There are so many faithful angles from which to approach Christmas.
We can teach love as a Christian imperative, grounded in Jesus' own example. We can point to the simplicity of a love born in a stable. We can open Philippians and dwell in the richness of not holding on to privilege:
"Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness." (Philippians 2:6–7)
All of these are beautiful teachings, ones I've used myself through the decades, trying to nurture an alternative community of believers who behave as if the Kingdom of God were real and near.
I would even say that my favorite Christmas story is actually John 1:
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth." (John 1:1–5, 14)
I am even comfortable letting a little Easter bleed into Christmas. We have done that before, producing large events in Mexico, because telling the whole story always mattered more to us than liturgical neatness.
But there is one thing I still struggle to understand.
How can we celebrate the incarnation, God moving toward humanity, emptying Himself, entering vulnerability, proximity, and risk, while our lives so often move in the opposite direction? We exit the communities where the poor and the marginalized remain. We remove our magna cum laude kids from the schools where their presence could have embodied the Kingdom. We choose insulation over incarnation and call it wisdom.
We celebrate Emmanuel while organizing short-term trips that allow us to come in resourced, protected, photographed, and able to leave. We help from a distance. We serve with return tickets. We call it mission, but we retain all the leverage. Do we even remember what it feels like to be vulnerable to someone else's power?
So the question is not whether Christmas is beautiful. The hard question is whether we believe our behavior mirrors His.
Because God did not bring help to the needy. He became needy. Jesus did not arrive resourced, protected, or able to leave at all. He burned the ships. He did not provide salvation. He is salvation.
And this is where it gets uncomfortable.
My wife and I are connected (she is really, I'm just moral support, lol) to an organization that walks closely with people who are vulnerable and in need. In a recent conversation regarding Mt 25, the familiar phrase came up, "I'm here to help you."
That phrase makes me pause.
All of us at the table agreed that people who are sick, marginalized, or homeless can see right through that narrative. They are often far more perceptive than we assume. They can tell when our presence is truly about their need, and when it is quietly also about ours. Many times, we are the ones who need a service human. We need to feel useful. We need to feel generous. We need a story we can tell ourselves and our friends about where we serve.
They see that. And sometimes they are willing to "let us pet them," not because they need our help, but because they understand our need for affirmation, meaning, and dignity.
And the opposite is true as well. People see through the BS and open up when real, incarnational help shows up. And that is why you are KILLING IT, Vale!
But that is not what Christmas is about. Christmas is not God showing up to help from a position of control. God did not say, "I am here to help you." God said, "I am here." And He stayed.
That is the scandal of the incarnation (if you need help understanding it, ask Vale).
Emmanuel is not service. It is solidarity.
If God with us is real and near, then discipleship should be risky and here.
Oh, come, Emmanuel, the church needs you!!