Cybercolumn by Brett Younger: ‘…born again in us’_120604

Posted: 12/03/04

CYBERCOLUMN:
‘… born again in us’

By Brett Younger

We have been through so many Christmas seasons that it’s become routine. We’re used to the sounds of the approaching Yuletide—jingle bells, silver bells, Salvation Army bells, Christmas cards from Southern belles and the one-tolling-for-thee-shopping-bell.

Santa is around more than some family members. “The Miracle on 34th Street” doesn’t seem particularly miraculous many more. We’re no longer inspired (if we ever were) by the television specials where sad, lonely busy people tempted to skip the whole business are suddenly inspired to decorate, bake and wrap. Chestnuts roasting on an open fire sound no better than microwave tater tots.

We’re also used to wise men in bathrobes and angels in bed sheets. We hardly hear the constant pleas to smile, hug someone, and buy our brother-in-law a tie. Most of the time it is routine.

But there are moments:

Moments when, like the Grinch, we discover that “perhaps Christmas is not something you buy in a store, Christmas is just a little bit more” and the sound of the carols becomes less bothersome.

Moments when the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future remind us that Tiny Tim lives across town, and we have more turkey than we can eat.

Moments when Clarence convinces Jimmy Stewart (and us, too) not to jump off the bridge, and we think we might have heard an angel get her wings.

Moments when we imagine God coming as a helpless child who needed his diaper changed and his nose wiped, and, for a fleeting instant, we are overwhelmed by the love of God.

As they got closer to Bethlehem, Joseph kept saying: “It’ll be all right. We’ll stay with my relatives”—a fine idea that turned out to be. The town was crowded, with the census and Christmas coming up, so there was no room anywhere. When Joseph tried to explain that Mary was expecting a baby, the hotel clerk said something like, “Don’t blame me; I just work here.” The clerk didn’t lie about there being no room, but if there had been one, this couple looked so poor that he might have lied. If there had been a vacancy at the Bethlehem Best Western, they couldn’t have afforded it.

Though no Christmas pageant has ever included them, Mary and Joseph may have exchanged a few cross words when they found that she was in labor with no chance of getting home. Whose bright idea was this trip? Why hadn’t they left early enough to find a place to stay? How was Joseph supposed to know it would take so long and the city would be so crowded? Why was Mary so emotional? What were they going to do?

Joseph was frantic to find a place to sleep. Though they were surrounded by people, they never felt more alone. Joseph did the best he could—at least he got a roof over Mary’s head. They spent the night in a stable—a first century parking garage.

Mary had her child without an epidural. She wrapped him in a cloth diaper and laid him in a feed trough. The Hallmark cards picture Mary and Joseph kneeling in adoration, but they were too busy trying to figure out how to care for a baby to do much kneeling.

The news of the long-awaited Hope was delivered not as you might expect to the ministerial association or the city council, but to shepherds—the ancient equivalent of garbage men.

People who are usually left out—a teenage girl, a confused fiancé and blue-collar workers—were the first to hear this story of God’s love. The angel said: “I’m here bringing you good news of a great joy which will be to all people. Today your deliverer was born.”

The holly jollyness of Christmas will dissipate. We’ll be back to the routines soon enough, but we can for a holy moment open our hearts to the possibility of joy. If we listen carefully to the sacred story, God will be born again in us.

Brett Younger is pastor of Broadway Baptist Church in Fort Worth and the author of “Who Moved My Pulpit? A Hilarious Look at Ministerial Life,” available from Smyth & Helwys (800) 747-3016.