Pretty Lights

One of my favorite things this Christmas season has been watching Victor enjoy our Christmas lights.

Pretty much every morning when he gets up, the first thing he sees is the Christmas lights, and he'll point to them with a big smile.

While he's eating cereal in his chair, he'll pause every now and then to point at the lights on top of the bookcase, just admiring them.

It is such a delight to watch his delight.



And it makes me think again of where I was a year ago...

(written December 2011)

I’m 36 weeks pregnant with our first child, so our Christmas decorating is quite minimalist this year. But my dear husband did me a favor and strung some white Christmas lights in our living room—my favorite symbol of Advent.

The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.
—John 1:5 (NASB)

Not comprehended. Despite the whirlwind that the Christmas season brings today, the first Christmas went virtually unnoticed. Christ’s arrival was so unimpressive that it lacked the simple courtesy of housing and concern of family and friends.

When Mary’s cousin Elizabeth gave birth to John the Baptist, neighbors and relatives gathered around, and they rejoiced with her (Luke 1:58). But Mary gave birth, wrapped her Son herself, and nestled him into the feeding trough (2:7) alone—if there were any assistants or onlookers, they aren’t mentioned.

He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him.
—John 1:11

Inhospitable. In the midst of the upheaval of a census, there was plenty of giving in the season of Christ’s birth—everyone was compelled to return to their roots to give their dues to Caesar. But this was no season of joyful generosity; no warm welcome was extended to the very-pregnant Mary and Joseph.

They appear to arrive in Bethlehem unfashionably late—too tardy for hotel accommodations and relegated to sleeping with the animals. That night, perhaps the only joyful Gift-Giver was the Father himself, who sent his priceless Son, the long-awaited Messiah, in such a non-pretentious way that—right from the start—hardly anybody believed who he was.

He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him.
—John 1:10

Ordinary. Children are born every day. In fact, there’s never been a person since Adam and Eve who didn’t come by the same bloody, humiliating, excruciating entrance. A helpless baby, needing every practical care from regular feedings to clean diapers—that was the form that our Master Creator took when he came on the most valiant, glorious rescue expedition this world has ever known.

The Maker cloaked himself in clay, not zapping the world with some kind of redemptive lightning bolt, but submerging himself in humanity, taking on our ordinary flesh.

And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.
—John 1:14

Rejected. This stunning incarnation of God’s glory was presumed illegitimate, an exile almost from birth. And in human eyes, he never rose much higher. Led a rag-tag dozen followers. Mingled with prostitutes and sinners. Homeless. Hated by both political and religious leaders. Betrayed by a friend. Condemned and crucified. Not the heroic profile that most Jews were looking for in a Savior, much less the world beyond.

In him was life, and the life was the Light of men.
—John 1:4

Illumination. When Christ came, he plunged into a dark and broken place not just to enlighten the ignorant, but to pierce, defeat, and dispel the blinding fog of sin. He was the Sunrise from on high who visited us to shine upon those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death (Luke 1:78–79, NASB).

He lived perfectly. He died willingly. And rising again, he both forged and illuminated a single way of escape from the grip of the devil. He emerged as the Victor over sin and death, rending the impenetrable veil between holy God and sinful man.

But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.—John 1:12–13

Adopter. He came as a child. Because we are flesh and bones, he himself likewise partook of the same things (Hebrews 2:14). He entered Adam’s helpless race. And for any who will believe, the offer is incredible—be born into God’s family, be made a very child of God (1 John 3:1).

Our own baby—currently kicking me in the ribs and making it harder to breathe—will soon break into this broken world, bringing his own sin-darkened heart. Like every other son of Adam, he’ll be born with a narcissistic egocentric complex (as a bib reads, “Those fools put my cape on backwards …”). And what hope do we have for him?

Oh, may our unlikely Savior, coming in humility, without impressive fanfare to suffer and die—may he trump the darkness and stand forth in blazing glory as Light and Life.

For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.
—John 1:16–17

O come, baby, and come, my own heart, let us adore him, Christ the Lord.