Christmas is When God Stooped
I know what you are thinking. “Please not another Christmas message about world peace (has it happened yet?), good tidings to all (why does it quickly disappear at the customer service center on December 26th?), and other warm, fuzzy, but otherwise apparently meaningless stuff.”
Nope. Nothing like that. I promise. I want to talk about a thing you do.
You do this all the time with your children. You did it the first day in the hospital after your son’s birth. You did it when your daughter fell down, skinned her knee and cried out your name. You did it when she was dragging behind, trying to keep up with you. You did it when he was hungry. You did it when he woke you up in the middle of the night because of a bad dream. You did when she sat down in the middle of the floor crying tears of frustration. You did it when he stretched out his arms to you. You did it when you stayed up late, foregoing sleep, because your child needed to talk. You did it when you opened your wallet for them…again. You did it when you drove them to their friend’s house, the ball game, the pizza place, the movies, and on and on. You do this thing all the time with your children, regardless of their age. You do it without even thinking. You do it so often that you are going to think it odd that here’s an entire article on this one thing.
What do you do? You stoop. Stoop? Yes. Stoop. You bend down to pick your children up. You serve them. You carry them. You lower yourself down to a level that situates you to speak to them clearly, to offer exactly the kind of help they need in this particular moment. And you have not thought about it because it is so utterly unremarkable. This is what parents do, and it goes without saying. So why am I saying it? Here’s why: we intuitively recognize this most obvious parental activity, but we are convinced that God does not do it.
When we think of God, maybe we picture a grouchy old wizard long tired of impressing us with his tricks. Or maybe we picture a very big, very distant relative who has got better things to do than listen to me. Or some of us might see him as standing over us, arms crossed, frowning, waiting till we get our act together. We certainly don’t picture him bending, stooping, coming down here to speak clearly to us, to offer exactly the kind of help we need in this particular moment. But this is what we (unknowingly?) celebrate every year at this time; Christmas is when God stooped. God, way up there, came all the way down here, became like you and me in every way except without all the failure, to pick us up. He did what any good parent would do, and yet we struggle to believe it.
Why? Why is this so hard to believe? I think as parents, when it comes to raising our children, we recognize that it is either them or us. Either you sacrifice your physical energy, or you sacrifice theirs. You sacrifice your freedom or theirs. You sacrifice your emotional energy or theirs. You decrease or they do. You stoop or they stay put. There is something inside of us that chooses to sacrifice self over our children. So we take their place; love trades places and we suffer for them. And we just can’t bring ourselves to believe that God sacrifices himself for us. We can’t imagine that he would come down here as a man, live the life that we were supposed to live, die a punishing death for us who deserve it ourselves, to rise to God-life for us imprisoned in a God-death. But this is what love does. Love stoops, and God is love.
For those of you who are like me and want to gag at all the warm fuzzies that seem to multiply like rabbits during this season, anchor your heart in a God so immeasurably great He stooped. He stooped low enough to become like you, so He could lift you up to a relationship with Him.
For those of you who hope that this Christmas will finally be the one you connect with God in a way that you deeply desire, stop trying to connect with God. I know that sounds weird coming from a Pastor! Here’s what I want you to consider instead: Stare at the God who connects with you. Stare, blink, and stare again at the God who won’t let you stoop, work, perform, or slave away for Him, but rather does all the stooping, working, performing, and slaving away for you. Discover the God who stooped all they way down, until he could stoop no further. Discover the God who stooped so low as to become a man who lived and died and rose for people like you and me.
For those of you who don’t give a rip about Christmas (you’re just reading this article because it’s in the way of the Christmas recipes), consider this: Could the impulse to stoop with your own children be present because you are a chip off the old block? Could the reason that your stooping seems so normal be that you were made to be like the one who made you: a heavenly father who stooped all the way down, low enough to reach you?
Christmas. Stooping. God or you. God chose you.
Nope. Nothing like that. I promise. I want to talk about a thing you do.
You do this all the time with your children. You did it the first day in the hospital after your son’s birth. You did it when your daughter fell down, skinned her knee and cried out your name. You did it when she was dragging behind, trying to keep up with you. You did it when he was hungry. You did it when he woke you up in the middle of the night because of a bad dream. You did when she sat down in the middle of the floor crying tears of frustration. You did it when he stretched out his arms to you. You did it when you stayed up late, foregoing sleep, because your child needed to talk. You did it when you opened your wallet for them…again. You did it when you drove them to their friend’s house, the ball game, the pizza place, the movies, and on and on. You do this thing all the time with your children, regardless of their age. You do it without even thinking. You do it so often that you are going to think it odd that here’s an entire article on this one thing.
What do you do? You stoop. Stoop? Yes. Stoop. You bend down to pick your children up. You serve them. You carry them. You lower yourself down to a level that situates you to speak to them clearly, to offer exactly the kind of help they need in this particular moment. And you have not thought about it because it is so utterly unremarkable. This is what parents do, and it goes without saying. So why am I saying it? Here’s why: we intuitively recognize this most obvious parental activity, but we are convinced that God does not do it.
When we think of God, maybe we picture a grouchy old wizard long tired of impressing us with his tricks. Or maybe we picture a very big, very distant relative who has got better things to do than listen to me. Or some of us might see him as standing over us, arms crossed, frowning, waiting till we get our act together. We certainly don’t picture him bending, stooping, coming down here to speak clearly to us, to offer exactly the kind of help we need in this particular moment. But this is what we (unknowingly?) celebrate every year at this time; Christmas is when God stooped. God, way up there, came all the way down here, became like you and me in every way except without all the failure, to pick us up. He did what any good parent would do, and yet we struggle to believe it.
Why? Why is this so hard to believe? I think as parents, when it comes to raising our children, we recognize that it is either them or us. Either you sacrifice your physical energy, or you sacrifice theirs. You sacrifice your freedom or theirs. You sacrifice your emotional energy or theirs. You decrease or they do. You stoop or they stay put. There is something inside of us that chooses to sacrifice self over our children. So we take their place; love trades places and we suffer for them. And we just can’t bring ourselves to believe that God sacrifices himself for us. We can’t imagine that he would come down here as a man, live the life that we were supposed to live, die a punishing death for us who deserve it ourselves, to rise to God-life for us imprisoned in a God-death. But this is what love does. Love stoops, and God is love.
For those of you who are like me and want to gag at all the warm fuzzies that seem to multiply like rabbits during this season, anchor your heart in a God so immeasurably great He stooped. He stooped low enough to become like you, so He could lift you up to a relationship with Him.
For those of you who hope that this Christmas will finally be the one you connect with God in a way that you deeply desire, stop trying to connect with God. I know that sounds weird coming from a Pastor! Here’s what I want you to consider instead: Stare at the God who connects with you. Stare, blink, and stare again at the God who won’t let you stoop, work, perform, or slave away for Him, but rather does all the stooping, working, performing, and slaving away for you. Discover the God who stooped all they way down, until he could stoop no further. Discover the God who stooped so low as to become a man who lived and died and rose for people like you and me.
For those of you who don’t give a rip about Christmas (you’re just reading this article because it’s in the way of the Christmas recipes), consider this: Could the impulse to stoop with your own children be present because you are a chip off the old block? Could the reason that your stooping seems so normal be that you were made to be like the one who made you: a heavenly father who stooped all the way down, low enough to reach you?
Christmas. Stooping. God or you. God chose you.
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