The First Christmas

I have decided to break from my series of a theodicy of God and point my readers' attention to what that first Christmas was like for Joseph, Mary, and Jesus.


Jesus could have been born any night that week,
But the night He was born on was the last one Mary wanted.
It was a historic evening, to be sure,
But it was also one of the worst Christmases had by a person in all of history.
The angel informed her of the Holy Spirit,
But she still must have wondered, How did this happen? -
And Joseph must have thought, What in the world did this girl get me into?

Christ was born among cattle
And greeted by shepherds.
He had no clothes -
Only cloths.
He was placed in a feeding trough
Of the very animals His providence fed.
The hands that held Him
Were the hands He formed.
There were never three kings who came to see Him -
Only one who tried to kill Him.
He was the only person in history who was born
So that He could die.
He is the only God
Who washes feet.
He is the hero with no cape
But a cross.
He is the Life-giver who makes life sacrificial
And death precious.
He is the King of kings
Who wore a crown of thorns,
The Prince of peace
Who was hated by all men,
The God of gods
Who was treated as garbage.
He was the homeless man
Who offered Heaven,
The street-wanderer
Who built a street of gold,
An outcast
Who knew God the Father,
A criminal
Who saves forever from death and from its power.

And because of Him,
We live and move and have our being.
The breath of that baby's cry which broke 400 years' silence
Is the very breath that commands our existence.
The hands that were pierced by nails
Form the universe.
The feet that were nailed through
Run to the poor.
The face that was spat upon
Is the face of love and justice.
The body that was marred as a sacrificed lamb
Held the spirit and strength of a lion.


Merry Christmas.