Jesus Enters The World In Humility And Changes Everything
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(OPINION) The most magical and mystical parts of the Christmas story reinforce the unique and elevated status of Jesus of Nazareth. When we read about the angels, the magi, the virgin birth, etc., we understand them to be signs of Christ’s divinity.
However, to stop there misses a key point: these incredible events surround the birth of a very humble figure in a lowly stable. What happens when we embrace the rest of the story, remembering that a poor, refugee baby, born under difficult circumstances, grew up to change the world?
For the Jews when Jesus was born, the temple in Jerusalem guarded and protected “the holiest of holies.” To enter, each person had to undergo purification rituals and offer sacrifices. Only the priests had access to the inner sanctum.
Meanwhile, for the rest of the people in the Roman empire, those with political power were the ones who claimed divine status. Myths about divine birth, miracles and celestial signs surrounded rulers, bolstering their claim to sovereignty.
It creates quite a contrast to have these same signs appear for a child born to a young, unwed mother far from home. Perhaps they are meant to be more than confirmation of Jesus’s special status. It may be that the point of the story is to help us recognize that each child born has the potential to become a redeemer.
What if we are meant to be reminded of our own divine nature, our own capacity to do good in the world?
Setting the story in a stable rather than a palace also has significance. When we see paintings of the nativity, it is often quite picturesque. If you’ve ever spent any time in an actual stable, though, you know that they tend to be pretty messy places.
My brother and sister-in-law and their children live on a farm in rural New Hampshire. They have a small herd of beef cows, as well as chickens and lots of organic gardens. A few winters ago, I was visiting, and I got to see a calf being born.
My sister-in-law explained that they let the manure accumulate in the barn all winter because it helped keep it warm. Every few days, they would simply spread a layer of hay on top of all the other layers of manure and hay. I can testify, the floor did radiate heat. It felt strange — firm and soft at the same time. It smelled — not bad, necessarily, but strong.
I held my niece as the vet and my sister-in-law helped wrestle a newborn calf out of its mother and into the world, as they helped teach mother and baby how to nurse. Tears were streaming down my face for most of the experience. It was so beautiful!
At that moment, I had a powerful moment of clarity. Miracles don’t just happen in architecturally magnificent, sanitized locations. They happen in the midst of a smelly barn, with manure and blood and noise and a great deal of effort. They happen in the midst of real life, with its hardships and losses and struggles. If we turn away from the mess, if we deny the difficulty, we don’t give ourselves the chance to rise to the occasion.
Hope doesn’t come to us as a gift from on high. Hope blooms in the common, the real, the stuff of this world. We cultivate it by paying attention to life in its fullness. We have a responsibility to pass it on.
More than 2,000 years later, the world needs love and compassion more than ever. If we hear the Christmas story merely as a familiar myth that proves Jesus’ divine status, we will miss the mark. The Christmas story invites us to celebrate the birth of Jesus of Nazareth, but more than that, it invites us to become the hopeful miracle in the midst of the mess.
Jesus challenged his followers to try a new way, to give up their skirmishes and their jockeying for power. He taught them to break apart hierarchical systems and purity codes, and simply love one another.
He called on them to create a different kind of peace in the midst of the mess created by an overbearing empire, a peace built of mutual care and a courageous commitment to justice. That same call comes to us, echoing through the ages the angel’s song: “Peace, goodwill to all.”
To truly open our hearts to the Christmas spirit, we must take up the mantle, embodying not just hope, but generosity, kindness and a commitment to peace. We must see ourselves as agents of goodness and love on this earth. Christmas comes to remind us that each person houses a spark of the divine. The nativity story blows gently on that spark, illuminating the ways we are called to help heal the world.
This article was originally published at FaVS News.
The Rev. Elizabeth Stevens, Ph.D., has served as the minister of the Unitarian Universalist Church since 2012. She is the current minister of Unitarian Universalist Church of the Palouse. She's a graduate of Yale University, Starr King School for the Ministry and San Francisco Theological Seminary. Her doctoral work focused on trauma's impact on congregational systems. She's the mother of two grown sons, an avid hiker and an amateur musician. Her guiding question in life is "what is the most loving thing I can do right now?"