He was despised and rejected – a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief. We turned our backs on him and looked the other way. He was despised, and we did not care. Yet it was our weaknesses he carried; it was our sorrows that weighed him down. ... he was pierced for our rebellion, crushed for our sins. He was beaten so we could be whole. He was whipped so we could be healed. ... the Lord laid on him the sins of us all. He was oppressed and treated harshly, yet he never said a word. He was led like a lamb to the slaughter. And as a sheep is silent before the shearers, he did not open his mouth. Unjustly condemned, he was led away. The baby in the manger journeyed through relatively short years, becoming a man, and fulfilling His Father’s good plan, He stretched out His arms on a crude, wooden cross and died. His death satisfied the holiness of His righteous Father, allowing God’s holiness to give unparalleled expression to His love, a love that was willing to embrace all of humanity, a love that wanted to erase the sins of broken mankind and birth each man, woman, and child into the most invasive and transforming relationship possible, a relationship that declares God is my Father, and I am His child.
We too journey through life, and for most of us, our years are much longer than the baby cradled in the manger. Pam, along with her husband, spoke at our couples dinner for moms and dads who have suffered the loss of a child. Pam spoke of the life journey we are each on, a journey that sometimes rides the smooth surfaces of newly refinished streets and highways – times in which we delight in the passing scenery of births and birthdays, growing skills and aptitudes, finding satisfaction in relationships with family and friends, having abandonment times for fun and laughter, acquiring success and stability. But then, sometimes, we find ourselves hitting the curbs that line the streets – times of doubt, of temporary disillusionment, of having to work a little harder, sort through more diligently, give beyond the ordinary. But we do give and we do stabilize once again, and we sit back, and once again, enjoy the scenery and continue to journey through life. We recognize the God who has a good plan, and we are thankful we can once again, walk in it. Pam and her husband though did more than hit the curb. Life threw them over the curb, dazed, disoriented, and fearful when they came home one day in their journey and found their son had just committed suicide. The horrendous does that to us. The unthinkable becomes reality and any sense of journeying is lost in the mangled aftermath. In the dark turmoil though of “aftermath,” God does not abandon us. Remember? He is my Father, and I am His child. My relationship with Him is invasive and transforming. He will never leave me. He will bend down and listen. He will carry me when my strength fails. He is the shelter, the hiding place, the refuge I can depend on. He will bring beauty from the ashes. He will turn darkness into light.
It is the journey of the baby that makes my own journey possible. Pam found the reality of that, and so too have many others. “Possible” doesn’t mean “easy,” but it does mean “possible,” and within “possible,” there is hope and encouragement. Within “possible” is the God who loved me enough, and still does, that He had a good plan to let His Son journey, and His Son’s journey gave me a Father who wants to love me lavishly even when the unthinkable erases any sense of being able to journey.
– Bev
(Related Bible reading: Isaiah 53:3-10)
