Small God [Christmas Eve 2022]

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 The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

Luke 2:1-20

 

Small God

 

The mystery of Christmas is found in the packaging.  I don’t mean white paper boxes and whimsical gift wrap – although anyone who has ever tried to wrap a basketball or a bicycle knows that gift wrapping can be one of the world’s great mysteries.  I mean instead the mystery of how a very big God can be wrapped up in the soft skin of a tiny baby.

 

The God who inhabited the formless void of the universe, who danced in space before the planets were set in their courses,

Stretched out in the close confines of a young womb.

 

The God whose voice said, “Let there be light,”

Struggled to squawk out a primal, wordless cry.

 

The very hands that pulled humanity from the dust of the earth,

Small enough to wrap a fist around Joseph’s rough finger.

 

The lips that kissed life into Adam,

Suckled furiously at Mary’s tender breasts.

 

The feet that walked in the Garden of Eden in the days before history,

Kicked weakly, but with wild determination, against a manger’s golden straw.

 

The ears that heard the cries of the Exodus people,

Entranced by a simple lullaby, the lilting melody of an overwhelmed parent, causing the heavy eyelids of the Christ child to close out the sparkle of the ancient skies.

 

Somehow, by some holy mystery, the God who lit the stars and shook the mountains and split the sea, became small enough to be rocked to sleep.  The God who gave the Law and raised the dead traded that immense power for fragile mortality and absolute dependency.  To be here.  To be with us.  To get under our skin. 

 

And to stay under our skin.  The mystery of Christmas is now the on-going miracle of Christmas.  God stayed small.  God stayed.  With us.  For us.  In us.

 

God is not locked away in some distant corner of the cosmos; God inhabits the cozy crannies of your heart, gracing even the broken places.  God is not stuck in the precious memory of a dusty nativity scene; God makes a home here with us, in our modern mess, in our troubled times.  God is not far away, but is close enough to wipe your tears and hold you tight.  Because of Christmas you are never alone.  Because of Christmas God understands: your pain, your worries, your puffy eyes, your deepest sighs, that smile that cracks your face when you least expect it but most need it. 

 

The mystery of Christmas is what we call Incarnation.  The God of the Universe packaged in human flesh.  The miracle of Christmas is that Incarnation is still happening.  The same God who lit the stars and shook the mountains and split the sea, the same God who sleeps so peacefully at the center of the nativity scene, is still wrapped in most peculiar packaging: your tiny body, your beautiful heart.  The miracle of Christmas is that God is still here, still close, stretching out in the confines of your soul. 

 

The first Christmas happened so very long ago.  But it is still happening – because, for reasons only love can know, God stayed small.  And God stayed.  With us.  For us.  In us.       

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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