Don't Kill the Baby Jesus

            My uncle is a pastor. A few years ago, on Christmas day after sharing an enormous meal and opening all our presents, I asked him what he had thought of our Christmas service.  His reply stuck with me.  "It was good, other than the fact that they crucified the baby Jesus. You don't kill the baby Jesus."

            At the time, I thought he was stupid for making such a silly comment.  How could you talk about Jesus without mentioning the most important part of the story, namely his death and resurrection?  What was wrong with reminding people of the fate of baby Jesus? I thought my uncle was overreacting, but after having seen baby Jesus crucified over and over again, I think he was onto something.

            Christmas is one of those rare times in the year when people feel obligated to attend church.  So church attendance spikes every Christmas Eve and pastors and preachers usually, and rightfully, want to capitalize on the many fresh ears in the audience by proclaiming that Christ died for our sins and rose from the dead, effectively snuffing out death like a candle. Pastors and preachers then talk about the baby who came to die.

            While there is nothing wrong with this sentiment, we are, in essence, cutting and splicing the story of Jesus such that his conception, birth, life, and ministry is the trailer to the main feature of his death and resurrection. And when Jesus' birth is nothing more than a snapshot of what's to come, we miss out on the richness and beauty of his incarnation.

            That God was not born in a palace, or a beautifully exotic land, or to the parents of wealthy aristocrats.  No, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords chose, made a free choice, to be born to a poor carpenter in a stinky, smelly stable.

            That the creator, sustainer, and provider of all living things was completely and utterly dependent on his parents, such that if they neglected to care for him, he would have died. God was cared for by regular people.

            That God did not view our humanity as something to be despised but honored our very existence by becoming like us, by clothing himself in blood vessels and veins, muscles and bones, sinews and synapses. God with skin on.

            That God did not remain distant and unattached from his creation but entered into it as Emmanuel, God with us.  For in Jesus, as a helpless, weak, and crying baby, God was and is, with us.

            The Incarnation is an incomparable and indescribable event that actually happened.  The two thousand plus years since its occurrence are still not enough to fully plunge the depths of its greatness and beauty.

            So please, when you talk to others about the real meaning of Christmas, don’t kill the baby Jesus.