God With Us

I tend to write a lot about the messiness of my life: the timeouts, the tantrums, the unfinished dishes, a dog who eats large pieces of furniture, the grading that is never finished, the husband who, when I must leave early for work, sends the kids to school dressed as extras for a Grapes of Wrath film shoot. This place of messiness is my current street address and zip code. I can't escape it, so I try to live there and laugh about it. Sometimes I cry, though mostly I laugh. Most days I am thankful. 

The messiness of my life is no different during the Christmas season, though modern culture seems to set the bar a little higher. There is a Hallmark set of expectations that come with Christmas: "Bing Crosby and chestnuts, on a friggin' open fire", and"What did that silly little elf do last night?," and "It is hard enough to take a picture, any picture, of my three kids standing together at the same time, let alone color coordinated, clean, and smiling for a Christmas card" and the "What kind of parent are you that you can't be at your kids' class Christmas parties?" version of mom guilt. 

Sometimes, the messiness of life is deeper than just blighted expectations. For those who are alone, this time of year can be lonelier. There are unrealized hopes, memories of better days, and loved ones who are no longer with us. There is failure and fear and the fact that sometimes doing all you can is not enough. There are students of mine, on this very cold night, who I know are without a warm home, who will receive very little or nothing at all for Christmas, whose deep pain at which I have only a glimpse. 

It weighs me down, these expectations, this messiness. During this time of year, I tend to laugh less and cry more. 

Why? Because I am not perfect. Because life can be messy and arbitrarily cruel. 

 And I want so very badly for just one month a year to create a version of the world where I can pretend that life is not messy. My own shortcomings and the world's failures, when set against the backdrop of our heightened set of expectations, are on more prominent display than the lopsided Christmas tree in my front window. 

Then I think how skewed my perception can be. I am reminded of how sinful and selfish and First World-ish is this picture of Christmas I have manufactured. 

Because Jesus came down at Christmas to us in a mess. He came to us in a messy world, much like the world we live in now. He was born among animals, in imperfect circumstances, to flawed parents. And he went on to live a scandalous, messy life. He healed people when they told him not to, spent time with those who were unclean, who were on the fringes of society, and who the religious establishment had deemed unworthy. He widened the boundaries and broke the rules and made enemies. But he did all of it in love, for love, so that two thousand years later, we could experience the messy, scandalous love of His presence.  

Christmas is Immanuel. God With Us. 

God With Us is the joy of Christmas, even in the absence of happiness, because joy is deep contentment that has nothing to do with the temporary messiness in our midst. God With Us is the hope of Christmas, even in the gritty reality of our circumstances, because this finite world is not the end of the story. There is so much more. Maybe best of all, God With Us is the promise that we are not alone in our mess. 

It's Christmas Eve, the apex of all ridiculous and worthy holiday expectations. If you are like me, there have been and will be tears, forgotten casseroles, or a fifteen minute late arrival to the Christmas Eve Service in which your husband is preaching. With a child who is crying. Because she ripped her tights.

Let it go.

Let today be a day that we anticipate the deliverance from the messiness that is our world, from the messiness of this life. Let us cling, despite ourselves, despite expectations, to the hope that is Immanuel. 

God With Us. 

Because life is messy, but we are not alone. This is joy.

Merry Christmas, friends.