Welcome Holy Child
On a recent Sunday afternoon, from my vantage in Sue's sofa in her joyously-festooned den, I reveled in the comforting rise and fall of familiar women's voices. I admired golfing Santas frozen in mid-swing on her mantel. I squinted as I nursed my punch, recalling how I shed my glasses as a nearsighted girl to enhance the holiday haze of our tree as the console stereo in our rarely-used living room played "Many Moods of Christmas," some 50 years ago.
Sue's living room does not fall into the "rarely used" category. Today, it was filled with grandmothers, mothers and daughters, some balancing babies in their laps, assembled ritually in Sunday clothes to give Mandy a proper sendoff on the grand adventure of motherhood. The centerpiece was graced with poinsettias, snowmen and baby shoes. Guests arrived with all manner of lovingly-wrapped offerings to celebrate the new child and adorn his surroundings. Christmas and babies: my favorite things in one afternoon. Lovely. What a welcome for this boy!
I considered the things Mandy will soon know. I was happy for her to join the throng of women since Eve who each understand what it is like to joyfully participate in the act of creation and to love someone so completely -- then to carry inside the bittersweet understanding that she cannot protect her child perfectly. I thought that this child will teach Mandy selflessness, joy, longsuffering, humility, sacrifice, and love. I considered how her world will revolve around him, and I acknowledged, just for a moment, that he will have the power to break her heart in ways she could never foresee.
Driving home, I listened to a selection from my current holiday playlist. No "Many Moods of Christmas" this time, but the random choice suited my mood and the day. Amy Grant was singing a welcome for another boy:
Welcome to Our World by Chris Rice
Tears are falling, hearts are breaking
How we need to hear from God.
You've been promised; we've been waiting --
Welcome, holy child.
Hope that you don't mind our manger;
How I wish we would have known!
But, long-awaited holy stranger —
Make yourself at home.
Bring your peace into our violence;
Bid our hungry souls be filled.
Word, now breaking Heaven's silence
Welcome to our world.
Fragile fingers sent to heal us,
Tender brow prepared for thorns,
Tiny heart whose blood will save us
Unto us is born.
So, wrap our injured flesh around you;
Breathe our air, and walk our sod.
Rob our sin, and make us holy
Perfect son of God.
Welcome to our world.
My husband is fond of saying that parents always love their children more than children can possibly love them back, because a child can't fully comprehend the secret ingredient in love -- sacrifice: the all-encompassing anticipation, the planning, the prayers said before there is a hint of swelling in Mom's belly, the anxiety, the constant preoccupation with ordering the world to best accommodate the comfort, safety, and best interests of the child. Undoubtedly, God refers to Himself as our Father rather than merely our Creator because it’s the closest way for our earthbound brains to wrap around His sacrifice and grief. He loved us even before creation, and He watched, brokenhearted, as we chose paths that took us away from Him.
As Creator, Jesus loved each of us completely. As Father, his heart was broken to watch us lose ourselves in Satan's lies. As Redeemer, he was willing to be human and hurting -- the eternal squeezed into the finite, God with a dirty diaper or an empty tummy, the omnipotent one submissive even with the cross before him -- to draw us near to him again.
So tonight, with my own family asleep and our holiday lights silently glowing, I rejoice with Mandy at the coming of her precious son, and I quietly celebrate that other child whose birth the world remembers during this season: the one who taught us selflessness, joy, longsuffering, humility, sacrifice, and love. I recall how my sin breaks His heart, and I resolve to keep the lessons of His life and sacrifice ever present with me. Welcome, Holy Child.
Patti Summers
(This article was previously published in Christian Woman Magazine)