But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons

Galatians $:4-5

We as humans were created in the image of God, but then, in turn, God created Godself back into our image. Jesus was born, fully human, and the world was forever changed.

How does an infinite God fit into the shabby skin of humanity? How can an all-knowing Creator fit into the confines of space and time? How does perfection’s definition become fully human, able to be tempted? Mystery is a discipline. Doubt is the exercised used to strengthen it. We are allowed to struggle with these questions, we are allowed to doubt, even as we wonder. Fully embracing the Nativity story isn’t all Christmas carols and pine-scented piety, there is also room for uneasiness, for discomfort, for a sense of emptiness as we look at the Narrative.

God, a citizen of Heaven itself, contorted into human form. Burps and muscle cramps, headaches and emotions. He got hungry. He was tired. His patience was surely tested by our unfillable needs and demands. But in this human skin, heaven and earth kissed. In an act of love and solidarity, God showed us that God knows. Our fears and our shortcomings. Our pains and our heartbreaks. In human form, Jesus felt it all. He did not strive for wealth or power, he did not require worship. Instead, he connected with the people around him on a deep level. When interacting with others, Jesus never made small talk. He asked the hard questions, dove straight to their hidden hurts and allowed God’s mercy to wash over them, warm and healing.

If you were to encounter Jesus today, at Starbucks or on a walk in your neighborhood, what would he say to you? Where would he prod, what is the center of your pain? Allow the love and healing hand of your Savior access to that hidden place today… not to provide an easy fix or a miraculous removal, but simply to let the love and acceptance of our Creator to wash over that secret pain. To feel known and loved, even in the center of your hurt.