Here. Yes here. Planet earth.
Sent.
He arrived in the humblest of circumstances. Yet at the certain will of the Father.
Helpless. Formed in the womb of a Jewish girl. Made of the humus of earth. Like us. For our sakes.
Vulnerable in the extreme—like us. For our sakes.
(The conspiracy to get him starting relentlessly at his arrival—Herod the pawn obeying his gov/god to kill him. He will experience this again and again, and repeatedly he will be spared until his hour, his glorious hour, has at last come.)
Born to die. Born to raise the sons of earth. Born to give them second birth.
Sent—had to grow like all of us—inside a woman. Had to be nursed, cuddled, nurtured—like us. For our sakes.
Think of it and be shocked. Disturbed.
Came leaving behind all those treasures of wisdom and knowledge, coming with an uneducated mind, learned about living on this earth—like us. For our sakes.
Can this really be the Logos, the eternal One?
Utterly unexpected. His own people totally unprepared for this.
And who is prepared to experience him, his loving confrontation, his transforming authority? Who will hear his voice and rush into his embrace?
Now Christmas is over. Let’s get back to normal living? Without him, the real Jesus.
Now the packaged Jesus disappears from the shelves. The religious ‘advent’ of baby Jesus in a manger. The plastic churchy copy already fading waiting for the next fad to trifle with?
Yet He remains, calling new sons and daughters to his movement—calling those who have the ears to hear to assemble around him. The true Christmas Day began and has not ceased. This is the DAY when his voice can still be heard. It remains.
Hear his voice and turn before that DAY ends.
For it will end. Sooner than you think.
Ian Thomson 