I remember when Marie-Laure and I decided to have a baby. We talked about a girl or a boy, discussed names, and shared our dreams about how our life would be: all the things we would do together, the places we would go together, all the opportunities we would want to offer our baby. There were some of the crazy parental what ifs: what would we do if baby grew up not wanting to fly fish? There were the fearful what ifs: what would do if baby grew up with physical, intellectual, and emotional challenges? As if all of us aren't challenged in one way or another! We both agreed that we would love our baby no matter what.
I remember when Marie-Laure came home from her baby shower, looking absolutely beautiful in her sixth month and literally glowing from all the loving warm wishes of the ladies who showered her. And I do mean showered her... with gifts. I had to make at least six trips out to the car to bring everything in and then go over to Lori's house the next day to get everything that couldn't fit in our small car. I remember being amazed by the generosity, doubtful of the possibility that we would actually need or use all this stuff, and, I must confess, slightly jealous of the outpouring of love. I was the pastor, after all, and I had yet to see the love like this.
The next day, Marie- Laure showed me everything, taking me through my first dose of life with baby reality. There were the little stuffed animals, the oneseys, pajamas, sleeping sacks, sleeping hats and pacifiers and I began to visualize putting baby to bed and watching him sleep in his crib. We knew it was a boy by this point. There were all the wipes, lotions and cleaning stuff and I began to visualize baby's baths and changing diapers. There were all the little matching suits, this one for that and that one for this and so on and I began to visualize baby in all settings and seasons. There were lots of toys and I began to visualize baby playing. There were lots of bottles, bibs, cups, towels and a high chair and I began to visualize feeding baby. There was a car seat with an observation mirror and I began to visualize baby riding with us in the backseat. The was a sling, a baby bjorn, a backpack and a stroller and I began to visualize baby going for walks with us in the woods, at the beach, in the mountains, and around the neighborhood. There were books and music and I began to visualize us reading to and singing with baby. There we carrying cases for all the stuff and I began to visualize us going to France with baby. And, from France, there was a Christening dress and I began to visualize the day I would baptize our baby into God's love with my own hands.
I remember when baby was born and how amazing it was. I remember how terrific all the doctors and nurses were. I remember how on the third day the nurse wheeled Marie-Laure and baby out of the room, down the long corridor of the maternity ward, me trailing along behind, down three floors to the lobby in the elevator, out of the nice, cool hospital into the staggering heat and humidity of summer in Connecticut, where she smiled at us as she said, "You can go home now."
That's when panic struck. I wanted to scream, "what? We can go home? I don't know what to do." I remember creeping home at about 20 miles an hour for fear of an accident or the bumps upsetting baby, with so many delightful neighbors tooting their horns and giving me the middle finger salute. I remember driving up to the parsonage, helping the family in and then getting the bags as they went up to the nursery where everything was ready and waiting. We were home. We were parents. And it was show time.
Those first few months of being a family were beautiful, but I quickly made a significant discovery. Even though I had visualized quite accurately so much of what our life would be like, I didn't realize how much everything was going to change, how much I was going to have to change, how much emotional, physical, and temporal space baby was going to take up. The Newtonian laws of gravity actually changed right before my eyes, with the pull of my life moving from somewhere within me to somewhere within the baby.
Until then I had this wildly ignorant idea that a baby would be a wonderful addition to our lives, not knowing that a baby isn't an add-on you fit in in the little extra nooks and crannies of a life. A baby becomes the center and daddy fits in where he's needed. Just to name the most obvious examples of change: our house had to be thoroughly retrofitted for safety. Our comfortable, daily routine which we enjoyed as a couple quickly became unworkable. Sleep was no longer something that happened regularly when it was dark out. Sleep was now something to be grabbed whenever possible, or a wave that washed over me unexpectedly whenever I sat down for more than five minutes, while talking to people, even in church and I was the preacher. Adult conversations no longer happened at restaurants, coffee shops, or any of the familiar places, but in hushed tones, for fear of waking his highness, in the dark, once baby had fallen asleep, and the subject was usually the baby.
As a bachelor professor and pastor, distractions and interruptions had been seriously annoying. I needed long periods of uninterrupted focus time to be at my best. I was also used to long breaks for fishing, kayaking, hiking and exercising to freshen my mind and body. Now that distractions and interruptions had become my new normal, being at my best was impromptu, unscripted, and happened whether I was fresh or stale. Once I got the hang of it however, which took some time, I am not super Dad but do the best I can with the spiritual gifts I have, once I got the hang of it I stumbled upon an abundance of life, so much wisdom and insight, heretofore unknown tenderness and compassion, just bubbling up in these most inconvenient interludes. John Lennon was right, "Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans."
Which brings me explicitly to our Christmas story, although I have been talking about it all along. God coming physically into our world as a baby is just about the most true thing in the Bible. Mary and Joseph were unmarried, teenage parents, who probably didn't know each other all that well according to the customs of their culture, when they walked seven days from home and family in Nazareth and had their baby of unusual origin in a barn alone in Bethlehem. All of these details spell disruption, change and transformative walking into the unknown. Most of us have not lived the particulars of Mary and Joseph's adventure as first time parents, but most parents can relate to the sense of disruption, change and transformation that life with a baby really is. The point I am getting to is that this is just about spot on in my experience for what embracing and being embraced God in Jesus is really like. You can read books about it until you know everything there is to know. You can have this really completely perfect idea of what it's going to be like, what it ought to be like, how happy you're going to be, and so on, but God in Jesus Christ is probably going to blow that all up, just like any other baby. Things are going to change. You're going to have to make a lot of room. It's going to take a lot of time, effort, patience and perseverance, just like having a real baby.
When the angel of the Lord comes to the shepherds and says, "Do not be afraid; for see - I am bringing you good news of great joy for all people; to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord," this can be really the very best good news for us right now. If...if we can actually embrace our salvation the way we embrace our babies, if we don't come to God the way I came to babies before I had one of my own. I'd drop by my married friends' houses to see their babies and play Uncle Max. I'd pick up little Shaw or Andreas, bounce that kid, smile and laugh for a few minutes until the unmistakable even to a bachelor odor of you know what wafted up to my nostrils. "Uh, I think it's time to change the diaper," I would say, holding baby at arm's length and trying to hand off to mom or dad. Or the baby started screaming, crying, fussing or any of the other things I didn't know the first thing about and didn't want to deal with so I made my escape. Until I had a baby of my own, I was the touch and go, occasional hug to holding at arm's length, play for an afternoon with parents nearby in case things got out of hand to show what a great guy I was, great in theory but tough in practice kid guy. Parents know that this is not parenting, but you need to know it's the same way with your faith if you want it to be as rewarding as your parenting is.
So the big question out there is the same for having baby as it is for embracing Jesus: why bother then if it's going to be such a hassle? Why bother with parenthood if it's such a hassle? Why bother with Jesus if it's going to be such a hassle? Well, here's another truth that any parent who is happy being a parent will know in their very bones. The more I pour myself out for my baby, the more my life fills up, the richer it is, the more meaningful every little thing becomes. My ideas about love, compassion, knowing another human being, the meaning of life, gratitude, forgiveness, generosity, vulnerability, were pretty paltry until put to the test by baby. I had a pretty good life when it was just me doing exactly what I wanted, when I wanted, how I wanted and why I wanted. But with baby I have been warped into a new level of reality that just wasn't available to me before. And the same is true about life with Jesus.
So the invitation stands. The opportunity is right there for each of us and all of us. "Do not be afraid; for see - I am bringing you good news of great joy for all people; to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord,"
Source: http://maxolm.blogspot.com/2012/12/christmas-eve-2012.html
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