Christmas' Redemption of Vulnerability

Two thousand years ago, time fractured. Two thousand years ago, time was entered by its Infinite Creator. Two thousand years ago, the King of Kings came to the world. Two thousand years ago, we were given a new way to live: Not the way of men, demanding kings and requiring strength, but the way of a child, offering softness and allowing vulnerability. 

Jesus came, not riding on the clouds with trumpets blaring, but into a small, poor family. He grew inside of a woman and was born as a baby. He came to the world with nothing but the ability to cry and be helped. He left behind His royal trappings, left behind His golden throne, and entered into a small family. 

He came in a way that any could approach him: the shepherds, the animals, the wise foreign kings. Babies don’t care about any of that, and He chose a mother and father who wouldn’t push away any who came to adore. 

But, perhaps even more profoundly, He came to show us new life. He came to show us how to be human, to show us what that truly meant. At the dawn of our time, we were made in the Image and Likeness of God, but we so often cloud our hearts, our minds, and our identities with the whispers of serpents, with the toils of the world, and with the desires of others. So, He came down to remind us what true humanity looked like, to give form to God, to provide a model and mirror for us to see ourselves. And that started not with grand teachings, not with obedience to his parents, not with the cross.

It began with the vulnerability of a babe. 

We like to emphasize the parts of Jesus’ life that are most applicable to us: his teachings, his tears, his triumph, his “hidden years” of normal life. We politicize his birth, we focus on the poor state, the universal openness. And all of these are good. But it starts before that. It starts with vulnerability. 

And by starting with the vulnerability of a child, he allows us to also live that way. Yes, it redeems and sanctifies each part of our lives, but it also reminds us that we, too, are allowed to be the vulnerable babe. That vulnerability is an intrinsic part of our nature. A necessary part. He allowed someone else to care for his needs, to kiss his hurts, to teach him, to love him. And he didn’t abandon this vulnerability. If anything, as he continued through life, he continued it: He allowed people close enough to weep over them; He engaged his heart enough to be furious at the abuses of the temple; He invited people into every part of his life; He begged for his friends to stay up with Him as He traveled toward his death. 

But it began here: in the womb of a young girl, in the arms of a faithful man who rocked him to sleep, in the manger, eyed dubiously by the animals and adored by the shepherds and honored by the wise men. It began here, and it should begin here in us as well. Jesus is just as much our Savior in the cradle as he is on the cross. He is as much of our Creator, our Redeemer, our Model while being rocked in his parent’s arms as when he heals the sick or rose from the dead. 

Christmas is a time where it is even harder for many of  us to enter into the mystery of vulnerability because we live in a society of expectations. We live in a world where, for many, Christmas is a time of heightened anxiety, of increased expectations, and where we put up extra walls to keep ourselves safe, where we either let our boundaries be entirely obliterated, or we have to constantly brick them back up. 

And this, I think, is how Satan tries to poison this mystery. The Nativity of Our Lord is the ultimate expression of vulnerability. The ultimate invitation to vulnerability. So, he makes us feel like we cannot have that. 

If that’s your reality this Christmas, I am sorry. But remember, unlike the world, we, as Christians know that Christmas isn’t a day. It isn’t even the 25 days counting down to Christmas. It’s a Season. It’s a mystery we can enter into anytime of the year, but the Church wisely gives us the 12 days of Christmas to celebrate. So. after your families go home, after you’ve recovered from the drama, I invite you to come to the cave where Jesus lays in the hay. I invite you to sit next to Joseph and Mary, to snuggle up with the sheep and the donkey and cradle the baby. To watch, to learn, and to understand that your vulnerability, your openness to love and transformation, is just as beautiful as this baby that you adore. 

He came to bring new life. That life starts here. 

Merry Christmas.