Our familiarity with Christmas takes away from its strangeness. In what is an absolutely paradoxical move, the great ground of being which created the universe at least 13 billion years ago and continues to sustain its very existence houses its essence in flesh and blood and bones and sweat. Love-with-a-capital-L and Justice-with-a-capital-J inserts itself into finite creaturehood.
This thing with no name and every name, “I will be what I will be”: why does it choose humanity at this time, in this place? In a young girl, engaged to be married. Within an oppressed people eking out an existence like so many other peoples, at so many other times.
Is it because this is how love acts? Love is particular, not general. It requires something of us — sometimes the most difficult thing could possibly be required. And so this infinite sustainer and creator chooses the most difficult, most illogical way forward. That which is eternal obeys the law of love and becomes specific.
Who is this God that acts this way? Who can even know or understand? But across the world, billions of people celebrate this mystery every year.
It’s too beautiful not to.