The Desperation of Christmas
About three months ago, I became a parent for the first time ever. Becoming a parent drastically changed my world (duh). While there were many ways I had anticipated change, there has been one unexpected shift in perspective that has crept up on me as we are in this Advent and soon to be Christmas season.
As a person of Christian faith, this season dedicates significant time to the birth of Jesus, God’s redemption plan here on Earth. This time often speaks to the wonder of it all; the miracle of God among us, born to a virgin teenager in a meager barn. We talk about the gifts, the humble beginning, etc. But this year, as I attempt to calm a screaming infant, something else comes to mind: the desperation.
I picture Mary, sore and bleeding, crying tears of both joy and panic at the same time. This miraculous baby, come to save humanity, but also tiny, crying, and unable to do anything at all. I think of the days to come, where it must have crossed her mind that maybe she misunderstood God, because how was it possible for a Savior to come this way? As she cried to her mother that she would never survive these days, did she question God’s plan?
Days wore on. The panicked cry of, “Why won’t he latch?” Slightly bitter glances across the bed at her husband with his useless chest. Hours of crying; both her and the baby. Checking to see if he was breathing, if his soft spot looked okay, if that rash seemed normal, and wondering if he would ever sleep more than three hours at a time.
Maybe Mary had more faith than I could ever imagine. But if God came down through a totally helpless baby in my life, I would begin to doubt. And our baby was anticipated, brought to a married couple, with two steady incomes and a wonderful childcare provider. There was (some) paid maternity leave. Never a question of if we would have enough. Mary was a teenager. She had to explain to her fiance about a baby who wasn’t his. They weren’t rich. There was no dula, no sterilized birthing equipment. They had their baby in a freaking barn. THEN, they spent the first two years of his life on the run as refugees. Surely this could not be God’s plan.
And yet, it was. To me, this is the miracle. The desperate, early, emotional days of parenthood. That this was God with us, Emmanuel. He came to and through the poor, the unequipped. He came knowing that Mary and Joseph would have to parent through the toddler years living as refugees, far from their support system. This is what God chose. This is what He created beauty and salvation out of. Jesus, the baby with spit-up on His chin. Jesus, come to rescue all of humanity. Jesus, God with us.
