And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.
John 1:14
In my parents house is a beautiful nativity scene set up perfectly. The figures are arranged carefully: Mary and Joseph gazing at the child, shepherds approaching in wonder, animals gathered near. It is far nicer than the plastic one we trust our children with. In ours the trees have blue tac and the angel has been replaced by a dinosaur. But the kids love it - we’re recreating the moment when heaven touched earth.
Some people say, I’d have to see it to believe it! Why do we recreate these scenes every year in our houses? Because the moment that changed the world is so incredible, we want to try to see it for ourselves. We need to see it, to hold it in our hands, to place it where we’ll encounter it daily.
Every religion teaches that we must climb up to God, that we must make ourselves worthy, that we must achieve enlightenment or moral perfection. But Christmas is the story of God coming down to us - meeting us in our inadequacy.
The nativity scene shows us God in the most vulnerable form possible—a baby who cannot speak, cannot walk, cannot feed himself. This is not a God who keeps his distance, demanding we prove ourselves before he’ll draw near. This is a God who makes himself small enough to hold, weak enough to need us, close enough to touch.
God became flesh. He became knowable. He became touchable. He became present.
When you look at your nativity scene, you’re looking at the moment of perfect unity between heaven and earth. You’re looking at a God who doesn’t just watch from afar but enters in, shares our sorrows, knows our struggles from the inside.
