From book “God Came Near” by Max Lucado

It all happened in a moment, a most remarkable moment.

As moments go, that one appeared no different than any other.  If you could somehow pick it up off the timeline and examine it, it would look exactly like the ones that have passed while you have read these words.  It came and it went.  It was preceded and succeeded by others just like it.  It was one of the countless moments that have marked time since eternity became measurable.

But in reality, that particular moment was like none other.  For through that segment of time a spectacular thing occurred.  God became a man.  While the creatures of earth walked unaware, Divinity arrived.  Heaven opened herself and placed her most precious one in a human womb.

The omnipotent in one instant, made himself breakable.  He who had been spirit became pierceable.  He who was larger than the universe became an embryo.  And the One, who sustains the world in a word, chose to be dependant upon the nourishment of a young girl.

God as a fetus.  Holiness sleeping in the womb.  The creator of life being created.

God was given eyebrows, elbows, two kidneys and a spleen.  He stretched out against the walls and floated in the amniotic fluids of his mother.

God had come near.

He came not as a flash of light or as an unapproachable conqueror, but as one whose first cries were heard by peasant girl and a sleepy carpenter.  The hands that first held him were un-manicured, calloused and dirty.

No silk, no ivory, no hype, no party, no hoopla

Were it not for shepherds there would have been no reception.  And were it not for a group of stargazers, there would have been no gifts.

Angels watched as Mary changed God’s diaper.  The universe watched with wonder as the Almighty learned to walk.  Children played in the street with him.  And had the synagogue leader in Nazareth known who was listening to his sermons…..

Jesus may have had pimples.  He may have been tone-deaf.  Perhaps a girl down the street had a crush on him or vice-versa.  It could be that his knees were bony.  One thing is for sure: He was while completely divine, completely human.

For thirty three years he would feel everything you and I ever felt.  He felt weak.  He grew weary.  He was afraid of failure.  He was susceptible to wooing women, he got colds, burped, and had body odor.  His feelings got hurt.  His feet got tired, and his head ached.

To think of Jesus in such a light is … well, it seem almost irreverent, doesn’t it?  It’s not something we like to do.  It’s uncomfortable.  It is much easier to keep humanity out of the incarnation.  Clean the manure away from around the manger.  Wipe the sweat out of his eyes.  Pretend he never snored or blew his nose or hit his thumb with a hammer.

He’s easier to stomach that way.  There is something about keeping him divine that keeps him distant, packaged.

But don’t do it.  For heaven’s sake don’t.  Let him be as human as he intended to be.  Let him into the mire and muck of our world.  For only if we let him in can he pull us out.

Listen to him.

“Love thy neighbor” was spoken by a man whose neighbors tried to kill him.

The challenge to leave family for the gospel was issued by one who kissed his mother goodbye in the doorway.

“Pray for those who persecute you” came from the lips that would soon be begging God to forgive his murderers.

“I am with you always” are words of a God who in one instant did the impossible to make it all possible for you and me.

It all happened in a moment.  In one moment … a most remarkable moment.  The word became flesh.