The absurdity of God’s birth

It seems strange to me, but I have been looking forward to Advent this year. For those unaware, Advent is the four week spiritual preparation to remember the birth of Christ. Christmas day is celebrated by Christians the world over to remember when God broke the metaphysical barrier of being pure spirit and consciousness, and entered our world in flesh – as the most innocent and vulnerable  of beings – a baby.

What’s even more absurd to contemplate is how He arrives into earth. Born in the crudity and coldness of a manger – a barn fit for sheltering only cows and sheep. Entrusted into the arms of the humblest of parents, who come from a forgotten corner of the Roman Empire. Placed in a trough rather than a cradle. 

That is what Advent is: A spiritual preparation to fully embrace God’s humility in coming to earth. It is commemorated each Sunday with the lighting of an Advent candle for the four Sundays that precede Christmas. Each candle symbolises the virtue of hope, peace, joy and love – a crescendo of anticipation that culminates to Christmas Day – when Christ is born.

God became man. It is breathtaking because as Christians, we truly believe God became man. God walked amongst us, He is a part of human history. He is no myth.

And His coming to earth sets into motion the promise that God made when Adam and Eve were cast out of Eden. When their decision to take fate into their own hands meant that death would become our eternity. God came to save us from that fate by becoming human so He could defeat death (see the reflection on “Why on earth did Jesus have to die on the cross to save us?”).

He came to save you from that hellish destiny. He came to save me. We were always destined to share an eternal love with God, thanks to His coming to earth.

Resolution

As part of my spiritual preparation, I made a conscious decision a few years ago to give up alcohol, sweets and meat. I purposefully chose to treat Advent like Lent in terms of the fasting, so I could concentrate on making the weeks of Advent as a preparation for Christmas. The difference between the intention between Lent and Advent was that whilst the former was as penance, the latter was focused anticipation. To truly put myself in a space where I am awaiting the birth of the Messiah, and have no distractions in contemplating what that truly means for the salvation of humanity.

The reason why I was surprised at being excited about Advent coming this year is because I usually find it more difficult to fast in Advent than in Lent. During Lent, most people join in the tradition of giving something up in the run up to Easter. It is a communal sacrifice.

But in Advent – it is full on revelry in the run up to Christmas. Which is wonderful because I love joyous occasions. I love how everyone is exultant ahead of Christmas holidays. But it is also awfully tempting for me – which makes it a better period to exercise self-control. Just look at all that mulled wine, those sugar cookies, those meaty canapés.

Fortunately, fasting is a good reason to say, “Oh no, I could not possible have those mince pies and fruit cake before Christmas.”  

Awaiting

But this year, about two or three weeks before Advent started, I had this image in my head, inspired by a Christmas card a friend sent. Of shepherds, watching the flocks by night and looking up at the stars.

I grew up in the Middle East, so in my mind, I was superimposing my childhood memory of seeing Arabian bedouins herding sheep, with my imagination of what it would be like to be a Jewish shepherd in the hill country of Judea . Not quite the same thing, but not far off either. Certainly closer than the usual Christmas card images of snow covered fir trees, gingerbread houses and a bright red Santa being pulled by flying reindeer on a gift laden sleigh.

In my imaginative contemplation as a shepherd in the desert, I could see this vast expanse of rolling sand dunes, and feel the dense night air carry the musky smell of the sheep behind me. Being in the middle of this vast land under a wide sky, I feel both insignificant and hugely expansive. 

It is what I have always loved about being in the desert at night.  Infinitesimally small in the infinite space of land and sky. As if I was standing in the palm of God’s hand: safe, secure, loved. 

And I look up, gazing at a star that seems to illuminate the inky sky more brightly than the rest. And I wonder – God, are you here with me? Have you come to be with me?

This one image, this one imaginative experience, has been beckoning me before Advent started. Now that Advent has arrived, I settle into this delicious anticipation, serene in its confidence that a promise will be kept, a desire fulfilled. The moment is pregnant with joy: the awaited Messiah has come.  I sense it even before I can fully witness it with my own eyes. 

I gaze up at the bright star, and with the staff firmly in hand, take a step in its direction.  

“And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in clothes and lying in a manger.’” (Luke 8:12)