ure of anticipation, helping them learn to wait for the good things God has for them. (That’s a good lesson for big kids, too.) So, every time we walk past the crèche, we look for baby Jesus and say, “He’s not here yet, but he’s coming.”
Yes, he’s coming again, friends. Jesus is coming back to the planet he made and the people he loves. That, too, is a good lesson for big kids. Are you ready?
