Seeing Baby Jesus in a Whole New Light

You won't be surprised to learn that I cry just about every time I go to church. I try not to let that stop me from going anymore. Before I was pregnant with Gabriel, I sometimes did let it stop me. Once, I ran out of church crying because someone there was pregnant, and I just couldn't handle it. I remember we were singing "Amazing Grace." Now, mostly, I see a baby or a little boy (or now a little girl) in the congregation, I fight back a few tears, and I try to let it go. I did not attend the children's Christmas program a couple of Sundays ago, though. I've cried through it too many times and chose not to put myself through that this year.

This last Sunday, I went to church as I normally do. I wasn't having a rough morning. I wasn't gazing around the sanctuary being overly covetous of other people's children. But when we began to sing "Oh, Come Let Us Adore Him" ("Oh, Come All Ye Faithful"), tears streamed down my cheeks. I pictured baby Jesus; his miraculous birth; his mommy and daddy who loved their baby boy but wanted to please God no matter what they had to do; I imagined those that came to adore him--astonished by this incredible child and a life and birth that could never really happen, but it did.

I thought about Gabriel. I told Gabriel last Christmas, when he was still alive in my belly, that he was just like Jesus and I was a lot like Mary. I told him that I would be giving up the most special part of me so that God could do his important work in him. Gabriel did, indeed, go on to do great things in the name of Jesus. No wonder we are so proud of him.

Never in all my life has a Christmas carol brought me to tears. I hope you don't think it is presumptuous of me to compare Gabriel to the baby Jesus, but he was like Jesus. He was selfless. And sinless. And beautiful. And people came to adore him. They couldn't help themselves. They were compelled to come, like the animals were compelled to come to the ark and the wisemen were compelled to seek out the newborn king.

Isn't that, after all, what we all strive for as Christians--to be like Jesus?

Last Sunday's sermon was not about the baby Jesus, though. It was about who baby Jesus grew up to be--the One who saves us and heals us:

Isaiah 53:4-5 (New International Version, ©2010)

"Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering, yet we considered him punished by God, stricken by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed."

It is common practice at my church for the elders and deacons to stand at the front and lay hands on those who need prayer and healing. Usually, I just stay in my seat. This Sunday, however, I was soaked with tears, thinking about the healing that could be mine. I wasn't sure if my situation even counted as needing healing; there's nothing physically wrong with me. I waited for the first wave of people to be prayed for and return to their seats. A broken heart is not something to be annointed with oil for and prayed over, is it? I tried to talk myself out of going down to the alter.

Then, I saw a woman that I know, that I feel comfortable with, was no longer praying with anyone. I went down before I could think of a reason not to. I took her hand and said, "I don't know if this counts as needing healing, but it is time to make the new baby, and whatever is inside of me that could make it go away, I want to be healed. I want a baby I can keep."

She put her hands on my belly and asked me to stand in agreement with her as she asked in Jesus' name that I be healed and that my womb house many babies one day. Many?!

More sobbing, more tears, but I left church that day finally feeling confident that this is about to happen for me--if I just trust and believe.

Thank you, Baby Jesus.