The stable has always intrigued me. Not the shepherds and wise men, so-called. Not Joseph and Mary. But the stable. The idea of it. The feel of it. The smell of it. The sounds within it. The earthiness and even vulgarity of such a setting for such a thing as we celebrate. I am taken with its fundamental humility. Holiness incarnate comes in a squealing child of questionable genetics born under unfortunate circumstance. God with us. God. With us. Deeply intimate with our humanity, exposure, vulnerability. Only a God such as this could have my allegiance—does have my allegiance.
Author Madeleine L’Engle refers to this strange occurrence in her book by the same title as “the Glorious Impossible.” Sprung from God’s holy imagination, human minds could not have conjured such a thing. It situates just beyond the limits of believability, beckoning our faith that this child holds the key to unlocking life’s great mysteries.
Once again Mary has reason to ponder these matters in her heart. As the story is told, you recall she did the same following Gabriel’s announcement; that is, she set to pondering. In the face of such an astonishing occurrence, pondering seems an appropriately humble posture. We can benefit from a lot more of it.
Among the things we might ponder includes the path this child will walk as he grows into adulthood. How it begins in humility and ends in humility. And in between those bookends, a revelation of love that was higher, wider, deeper than any humans had yet imagined. This love would prove larger than death and, looping back to this night’s wonderment, how appropriate that this love begins in birth.