“And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory…” (John 1:14).
The Christmas story is the story of God becoming flesh, of revealing his glory to all peoples. However, if I’m honest, I’m much more comfortable with the glory part and not so much the flesh part. One would think it would be the other way around. I am flesh and definitely not glory, except maybe when I landed that 18 inch Redfish in my secret fishing hole three weeks ago, but not really then either. My line tangled in a huge wad, almost fell out of the kayak twice, and then stepped up to my knees in marsh mud. So, I don’t really know too much about glory.
But surprisingly, it’s easier to talk about his glory. Jesus’ glory and God’s glory revealed through him. In fact, most of the carols I sing, Christmas cards I send, and Christmas messages I hear are about that glory. The almost incomprehensible revelation of pure grace and truth offering salvation from sure death that came that night. And when we attempt to describe his glory that night, we sing and speak of golden angel wings, perfect swaddling clothes, and well-behaved donkeys, but I’m still trying to get the marsh mud out of my faded blue jeans.
Maybe there is something to that flesh thing. I haven’t seen any angels yet. I’ve met some folks pretty close to it though. I have never met a well-behaved donkey, and most babies I know are never perfectly wrapped for long, especially on arrival. So maybe that flesh thing was really flesh. Maybe he did know something about tangled fishing lines and sticky mud up to one’s knees. For then, all of my life everyday has meaning every second. Maybe, that’s even the glory part. My wadded fishing reel and faded blue jeans are desperately hoping so.