untangling the web

The Christmas story reminds us once again that it was not the idea of a human being that the Son of God should be born in a stable.

If it had been left to us, we would have lavished upon him a grand palace with state of the art medical attention for mother and baby, clean, warm, sanitised, with doctors and midwives and nurses. No muck, no threats, no cold draughts, no dirty animals, no risks.

But no, the first thing we learn from Jesus’ birth is that the Lord will not always be found where we expect to find him.

We tend to look for him in the nice, the clean, the warm, the cosy, the safe place.

We expect him to be in churches and in the Bible, in hymns of praise and in Christmas cards which have Scripture verses in them.

We think he will be living in nice people like us, who smell nice, have clean clothes, live in houses with gardens and neat hedges and once in a while invite us round for tea.

But if these are the only places we search for the Lord, then we’re not looking in the stable.

The Christ-child says:
“I am not made of plaster, nor of stone, nor of bronze.
I am living flesh, throbbing, breathing, suffering.
I am poorly paid. I am unemployed. I am bored. I am frustrated.
I live in a slum. I am sick. I am abused. I am tormented.
I sleep under bridges. I am in prison.
I am oppressed. I am patronised. I am bruised. I am tortured.
I sweat human blood on all battlefields.
I cry out in the night and die in the solitude of battle.
I am among men and women and they have not recognised me.”

It is dark. We look and cannot see.

We need your light. The light that shines in the darkness.

Lord, shine your light into our lives
That looking, we may see beyond the bright lights that dazzle and entertain us, but fizzle away,
That looking in the murky, shadowy places, we may see into your eyes and recognise you.