Mmmmmmm, sweaters.
For most, the season we current inhabit in one which has a great deal to do with gifts, and the giving of such. These gifts take a variety of different shapes. The article of clothing mentioned above tends to make an appearance, though whether they are desired by all remains a debate. Various electronic gadgetry, plastic cards representing great wealth, hand-crafted items (of varying quality), all of these find their places under certain arboreal altars, in abnormally large socks, or at times wooden shoes. We all appreciate the opportunity to receive such wondrous things.
Several questions come along with this season, however. Always present, the question of "why" makes an appearance. Why are these gifts given? A myriad of answers present themselves, be it loving care, social obligation, fulfilling a certain "holiday spirit," what have you. This question deserves an entire discussion of its own. For now, it will get nothing it deserves because it was very bad this year, and instead will be ignored completely.
Thankfully, another question exhibited much better behavior, thus opening it up for examination (as authorized by the strange, "Big-Brother-Esque" law of Christmas). The question which proves more interesting in the moment is how? In what matter, with what attitude are these gifts given? Do we give the gift begrudgingly, with apathy, with love?
There's one gift in particular I'm thinking about at the moment, a gift often discussed in churches at this time of year. The gift of the Christ, Jesus. Many of us just spent (and may still be spending) time singing beautiful centuries old songs declaring the coming of this gift. I myself joined in this very activity not two days ago. Yet, for the first time, I started asking about the nature of this gift. Not the why of Jesus' coming, but the how.
Here's how I think we often think about Jesus' coming to the earth. God, rather than looking like a loving father, appears as something much more sinister. Imagine a man who has just lost his wife, a woman of great means. Relatives and "friends," who only cared about the woman for her money, come around asking what the man plans to do with this, that, or the other thing. They keep asking and asking, he keeps giving and giving, hoping to honor the memory of his lost wife. Finally, so much has been taken that all that remains is his wife's favorite locket, her most prized possession, the very last thing the man has to remember the love of his life. People keep asking about the locket over and over, insisting the man should give it, that it would make them happier than it could make him. After years of asking, in a rage the man hurls the locket at the proverbial vulture, shouting "Fine! Take it, you monster!" The man then retreats to a dark corner of his home, never to be heard from again.
At times, this is the attitude with which we think God sent Jesus. He had seen so many terrible things happen, had so much taken, been wronged in so many ways, but we just kept on asking for more. In our sin, we continually came back and asked for yet another piece of his love. Finally, in frustrated desperation, God hurled his only son down the world, offering up his greatest gift as a last ditch effort, for he had nothing left to offer.
This belief, however, is a lie, one which does us no good to believe. That oft quoted passage tells us that "God so loved the world that He gave His only one and only son," not "to condemn the world the world, but to save it through him." In this verse, and the surrounding narrative of the gospel, I don't see a God who, having exhausted all other options, angrily gives up his son. Rather than a gift of exasperated anger, I see this as a gift undying love. God knew he would have to give his son to show the whole world his love, and Jesus knew he would have to sacrifice himself for that love to be made known. They both made that choice, and they made it for us.
I think this is something worth reflecting on. We do not stand as persistent nags, awkwardly holding God's beloved child as he storms off into the dark. Rather, he invites us to open the gift he has lovingly prepared since long before we were even a thought. This season, better than any, is a time to reflect on the beautiful nature of this gift, and the unceasingly loving heart with which God offers his son to us.
I hope, for each of you, that this time is filled with an abundance of love, whatever form that may take. Merry Christmas.
With His love and grace,
Taylor
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