By Rev. Fritz Ritsch
If you are, or have been, the parent of new baby, you’ve become intensely aware that in most social situations that baby in your arms is a ticking time bomb. Your little bundle of joy could go off at any moment: in the theater, in the supermarket, in the restaurant, even here in church—and people will turn and give you “that look”—the look that means, “What were you thinking, bringing that baby in here?”
When that happens, I’m often reminded of the words of the writer of Psalm 8: “Out of the mouths of babes and infants you have founded a bulwark because of your foes, to silence the enemy and the avenger.” To the psalmist apparently, this most mundane, even annoying sound is gifted by God with the spiritual power to stave off the danger of terrorists and assassins. The cry of a baby is the ultimate proof that life is more powerful than death. So cry away, babies, and thank you for the blessing you bestow upon us when you enter our doors!
At Christmas we read of the shepherds out minding their flocks in the hills surrounding Bethlehem, when suddenly they are confronted with an incredible display of the supernatural: Angels singing “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and God’s blessing to all humanity!”
The angels invite them to see a great miracle: The absolute evidence of God’s miraculous hand bringing about the cosmic salvation of the universe, the living embodiment of God’s presence on earth.
What is this great miracle?
“You will see a babe, wrapped in swaddling clothes, and lying in a manger.”
The miracle is a baby in a diaper. Lying in a feed trough.
You know, except for the feed trough part, you probably can’t get more normal and everyday than a newborn baby in a diaper.
It makes you wonder if angels are just awestruck every time we sneeze or put our clothes on. “Look,” they might say in amazement, “that little girl is sneaking food to her baby brother!” “Look there! That grown up business woman is laughing at a joke!” “Amazing—those people are crying—maybe it’s because their hearts are broken, or maybe it’s because they are moved by the needs of others. I just wish I could cry.”
Those casual, every-day, human things, yet to angels they might be miracles, because they are signs—signs that human beings are made in the image of God.
Luke celebrates the miracle of the mundane: It is to working class peasants that the good news is proclaimed! (“Wow,” the angels said, “we get to talk to shepherds! I’ve always wished I could be a shepherd, and get to herd sheep!”) The messiah is born in a stable. (Sadly, the angels thought, “You know, all I can do is fly around and play the harp. I wish I could shovel manure….”).
And maybe the angels look with awe and wonder at the character traits that we humans take for granted. “Can you believe the patience and hope that Mary and Joseph have, to bear the stress of living under the thumb of Rome, the pressure of dealing with taxation?”
The angels shake their heads in amazement, and continue: “For that matter, look at the way that humans can still love and hope and show mercy even in the pressures of the post-9/11 world, Even with the stress of the home mortgage debacle, Even with demanding jobs for adults and high academic and social pressure on kids. What incredible strength of character and fortitude those humans have!”
And we ourselves become signs to the people who meet us out there beyond these four walls—because we are bearing the Christ inside of us outside into a hungry world. Each one of us is the evidence that God is among us, each one, the proof of God’s love for humanity, each one a miraculous sign of the miracle of Christ’s life, death and resurrection.
This season, enjoy the miracle that you, and everyone around you, is a living sign of the love of God.