In the Old Testament stories of the fathers of our faith – Abraham, Jacob, Moses – they speak of seeing the face of God. For these men of ancient days, there was the longing to see, the hope of seeing, and yet, for most, the impossibility of seeing God face to face. Still they hoped.
We, too, might know this yearning, this desire to see God and feel God’s presence more fully. Because there is something in us that knows: in nearness to God we may know life in its fullness.
It is a great mystery, one that we find ourselves drawn to again and again.
It is this mystery that showed itself to Mary and Joseph, each one of them visited by an angel. In these visions, or dreams, they learned that they would become parents together of a very special son – one who would bring salvation to the world.
It is this mystery that showed itself to the shepherds in the fields. I don’t know if these men had ever been visited by divine messengers before, but they clearly were that night and they knew it. The heavenly host appeared, the sky lit up with the glory of the Lord. Believing what the angel told them they made haste to Bethlehem, to see “this thing that has taken place.” And all who heard were amazed at what the shepherds told them.
It is this mystery that showed itself to the wise men in the east – far away from where this event took place. When they saw the star, they knew that a new king had been born – one worth traveling many miles to foreign lands, so they might bow before him.
Herod could not see the mystery, of course, for he was a man filled with fear. Fear is the great enemy of faith.
But for those with eyes to see and ears to hear, the mystery of incarnation – God in the flesh – was revealed. On this night, it was possible to see the face of God.
With the birth of the Christ child, it became possible to see and hear and touch love. It became possible to know what it is to be fully human, as God originally intended us to be, and still yearns for us to be. In Christ, we may see the perfect connection of our humanity and our creator. How strange it is that it took the form of a small, weak, vulnerable infant.
All the kings the world has ever known have ruled with the power of armies – the power to take away life. All these kings have ruled by intimidation, by threat of violence of one form or another. Yet this king rules not by taking away life but by giving life. This king rules not by threat but by love. Who could ever imagine such a thing? It is, indeed, a mystery.
Forever, since that night when Mary gave birth to a baby boy and laid him in a manger, the world has struggled to comprehend this mystery. How can we understand power in weakness? How can we seek salvation in such vulnerability? And how can we continue to see the face of God, the face of Christ, in some of the darkest and dreariest places?
Leo Tolstoy tells a story about an old man named Martin – a cobbler who lived alone in a little basement room where he worked, repairing shoes. He had long outlived his wife and all his children, and he was a lonely man. He felt that there was nothing left for him in life, and he wished for only one thing: to see the face of Christ. One night a voice came to him and said, “Martin, look out on the street for me tomorrow, for I shall come to you.”
The next morning, Martin thought, “today is the day.” He sat at his bench, positioned so he could see clearly out the window while he worked. He watched the feet passing by. He saw an old man sweeping the streets stop; looking tired, he huddled against the wall, trying to warm himself. Martin invited him in. Soon the old man was warmed by three cups of tea and lively conversation. He went back out to finish his work, and Martin continued his watching, wondering when Christ would show himself.
He saw a young mother, poorly-dressed for the weather, looking too thin and too tired, trying to sooth the baby in her arms. He asked her to come in and he fed her soup and bread. He found her some warm clothes among his wife’s things. After she left, he went back to his workbench and watched, waiting for Christ to show himself.
Late in the day, he saw a tired old woman dragging a basket of apples. She had sold most of them, but then a boy ran up and tried to take what was left from her basket. With all the frustration and fear in her body she took after that boy, beating him fiercely. Martin quickly put down his work and rushed out in the street. He stepped between them and offered words of forgiveness and repentance. He helped make peace between the woman and the boy.
Martin went back inside. Darkness was falling. The lamplighters began lighting the streetlamps. This day was coming to an end, but Martin no longer wondered when Christ would show himself, for he knew that Christ had visited him three times that day.
Christ comes to us in weakness so we may respond in kindness, generosity, and love. He comes to us as one of us, so we may discover our true humanity through him.
And so, my friends, on this night we remember that we have been given the gift of seeing the face of God through a small child born into the humblest of circumstances. On this quiet night, we are shown that in Jesus we may better see the likeness of God that we bear within us.
On this darkest of nights, we remember the light that came into the world – the light that shines in the darkness, that will never be understood by those who reside in darkness, but neither will it be overcome by darkness. On this night, the light was born and showed the glory of God, in grace and in truth.
Jesus said to his followers, “You are the light of the world.”
May his light be reflected in you and in me.
____________________________________
Photo by Drew Patrick Miller on Unsplash
