Sighs and Hallelujahs Stories and thoughts about the adventures of life without arms

Jesus was Broken

Indeed, he was. I don't mean in the sense that when he was nailed to the cross he exclaimed, “My God, my God! Why have you forsaken me?” Instead, I mean that Jesus was broken from birth.

Before we go getting into a big theological argument over the perfection of Christ, let me clarify what I mean. I don't mean Christ was sinful or that he was imperfect in how he lived morally. But, I do believe that he entered into this world and lived in a way that none would have imagined, at a level that most of us modern-day humans would consider weak.

That is one of the things I love about the Christmas season. In the revelation of God, the cracks of humanity show through. God born to a virgin? I bet that was the talk of the town! There is no lineage or great power that Jesus came through. He was born in a manger - a worn-out cattle stall - because there was no room at the inn. He was a carpenter's son, your average Joe. And, he mixed and mingled with, not only the commoner, but with prostitutes and tax collectors - the worst of his day.

No matter how we portray the baby Jesus in a manger, with a glowing head, kings bowing down to worship, or the Magi following the star, there were few indications at the birth of Jesus that he was God. To an outsider, his arrival was very broken.

We build up this holiday with gifts, lights, trees and beautiful decorations. Instead, I wonder if we should be looking at the areas of life that are broken, unglamorous and wrecked. I think we have so much to learn from those people and things that we tend to push aside, especially at the holidays. If God spoke through the broken at Jesus' birth, then what would compel Him to speak any other way now?

Today, we let the commercials speak. We let the value of gifts speak to our love for others. We let our busyness and our activities speak for the joy of the season.

We eat, drink and celebrate as if this holiday focused around a great king and a feast for the ages. That is the dichotomy of it. We should celebrate, we should feast, and we should proclaim the arrival of the King.

Sometimes I think we try to ignore the brokenness of the entire event, though.

Now, I am one who likes to hide brokenness and the messiness of life if it all possible. That is part of my story of growing up with a disability. I have always wanted to wear clothes that you cannot see have special adaptations made to them. I've worked so hard to overcome obstacles, just to prove that I am one of you. I live on my own, with no apparent barriers in my way, an independent adult. And, I was raised to be “normal” - meaning unbroken, in how I heard it.

Maybe that's why I love the broken story of Christmas now. Over the past several years I have struggled and wrestled with my story in ways that I had ignored for nearly three decades. I have come to see my own cracks, my brokenness, the ways in which I will never be “normal”. I've come to own my disability in ways I never thought I would. With that, I have come to see my own brokenness better and to see it in others as well.

It gives me hope, though, that even God was broken in his creation and arrival upon this earth.

So, on this first week of Advent, let us keep an eye and an ear out for the cracked and broken around us. For it is most likely in these areas apparent areas of weakness that we will see and hear God the most.