This year, the week before Christmas, we had the joy of visiting our son and daughter-in-law in Texas. It’s always great to see them but this year was, well, especially special: We also got to see our first grandchild—a tiny little boy who was only two and a half weeks old when we first held him. It was a delight being there. In that short week, I think we could almost watch him grow.
One morning, I got up early, sat at their kitchen table, and began to scribble out the following thoughts, thoughts I planned to use at this year’s Christmas Eve service (a service we almost missed due to a late plane connection in Atlanta—but that’s another story). I’ve tried to weave together two ideas, our experience in seeing our grandchild for the first time and how I’ve so often heard mothers say, “No matter how old your child gets he/she will always be a baby to you.”
This is as I presented it on Christmas Eve, with only some minor edits. I have, of course, also used a bit of imagination in Mary's story.
Some Thoughts on Going to See a Baby
We missed the cantata last Sunday. We heard it was great but, you see, we had gone to see a Baby. In fact, if you had come by our home, we wouldn’t have answered the door; we weren’t there, we had gone to see a Baby. Nor would we have answered the phone, had you called; we had gone to see a Baby.
One night, hundreds of years ago, had you searched on the hills outside Bethlehem, you would have found some sheep; you wouldn’t have found the shepherds. You would have searched all over the hills for those shepherds and not found them. They had gone to see a Baby.
Of course, that same night, if you had somehow been able to look into the throne room of heaven, you would have found it wasn’t quite as full as usual. A whole multitude of angels was missing. Those angels that Isaiah said spent their entire time praising God—where were they? They had gone to see a Baby.
A few days later, at the temple in Jerusalem, you might have seen an old man and an old woman praying there. Everyone knew them, Anna and Simeon; they were familiar faces around the temple. But, today, their faces seem different: They are brighter, more joyful, satisfied. When they rose this morning, they didn’t know their dreams were about to come true, didn’t know, as they walked the familiar streets to the temple, they were going to see a Baby.
Later, in far away Babylon, you would have heard rumors that some of the Magi (wise men) had been gone a long time. There were lots of explanations offered for their absence but the most persistent was that they had gone to see a Baby.
Years have passed and a worried mother and father are rushing back to Jerusalem. They had been to a festival, left for home, and found someone was missing. They were rushing back, hoping to see their Baby.
They found him and the whole experience left his mother pondering, thinking deep, deep thoughts every time she saw her Baby.
Now many years have passed and the Baby born in Bethlehem had grown to become a man who did remarkable things and spoke remarkable words. A good mother, Mary could probably sense the tension growing around her son—her Baby. Of course, many loved him. But many hated him. And those who hated him were the ones with influence and power. Their hatred for him had been growing, yet, when the crisis came, it seemed to come quickly. She feared for her Baby.
She didn’t want to believe the sentence that had been passed. She knew what it meant. She had heard the horror stories. She didn’t want to go out to that hill. But she couldn’t leave him to die alone. She had to see her Baby.
When it was over, his mother sat alone. His closest friends were in hiding. Some of the women were looking after her. This morning some of those women had gone to make sure her Baby’s body was properly prepared for its endless stay in the tomb—the tomb donated by the kindly Joseph of Arimathea. Joseph had been her husband’s name. She wished he were here but, of course, he wasn’t. So, she was alone with her thoughts, thoughts about her Baby. She remembered holding him to her breast, she remembered watching him take his first steps, she remembered seeing her growing boy play in the Galilean sun, she remembered feeling proud as he worked with Joseph’s tools, all the while wondering what would become of her son, her Baby.
Then, she remembered the last time she had seen him. Was this what old Simeon had meant when he told her “a sword will pierce your heart,” words he had spoken to her that long ago day in the temple when he saw her Baby?
Mary was shaken from her thought when one of the other women came in. She, too, was named Mary. This Mary was a woman with a sketchy past, a woman whose life had been changed when she met Mary of Nazareth’s son. This Mary Magdalene had left this morning a picture of grief. Now, back from her errand, she was excited, joyous in fact. Mary of Magdala breathlessly said, “Mary, Mary, I’ve seen him, seen your Baby!”
The world has never been the same since Mary and Joseph first saw that Baby. Oh, yes, there is still hatred, still wars, still sorrow, But, perhaps, that’s because so many don’t really understand Christmas, haven’t really seen the Baby.
