For years, every time I looked at the Christian cross, I thought of death, betrayal and abandonment.  I had been raised in a home with a recovering Catholic, my mother.  Throughout her childhood she had the all-too-familiar experience of mean nuns and unsympathetic priests.  Needless to say Christian symbols and the bible were caste in the most negative of light…but I alone, I found myself drawn to Christian beliefs…

 I studied the bible first through the lens of English Literature in college, but I was not satisfied.  Soon I found myself drawn into a church community when I was in my mid-twenties and reeling from a broken heart.  There I discovered a loving God (quite different from my impressions as a child) yet still the bible and its many Christian symbols were meaningless to me…until several years ago. 

We joined a local Christian Church when our kids were toddlers and I began attending weekly Bible study classes with our minister.  It was around Easter and our minister asked me what I thought of the cross?

 I replied a bit defensively, “Well, not a lot.  I’m not sure what this die for my sins stuff is – what sins?  I like to think about Jesus’ teachings instead – specifically from the mountain top.”

 She smiled and said, “Well, I think you will discover there is more to it.”  We then began discussing the disciples with the entire group and I was appalled.  What?  Was she questioning my understanding of Jesus and God?  That I am not tied to that Catholic sin crap – I know she is also a recovering Catholic – this is leftover stuff…and I dismissed her words.

 A few weeks later my world fell apart.  Our son was hurt by a babysitter – shaken-baby syndrome.  We didn’t know at the time that was what had happened – he just started having seizures.  Up to 30 a day, both day and night.  It was horrendous.

 One day I noticed, I had become Mary, helplessly watching my child twist, writhe and fall down stairs over and over.  My son’s experience was beyond my control.  I couldn’t understand why this was happening.  I could only helplessly pray and think of Mary.  I had been so angry at her over the years – how could she stand by as her son was tortured and nailed to a cross?  Didn’t she love him?  Why didn’t she throw herself before the Romans to stop this madness?  How could she abandon him and how could the father, God, not ‘save’ him? 

 And then I realized Mary, she couldn’t change Jesus’ path.  Mary loved Jesus enough to stay with him as he followed his own soul’s calling.  The calling of Jesus’ soul was to be with us – God with us – always.  Thus he was bound to experience not only the joys of life but the pain too.  When you are betrayed, God knows this pain through Jesus and Judas.  When you are abandoned, God even knows this as Jesus cried out to God on the cross… 

 Suddenly I understood, the bible speaks of a Living God, who loves me enough to know my pain intimately, even on a cross.  Today I look at the cross and see love.  I know a God who is with me in my triumphs as well as my darkest hour, for didn’t you know?  Jesus died for our sins. 

 The true definition of sin in the bible is “that which separates you from God.”  I am no longer separated from God, for God is with me always – from sun shiny mountain tops to the dregs of despair, God is with me. 

 Our son recovered from the abuse suddenly – one day there were seizures and the next they were gone.  I am forever grateful for this highly traumatic experience because the sin, the separation, has vanished from my life.  I live every day knowing I am in relationship with a Living God and all things are possible.  I know miracles first hand and I am grateful to be so blessed. 

Sometimes I forget I love Christmas.  Sometimes I get sidetracked by all the stuff, the impending arrival of relatives, the gifts, the ill-will of certain individuals, even myself.  I forget I love Christmas, because on this day so many, many years ago – I know a God that began to live with me.  I know a God that sent his child, really his own self, to live among men – not as a King with riches to spare, but as an “everyman” brought into this world through an unwed mother, poor, but never abandoned. It took me years to understand the significance of this…When we think of God – maybe we think all-powerful, the ultimate “in-control.”  Surely the God of the Old Testament displayed this imagery both positively and negatively.  (Let us not forget rainbows where a sign of God’s never-ending love after he leveled humanity…an earlier version of flowers as a make-up gift I’m thinking.)   The God of the New Testament is the vision I most closely relate to…This is the God that runs arms out-stretched for his prodigal son – aaaghh, this is my God.  A God that knows no limits – that is always available to me if only I would just turn my face to him, to her.   Long ago, in the dark of night, a couple struggled to bring a child into the world.  Joseph did his best, finding shelter where there seemed to be none.  Mary lay her newborn in the only resting space available to her – a manger where animals surely ate from moments before.  Did she know that this was the beginning?  The child she held in her womb so tenderly, even as those around her must have pointed fingers and whispered?  Did she really believe anyone bought her stories of angels? This was the beginning – confusing, slightly scandalize, but a miracle none the less.  If you believe the story, Jesus the son of God, then you know the miracle.  The Jews of Jesus’ day were on the lookout for a savior who was promised to save them.  Of course they were looking for a King in the guise of maybe someone like the powerful King David.  Isn’t that always what we believe – might and bravado will win out?  Some things never change… But, how does the savior come?  Poor, son of an unwed mother, on the margins of society – the last, almost forgotten among us.  Why did he come from the least among us?  I believe he came this way to know us better, to support each of us more.  Haven’t each of us been marginalized, less-then sometime?  Jesus came to be with us, not above us.   This is my God who came to the world, frail and helpless, dependant on the kindness of others.  He came to be loved and maligned.  He came to heal.  He came bearing the name Emanuel – translated “God with us.” He came to live with us, as I believe he still does everyday in so many different ways.  Reminding me always – I too am a beloved child of God.  May you have a very, merry Christmas.   Peace be with you.