Infant Holy, Infant Lowly

Zach has often told me that whenever he has the chance to preach his first sermon, it will most certainly be entitled, "Jesus Is Not My Home-Dawg." Why, you ask? He wants to focus on the fact that modern evangelicalism often tries to make Jesus cool, hip, or trendy, when in reality he was just the opposite. He never made it a point to maintain a good reputation with the high-falutin, the wealthy, or the influential; rather, he spent time with the prostitutes, the poor, the lame, the weak, and the outcasts of society. In short, Jesus was REAL in every imaginable sense -- no facades, no ploys for status, no attempts to be "cool" or "popular" in his culture.

In light of that, we were thinking last night about how fitting and pertinent it is that Jesus came as a tiny baby into our world. Admittedly, we often sing Christmas carols like "Silent Night" and picture a serene, pastoral scene with the new family smiling happily as little baby Jesus coos peacefully in his warm, snug blanket. Yet how different must this event have been! They were in a dirty stable surrounded by filthy animals; Mary was probably exhausted from traveling, being turned away from the inn, and giving birth completely naturally; Joseph probably still had blood on his hands from the messy delivery and could have been feeling unsure about his relationship with the new boy, considering he wasn't his own; and I assume Jesus was doing his fair share of crying and screaming. In essence, that manger scene that we peacefully portray in nativity scenes probably wasn't quite as glamorous as we would like to think, and yet the realness -- and the rawness -- of it is a reflection of Jesus' true character from the very beginning of his existence in this world.

As we prepare for the birth of our first little baby, we realize that while babies are certainly adorable and are a complete joy to a family, they are neither easy nor predictable. They scream, they poop, they cry, they spit up, they pee, and they are ultimately completely reliant on their parents for EVERY need to be met. Attempts to always keep the house clean, to always stick to a specific schedule, or to always have them under control are fruitless. While that (in some ways) goes against my type-A nature, it is also very enticing on many levels because it reminds me of Jesus. I think Jesus likes the messiness and disorder of our lives because it is in that place that He feels most welcome. When we think we have everything under control, we have no need for Him to come in and be our peace, our order, or our joy.

Jesus, may you allow us to learn to let go of the need for perfection in our lives and to continually invite you into even the rawest, messiest details, knowing that you take great joy in knowing us intimately.