The best Christmas gift I ever received came in a brown, wooden briefcase.
It was Christmas in the late 2000s and I, still harboring youthful curiosity, could not wait to unlock the briefcase’s silver clasps and discover what could possibly be inside. Situated next to the Christmas tree, my mom and dad watched me expectantly, beaming with glee in anticipation of my reaction. With much bravado, I unlatched the locks and swung the briefcase open wide.
Inside laid almost a hundred different kinds of art supplies, glittering and radiant. Vibrant oil pastels, sharpened charcoal pens, color pencils in any shade imaginable. I stole a look at my parents to see if I was overreacting. Before I could, the pair of them rushed to my side, unboxing the little treasures for me and soaking in the satisfaction of our shared affection.
Though I loved art with all my might and considered myself creative, I did not remember telling either of my parents this. How had they picked such a perfect gift? They must have been watching me, I concluded. There was no way they would have known that art meant the world to me if they did not truly know me.
The willingness to be close to someone—this kind of personal intimacy—is crucial to keeping good relationships. Truthfully, the greatest act of nearness was Christ’s incarnate birth: His coming down from the throne of Heaven to dwell among His people here on Earth. The Messiah’s willingness to become flesh made way for a deepened relationship and fuller knowledge of the glory of God. For in humbling Himself, “taking the very nature of a servant,” Christ understood what it means to be a human (Phil. 2:7). In this way, He is now experientially knowledgeable of both holy godliness and ordinary humanity.
For some, the Christmas season may be a time of feeling unknown or unseen. Amid the busyness, holiday cheer can sometimes be drowned out by feeling intense grief, uncertainty, and hopelessness. In light of loss, celebration may be undesirable. Even more so, those carrying burdens may assume that their broken heart prevents them from being fully understood. In times of rich celebration, sharing sufferings can feel like a weighty and burdensome task.
Yet, the God of All Creation knew of each person’s brokenness before the Earth was formed. Even still, He loved His people first (1 John 4:19), remained near to the brokenhearted (Ps 34:18), and sent His Son to Earth to be called Immanuel, or God with us (Is 7:14). His very name denotes nearness, a return to the days in the Garden of Eden when God and man communed daily. For if life in the Garden of Eden was declared good by God, then the birth of Jesus reconciles the closeness once had with God.
Ultimately, the Gospel itself can be clearly seen in Jesus’ birth: God desires a personal relationship with every person, rooted in His deep love for His Created. By His immeasurable kindness, His willingness to send his only son to earth, His people can once more draw near to the throne of grace (Heb 4:16). “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us,” just as God dwelt with Adam and Eve in the beginning (John 1:14).
May you live in the light of Christ’s nearness and truth this Christmas. For as He dwelt among us on that first Christmas night, He will soon return and make all things new.
Questions to consider:
- How can I love my neighbor this Christmas, remembering that Christ is near to the brokenhearted?
- Who in my life needs to be reminded of the Gospel this Christmas?