Christmas Day (B): The Frustrating Child

Christmas Day (B): The Frustrating Child

John 1:1-14

By: Ryan Young

A friend of mine once told me that it is impossible for a parent to view Christmas through any other lens than that of parenthood. Until recently I didn’t understand what she meant, but now that I am the parent of a 2-month-old, I get it. So I have to apologize for writing another parent’s view of Christmas—these sorts of articles used to drive me mad—but after weeks and weeks of trying to write something else, I found that I can only see through the lens of my own parenthood right now.

Last year we only hung three of our four stockings. My wife and I had been trying to conceive for some months and had been met with nothing but frustration. The stocking we had bought and hoped to use as a pregnancy announcement went painfully unused. All the traditions surrounding Advent and Christmas—all our language about anticipating the long-awaited Christ child—took on new and painful meanings. It was difficult to celebrate the remembrance of Christ’s birth when we were unsure whether we would get to experience our own. We were parents aching for our child.

John’s prologue lays out a neat thesis of the gospel that follows, and it begins with an introduction of the Christ to whom it witnesses. In the beginning was the Word—the very Word which existed from the beginning and which created all that is. But there was a problem: darkness. Creation had been broken and pain, sin, death, and all manner of evil had come into existence because of it. Creation was aching for reconciliation with its Creator.

Shortly after Christmas, we found out that we were expecting a child in September. The pain was replaced with anticipation. The first time I saw my daughter on an ultrasound and heard her heart beat, I was struck with the gravity of the situation. The event that we have hoped and prayed for was being realized. Every week was met with a new milestone in our daughter’s development; always measuring her size relative to some sort of fruit or vegetable, a practice which I think we should continue for adults (your author is as big as 408 avocados!) All along the way, my wife and I would play a game where we would try and predict what our daughter would be like. What would her sense of humor be like? Whose smile would she have? Would she play soccer or dance ballet? Most importantly, in a world where the special editions are all that exist of the original trilogy, would she accept that Han shot first? Each day the thing that we understood in theory became more and more a reality. Everything was about to change.

But then, news! A man named John is sent from God to prepare the way for the Word. John comes to the people of God to testify to the arrival of the Christ, and suddenly there is something new: anticipation. What form will the Word take? What will this Christ be like and what will it require of us? There is anticipation and excitement in the realization that God is doing something new and everything is about to change.

I’m sure that every new parent has some variation on the same story, but the panic that set in when we were discharged from the hospital was unlike anything I have ever experienced. How could responsible medical professionals release a newborn into my care? Surely this was some sort of malpractice. Since we got home our world has become a gauntlet of exhaustion. It’s not what we had expected—I don’t mean that we came into it without the knowledge that there would be lost sleep, crying, and mountains of dirty diapers, but that there is nothing that could have prepared us for the difficulty and rewards of parenthood. This child was unexpected.

Christ finally appears in the person of Jesus of Nazareth, and not everyone is pleased. Having anticipated his coming, many had begun to develop their own ideas of what the Word was to be—perhaps a military or political leader like David, perhaps a high priest like Aaron, perhaps a revolutionary like the zealots—whatever they had thought, Jesus of Nazareth was not it. Jesus with his questions and parables; Jesus who associated with tax collectors and sinners; Jesus with the audacity to work on the Sabbath and claim authority to forgive sins; Jesus who was too weak to raise a hand against the Roman oppressors. This Christ was unexpected.

Our daughter, Iris, is wonderful and terribly frustrating. Young children’s stages of development come and go so rapidly that, just when we get a handle on how to handle her in her current stage, she changes again. Parenthood seems to be about learning to live in a world where the child you wished and hoped for is a reality, but may not be the reality you imagined. She is her own person, beyond our control, and that makes this so much more difficult. But it also means that we get to learn together and grow together; it means that we relate in a way that is real and beautiful.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The Word who gives life and shines light into our darkest hurts. On Christmas we remember that the Word came to us in our brokenness. Advent speaks to us about reconciliation; it tells us that, although creation has been broken, God is doing something new. Advent asks us to sit in anticipation, imagining the world made new. Christmas is about learning how to exist in a world where Christ is a reality that we cannot control; a reality that is always moving beyond our expectations. This makes Christianity much more difficult, but it also means that we get to relate to the Word which has existed from the very beginning in a way that is real and beautiful.

Thanks be to the wonderful and terribly frustrating Christ child.

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Ryan Young

Ryan Young currently serves as the Director of Adult Discipleship and Missions at Northbrook United Methodist Church in Roswell, Georgia. He earned his BA in Psychology from Clemson University and his Master of Divinity from Emory University’s Candler School of Theology. Ryan, his wife Rachael, and their dog Zooey, are thrilled to all be adjusting to the birth of their daughter, Iris.

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