I just love this time of year because it is absolutely insane.
Think about the absolute absurdity of this whole story.
The Highest King of kings ascended to the lowest of lows, and then He died for a bunch of people who weren’t going to care, who would mock, hate, and blaspheme Him. He declared His forgiveness and grace so abundant that even the most notorious sinners–the most gruesome murderers and most successful traffickers and rapists–even them, maybe especially them–might come into the fold of Grace. Where there is great sin, there is greater Grace.
I think about the absurdity of the Christmas story, of the Gospel, often. My friend actually talked about it in a message the other day, and she specifically talked about the unconditional Love extended to the oppressor just as to the oppressed. Just as we see God comforting the victim, He also brings the victimizer to Himself.
Christmas is the most insane thing because Jesus wrapped Himself in flesh for the Joy of one day holding for the rest of Eternity a bunch of people Who let Him down over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again–because He is Love Himself.
Grace runs low–Grace runs low.
Think of Jesus’s mother, even–grace runs low into places like Nazareth, into disgraced families and supposedly broken promises and proposals. The lowest places, the most unexpected places–everyone was looking for a high-ranking kingly figure, not a poor, unremarkable man whose entire ministry was isolated in 3 years of His 33 years. Unremarkable–the story of Christmas really is unremarkable. A pregnant, poor, unmarried woman had a baby in a cave somewhere in a tiny town surrounded by people who had no respect for her or her fiance.
Incredibly unremarkable. And yet the center of all history. Because this unremarkable, regular, shameful, broken story turned into the greatest Love story ever told. It’s been spoken over us by this God who we can’t seem to believe wants anything to do with us. And yet–
That is unfathomably wonderful.