How difficult the time of Jesus’ birth must have been for
Mary! For Jesus, God-made-man, it could
have been no easier. Madeline L’Engle,
writes about the nativity in a poem called “The Risk of Birth:”
That
was no time for a child to be born,
In
a land in the crushing grip of Rome;
Honor
& truth were trampled by scorn –
Yet
here did the Savior make his home.
How can we find the meaning of the birth of our Savior in
Bethlehem? When we hear this familiar
gospel story of Jesus’ birth, what do we think?
Kathleen Norris reflected on the familiarity we have with “the Christmas
story”—especially this version from Luke: “We have many defenses against
hearing the Christmas readings and taking them to heart. The images are resoundingly familiar . . .
and the nativity story is so colored by nostalgia that listening takes
considerable effort. It’s hard for us to
remember that, as is always the case with scripture, we are continually invited
to hear ‘a new song,’ words full of possibilities we have not yet seen and
can’t imagine. All we need are the ears
to hear, but our tired old ears resist us at every turn.”
Madeline L’Engle sees Jesus’ birth as God incarnate, God
taking on human form, as “The Glorious Impossible.” Here’s what she says about it, “What an
amazing, what an impossible message the angel brought to a young girl! But Mary
looked at the angel and said, 'Be it unto me according to your word.’
And
so the life of Jesus began as it would end with the impossible. When he was a grown man he would say to his
disciples, ‘For human beings it is impossible. For God nothing is impossible.’
Possible
things are easy to believe. The Glorious
Impossibles are what bring joy to our heart, hope to our lives and songs to our
lips.”
Mary and Joseph had
traveled quite a distance, Luke tells us, from Nazareth near the Sea of Galilee
to Bethlehem a bit south of Jerusalem.
Her labor had begun in the midst of less than ideal accommodations. The couple had to take what was available, and
so a food trough for animals became the baby’s “cradle.” Yet Mary wrapped him in “bands of cloth,” a
lovingly maternal act in the midst of uncertainly—a lovingly maternal act to
make the baby feel secure.
How
were Mary and Joseph on this night of glorious impossibility? Tired to the bone from their long
journey? Exhausted from laboring to
birth Jesus? Distracted a bit, wanting
comfort, hoping for a bit of peace soon?
Christina Rossetti described the moment of incarnation this
way: “Love came down at Christmas, love all lovely, love divine; / love was
born at Christmas: stars and angels gave the sign.”
The
first evidence of the presence of God’s love can be seen in Mary’s care for her
newborn. Her heart was moved by love,
because she knew the vulnerability of Jesus.
Our love for our children is always a sign of God’s love for humanity.
But there was more.
Shepherds out in the night, guarding some sheep, had witnessed the
glorious power of God in message of an angel:
“I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is
born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a
child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.”
The
message given to the shepherds spoke to the hope for freedom from the
oppression. For the shepherds, who lived at the bottom of the social structure
of first century Palestine nothing could surpass receiving news of “ a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” The Messiah found in Hebrew prophecy who will
save God’s people—Jesus’ name means “God saves—promises liberation. The sign of
that liberation from bondage—a baby, born in difficult circumstances, who is
loved.
Madeline
L’Engle describes God’s taking a risk to show God’s love for us:
When
is the time for love to be born?
The
inn is full on planet earth,
And
by a comet the sky is torn –
Yet
Love still takes the risk of birth.
The shepherds told Mary and Joseph, and perhaps others
nearby, what the angels had told them.
Luke reports that “all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds
told them.” How could this beloved,
vulnerable baby, be a sign of the liberation for which many had hoped for
centuries? Can we believe that God’s
love came to us that night in an unexpected way? Can we trust that our salvation comes through
love?
W. H. Auden, the English poet, wrote these words about that
holy night during the dreadful days of Britain’s suffering in 1941 and
1942: “Remembering the stable where for
once in our lives / Everything became a You and nothing was an It.” For in that moment there was nothing but
God’s glory, nothing but God’s love.
That stable was “thin place” where the barrier between God’s love and
our humanity—our sinful humanity—was crossed.
Mary’s response to the shepherd’s words was to treasure and
ponder them. Our response to the Jesus’
birth, God’s love becoming enfleshed in a human being, must be like
Mary’s. We must treasure what we have
seen and heard about Jesus. We must
ponder what Christ’s life means for us.
Then we must become God’s heart and hands in the world. Wrap those who
share our lives in bands of love. Offer
them the security of love through our words and actions. Give love as Mary gave it, in whatever
circumstances we find ourselves.
The moment of incarnation, of God becoming one of us through
Mary’s love: truly this was a “glorious
impossible!” Impossible to fully understand, this moment—seen through the eyes
of faith—has the power to re-make our lives, “bring[ing] joy to our heart[s],
hope to our lives and songs to our lips” and giving us the strength we need to
love as Mary did.
Madeline L’Engle,
“The Risk of Birth – 1973” can be found on the internet by searching for it;
“The Glorious Impossible,” Simon & Schuster, 1990. It’s still in print.
W. H. Auden, “For the Time Being: A Christmas Oratorio” final section (hard
back copies available on line)
Kathleen Norris quote: The Christian Century, (December 13, 2005, p. 19.) Also available online.
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