Emmanuel
The children arrange a little manger scene of handmade figures I shaped for their mother a generation ago. The angel’s robe is fringed yellow from the time she sat on moss that got over watered. Joseph’s little carved lantern has gone missing, but the wisemen still have their gifts created of old earrings. We add a character or two a day and now the procession of children from various nations is perched cheerfully on the buffet next to the camels and sheep. Across the room the slightly crooked tree with it’s string of popcorn and many apples blinks happily. Birds with a few less feathers than yesteryear hide in her branches, frequently rearranged as the children devise new games for them. Outside the window the snow grows deeper, piling in drifts as winter storms pause only occasionally to let the sun through.
Carols slip off our tongues and come stilting from small fingers on the old piano, being learned by a yet another generation. Emmanuel, God with us. The miracle to ponder yet anew. How? Why? How does God become man? That’s really small! Why was Herod so cruel? Why did Jesus have to flee?
Barely an email away, children from Orrissa huddle in refugee camps. The Herod’s that butchered their parents remain at large. Children in Cambodia cringe as their pimps take more money from the foreign Herods and send them out to be abused for the next hour. Girls in Albania stay in their family compound, forced to leave school at puberty for fear of Herod’s men who lie in ambush to kidnap female bodies for sale abroad. Children in Iran fear the Herod lurking in their male neighbors and relatives making them vulnerable to molestation at any time. Children in Zambia stay close to mother’s skirts, if she hasn’t died of AIDS. They are vulnerable to Herod’s slave traders who sell body parts.
Come to think of it, God offered Herod every chance to join the wise men in their worship of Jesus, but his heart was so turned from worship he ignored the invitation. No, Herod hasn’t changed. And God hasn’t either. Emmanuel is with us. Emmanuel got inside the human skin of utmost vulnerability and never took it off again. Incomprehensibly He’s both the child being hurt, and the judge of Herod. Even more amazingly He indwells every member of the Body of Christ. He’s God with us when we step into refugee camps ... rescue children from pimps ... work Justice for the enslaved ... and prevent poverty from killing moms. Herod’s been cloned into Goliaths in every corner of the globe, but his power is still overcome by small interventions of God, be they worm, stone, or frail Believers who believe in God’s indwelling power.
Emmanuel around the Christmas tree in teaching moments. Emmanuel as we pack our bags and set forth on pilgrimage to dark brothels where He must be the Light within us to perform the rescue needed. Emmanuel worshiped in safe churches. Emmanuel in the underground churches that face death willingly to meet and praise God. Emmanuel bridging the two as we who can go do go, and we who can give do so. Emmanuel digging wells, building Safe Houses, creating new links on the modern Underground Railroad. Emmanuel adopting, changing diapers, hugging, listening. Emmanuel weeping alongside, cold alongside, martyred alongside. Emmanuel working the nine to five to send Workers into the Harvest. Emmanuel unemployed, making ends meet and still giving. Emmanuel taking loaves and fishes and multiplying. Emmanuel victorious, even when Goliath taunts and Herod froths. Emmanuel, God with us still.