“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined….For a child has been born for us, a son given to us.” (Isaiah 9:2,6)
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it…And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory.” (John 1:5,14)
In the darkest, most difficult moments, it may seem there is nothing anyone can say to make it better. Many of us will have faced the receiving line at a funeral or sat down to write a sympathy note only to draw a complete blank, forcing ourselves to fill it with some platitude we know is not enough. We hope that our presence will speak for us when words fail. Indeed, I have found only two small words that, when spoken by loved ones, are always comforting:
“I’m here.”
In this affirmation of presence, much more is implied—support, empathy, willingness to help. And sometimes presence is accompanied by substantive acts of service. Both the comforter and the mourner are blessed when they find an answer to the question, “What I can do?” At other times, there is no answer. Nothing to be done except being there.
There is an ineffable power in presence. When the pain of loss, injury, destruction, and fear cannot be abated, the pain of loneliness can. When no one can fix, at least someone can care. Someone can choose to sit in our grief with us. Someone can refuse to abandon us.
“I’m here.”
Tomorrow, we celebrate the birth of the Christ Child—God coming into the world, starting with a stable in Bethlehem. This is what we have been waiting for. But why? Why was it necessary for the Word to become flesh, and, as the Koine text literally goes, “pitch his tent among us”? There are various important theological discussions to be had regarding what role the Incarnation plays in God’s mighty work of saving humankind. God’s act of accepting and redeeming our very flesh is a powerful reminder that our bodies and souls, both, can be made holy. But let us set soteriology aside for a moment and look to the realm of experience. The image of Jesus as an infant, lying in a manger, All in All in next-to-nothing, comforts us unspeakably every year. Why?
“I’m here.”
God always has been and always will be with us, and nothing “will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:39). Our salvation history stretches back before Creation, and Christ assures His disciples at the Great Commission that He is “with [us] always, to the end of the age” (Matt. 28:20). And yet, we humans are a touchy-feely bunch. We are fragile and fickle and more than a bit confused. We find it hard to believe that God would deign to approach us in such disarray. We find it hard to believe that God is in solidarity with us as we struggle.
God’s entry into the world as an infant human being is the ultimate proclamation of presence: “I AM here.” It will brook no argument. We know that God understood flesh before taking it on—after all, God created it—but now, divine empathy steps out of the theoretical into the visceral. God not only gives life, but participates in it. At Christmas, we see this life at its tenderest, and we recognize ourselves.
This year, we have come to know the power of physical presence precisely by lacking it. Many of us have gone more than eight months without holding the people we love. Distance changes the way we work, learn, celebrate, and grieve. This distance is even more acutely felt during the holidays, a time when we usually return to our own Bethlehems to be counted. I fervently pray that next year we will be able to enjoy the blessing of gathering together in safety again.
Nevertheless, there are blessings to count this year—three of which I will name in particular.
The first is the stubbornness of human love that bows to neither time nor space. What a gift it is that a friend can text “I’m here” from a thousand miles away, and it will be true.
The second is the fact that there are people we love so much as to be pained by their absence.
The third is the fact that God so loved the world that he gave his only Son to live with us, care for us, die for us, and live again, that we may live and love as well.
However far apart we may be this Christmas, may we know that we are with each other, and that God—truly, quietly, and gloriously—is here with us. Amen.
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