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Weekly Vitamins for the Soul -- Jan.2,2005
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Yali Shi
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Jan 01, 2005 17:01 PST
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Weekly Vitamins for the Soul -- Jan.2,2005
The Arrival
Were earth a thousand times fair,
Beset with gold and jewels rare,
She yet were far too poor to be
A narrow cradle, Lord, for Thee.
—Martin Luther
* * *
By Max Lucado (From God Came Near)
The noise and the bustle began earlier than usual in the village. As
night gave way to dawn, people were already on the streets. Vendors were
positioning themselves on the corners of the most heavily traveled
avenues. Store owners were unlocking the doors to their shops. Children
were awakened by the excited barking of the street dogs and the
complaints of donkeys pulling carts.
The owner of the inn had awakened earlier than most in the town. After
all, the inn was full, all the beds taken. Every available mat or
blanket had been put to use. Soon all the customers would be stirring
and there would be a lot of work to do.
One's imagination is kindled thinking about the conversation of the
innkeeper and his family at the breakfast table. Did anyone mention the
arrival of the young couple the night before? Did anyone ask about their
welfare? Did anyone comment on the pregnancy of the girl on the donkey?
Perhaps. Perhaps someone raised the subject. But, at best, it was
raised, not discussed. There was nothing that novel about them. They
were, possibly, one of several families turned away that night.
Besides, who had time to talk about them when there was so much
excitement in the air? Augustus did the economy of Bethlehem a favor
when he decreed that a census should be taken. Who could remember when
such commerce had hit the village?
No, it is doubtful that anyone mentioned the couple's arrival or
wondered about the condition of the girl. They were too busy. The day
was upon them. The day's bread had to be made. The morning's chores had
to be done. There was too much to do to imagine that the impossible had
occurred.
God had entered the world as a baby.
Yet, were someone to chance upon the stable on the outskirts of
Bethlehem that morning, what a peculiar scene they would behold. The
stable stinks like all stables do. The stench of urine, dung, and sheep
reeks pungently in the air. The ground is hard, the hay scarce. Cobwebs
cling to the ceiling and a mouse scurries across the floor.
A more lowly place of birth could not exist.
Off to one side sits a group of shepherds. They sit silently on the
floor, perhaps perplexed, perhaps in awe, no doubt in amazement. An
explosion of light from Heaven and a sym-phony of angels had interrupted
their night watch. God goes to those who have time to hear Him—so on
this cloudless night He went to simple shepherds.
Near the young mother sits the weary father. If anyone is dozing, he is.
He can't remember the last time he sat down. And now that the excitement
has subsided a bit, now that Mary and the baby are comfortable, he leans
against the wall of the stable and feels his eyes grow heavy. He still
hasn't figured it all out. The mystery of the event puzzles him. But he
hasn't the energy to wrestle with the questions. What's important is
that the baby is fine and that Mary is safe. As sleep comes he remembers
the name the angel told him to use—Jesus. "We will call Him Jesus."
Wide awake is Mary. My, how young she looks! Her head rests on the soft
leather of Joseph's saddle. The pain has been eclipsed by wonder. She
looks into the face of the baby. Her son. Her Lord. His Majesty. At this
point in history, the human being who best understands who God is and
what He is doing is a teenage girl in a smelly stable. She can't take
her eyes off Him.
Somehow Mary knows she is holding God. So this is He. She remembers the
words of the angel, "His kingdom will never end."
He looks like anything but a king. His face is prunish and red. His cry,
though strong and healthy, is still the helpless and piercing cry of a
baby. And He is absolutely dependent upon Mary for His well-being.
Majesty in the midst of the mundane. Holiness in the filth of sheep
manure and sweat. Divinity entering the world on the floor of a stable,
through the womb of a teenager and in the presence of a carpenter.
She touches the face of the infant-God. How long was Your journey!
This baby had overlooked the universe. These rags keeping Him warm were
the robes of eternity. His golden throne room had been abandoned in
favor of a dirty sheep pen. And worshiping angels had been replaced with
kind but bewildered shepherds.
Meanwhile, the city hums. The merchants are unaware that God is visiting
their planet. The innkeeper would never believe that he had just sent
God into the cold. And the people would scoff at anyone who told them
the Messiah lay in the arms of a teenager on the outskirts of their
village. They were all too busy to consider the possibility.
Those who missed His Majesty's arrival that night missed it not because
of evil acts or malice; no, they missed it because they simply weren't
looking.
Little has changed in the last two thousand years, has it?
* * *
Happy New Year 2005
Shi Yali
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