Christmas Day – George Yandell
C. S. Lewis always liked to say that God has a way of making straight paths into crooked lines.
Sometimes when meeting folks who are unfamiliar with the life of the church or its ministry, it might help us to repeat this mantra: “You know—most of us are just not able to schedule a crisis.” That seems so true of our lives, whatever ‘crisis’ we might face – a crisis of illness and death, or the crisis of unexpected joy and good fortune; we simply cannot schedule what eventually shapes a great deal of our lives. Our life of faith is about seeking and accepting the unseen hand of God when it moves, and accepting the uncertainty of where it may lead us.
I imagine ‘crisis’ was very much on the minds of Joseph and Mary as they fulfilled their state obligations of census and taxes on the road to Bethlehem. Has it ever been easy to schedule the birth of a child? In those weeks that would become our first Advent, on that night that would become our first Christmas, I’d guess that Joseph and Mary might have thought or uttered the word “crisis,” either under their breath or in the depth of their hearts. “What in God’s name is going to happen next?”
The unseen hand of heaven was moving through their lives, all the tables turning, and they had no way of knowing how or where things might end. No way to make a market forecast. No real plan B or C, except to hang on for dear life, and bed down where the Lord might make a place for them — a stable, a manger, unknown surroundings filled with nothing but God’s promise, and ultimately God’s love.
One of the most powerful insights C. S. Lewis ever shared is that all of Western history—all of its wars, its art, its music, its literature; the great cathedrals of Europe, the Sistine Chapel, the discovery of America, the rise and fall of kings, tyrants, and governments—all have hinged on the simple beauty of a girl saying her prayers. A young woman at prayer has shaped the world we have inherited, the world we share, and the world we give to our children. That young woman is Mary, and the prayer she offers is one of faith, courage, and hope in the face of what for her, and for Joseph, must have been a “crisis.”
In what “best of all possible worlds” would a young woman ever desire to have her child born on the road, in the back of a garage, in the presence of a man who was not actually the father of her child? And yet, it is Mary’s crisis, it is her faithfulness, that opens another doorway to how we live our lives and the history that we build and share on our journey.
Mary holding her baby in a stable, in a garage, is one of the reasons that we know God has compassion on those who suffer uncertainty and tragedy in life; because that is how Christ himself enters the world—in the midst of the worst of all possible circumstances. The baby who arrives in Bethlehem is not on the world’s schedule; He is the unexpected guest. This baby is the crisis none could foresee, but whom everyone ultimately will desire and need.
If we are traveling the crooked lines hoping to make a straight journey, God travels with us. God comes to guide, encourage, laugh with us. God comes to weep with us, and dry our tears. God knows, from the inside-out of a crisis, what it means to take the detours as we make our way home.
Be at peace, my friends, the King of Peace was born into our uncertainties so that we might know the certainty of his love. God is with us. (Adapted frm the Very Rev. Alston B. Johnson, St. Mark’s, Shreveport, LA, as reprinted in the Anglican Digest, Autumn 2013.)