The Scandal of Christmas

We pull the pieces gingerly from the box, careful as we unwrap the packing paper that's kept the precious traditions safe for the past 11 months. Slowly, we place Joseph, then the angel, the shepherd with his flock, and lastly, Mary with tiny baby Jesus on the mantel, perfectly assembled so that both the wise men and the donkey get a view of their new king. The carved faceless figures exude a sense of calm, of loveliness. There is nothing about them, not even a hint, of the absolute scandal of Christmas.

Mary is young, about 15, and pledged to be married to an older man, just as her parents have hoped. She doesn't come from much, and her future with Joseph the carpenter will be just as simple, but she will have enough to eat, a roof over her head, and a well-defined place in society. The man's not bad looking either. It's as much as she could ever dream, and she eagerly awaits their announcement as husband and wife.

But then, on an ordinary day in her ordinary life, the angel comes -- the huge, terrifyingly glorious warrior appears to her in the flesh -- and her vision of a simple, quiet life shatters before her. He says his name is Gabriel, and he speaks with such authority it must be so. This strange creature says she will have a baby, but not just any baby, God's baby. Yahweh's baby. The one predicted by the prophets. Their Redeemer.

The one for whom they have been waiting for four-hundred years. This angel brings word of a Savior to a people longing for good news, desperate for hope. Exiled from their land, oppressed by the Romans, God's people have waited so long for Yahweh to send their long-awaited Messiah. They wait expectantly, envisioning a powerful King born of royalty, embodying the image of their renowned King David, one who will wipe the Romans out and restore their land.

But the angel comes to Mary, speaks to Mary, announces the Savior of the world to a simple teenager from a no-name town. A virgin.

Her heart beats faster inside her as the angel speaks, overflowing into a smile widening across her small face. Her soul rejoices that at last the time has come for their deliverance, as the Holy Spirit comes upon her and conceives this tiny baby who will save the world!

But wait. Her parents. Joseph. What will she say? What will they say? She can't tell them an angel came, can she? Even if they believe her, even if they understand what just happened inside her, will she be stoned by the community? By Joseph? That the holy, righteous Yahweh would impregnate a nobody girl in a nowhere town is not only ludicrous, but profane.

But she can't even persuade herself to think they will believe her. No, they will think what any normal parent or fiancé would think. That she is no better than a harlot. That she is a harlot. That she is trying to cover her sin in blasphemy. Joseph will never stay, no man will. She and her parents will live and die a death of poverty, all the while believing her to be the scum of society.

But Mary believes the angel anyway, rejoices anyway. She has no choice but to trust and believe that what this angel said is true. Emmanuel, God with us. She shares the good news with her parents.

And her parents, likely ashamed and disappointed, agree that perhaps Mary might be best off staying with cousin Elizabeth for a while, away from curious, judging eyes. But contrary, perhaps, to their plans, Elizabeth not only encourages Mary, but affirms that she does in fact carry God's perfect son. For three months, Elizabeth speaks wisdom to her, prepares her not only for motherhood, but to mother the Savior of the world. She ministers to her heart, her soul, her body. Slowly Mary's abdomen grows, her belly slowly filling with the tiny, human Jesus, and oh what joy when she feels his tiny, human feet kick against her ribs! Emmanuel. God with us.

But Elizabeth has given birth to the prophet John, and the time has come for Mary to go home. Fear again threatens to overwhelm her heart. Surely by now Joseph has heard the news, called off the engagement in disgrace and disappointment. He may have denied it at first, wished away the whispers of rumors threatening to drag his name through the mud, but once he sees her undeniably pregnant body, he won't be able to fool himself any longer.

She feels herself tense as her nowhere town comes into view, looking ragged and lowly. She braces herself for the worst as she sees both her parents and Joseph waiting outside their front door. She notices, first, her parents' perplexed faces. Then, Joseph. Joseph! He runs to her, stops just short of arm's length as he surveys the evidence; then, excitement and relief overcoming his reservations, he reaches out and places his hand on her newly discernible pregnant belly.

"Mary! Can you believe it?!" Joy overtakes Joseph's usually quiet demeanor, he's almost shouting, "God's son! Jesus! An angel spoke to me, told me everything, said that you --you, Mary! -- carry God's son. Yahweh has heard our cries and he is here."

Mary is smiling now, God has heard her cries too. Emmanuel. God with us.

They have a long road ahead: a wedding ceremony with only the few guests nosy enough to witness the seemingly shameful union of a harlot and lunatic; an arduous journey to Bethlehem that can't wait despite Mary's impending labor; Joseph watching helplessly as his beautiful Mary prepares to give birth to the king of the world in a dirty, smelly stable. They have no way of knowing, gathered in that simple stable around a boy dressed in rags, that soon they will be fugitives, on the run from an evil king hellbent to kill their tiny babe. They have no way of knowing they will eventually make their home in a foreign town, will watch their precious boy grow up much too fast, and then will one day watch him be killed by the people he is meant to save.

But I can't help but wonder, as I gently pick up and cradle the ceramic Mary and baby Jesus one more time, if perhaps Mary and Joseph were at complete peace that night, unaware of the scandal of grace that was unfolding, just as these serene faceless figures would imply. Certainly there were no wisemen that first night, and even the shepherds would come a few hours later. I wonder, as they quietly held this little boy -- before the fanfare, before the gifts, with only the animals witnessing the king of kings arriving into this world -- if their hearts simply remembered the words the angel had spoken to them, the words God had already proven to them time and again. Here, against the backdrop of a ruthless ruler and a hopeless people: Emmanuel. Emmanuel. God with us.

And I wonder, as I gently replace the baby Jesus back into the stable my dad made for us -- again carefully arranging him so that both the wise men and the donkey get a view of their new king -- if perhaps this nativity isn't only a reminder of the scandal of Christmas, but also the scandal of grace. If our holy, righteous God was willing to love the world by making Himself human, was willing to send His Son to a nowhere town to save nobody people, was willing to take our place on the cross, perhaps His promises -- even against the backdrop of an evil and hopeless world -- still ring true. Perhaps Christmas, perhaps Christianity, perhaps Jesus can be summed up with the one word that gave Mary and Joseph such peace that night: Emmanuel. God with us. All of us. He hasn't left us, and He won't. Emmanuel. Emmanuel.

A quick note: I have taken some creative liberties with my story, as the Bible is ambiguous about the timeline and details surrounding the birth of Jesus. This is merely me documenting some musings on my heart as we prepare for Christmas.