In about an hour it will be Christmas day.
I realized something, as I was pondering this reality:
We are all Mary.
We are all pregnant with Jesus. We all bare Immanuel; God within us means that God is with us.
Tomorrow we celebrate his coming. He will emerge from us.
And yet… In this joyful recognition there is something else. What was it like to be Mary? To feel that growing baby, to hear the angels tell it, to know that if God was coming in the flesh, that he must, in some sense, go the way of all flesh. Into death.
And so tomorrow, I will celebrate his coming. Just as he sprang from Mary so he will spring from me.
And I will participate, with Mary, in this understanding, amidst the joy: sadness will arise, too.
If she– and we– barely comprehend the reality of what God’s birth means, then his death is a bigger mystery. But beyond this mystery is the biggest of all: