Our oldest son texted us: “He is born!” After 30 hours of labor, our first grandchild had entered the world. “Glory to God in the highest!” We hurried into Chicago to hold him as soon as we could. His uncles and aunts traveled from Texas and Minnesota to meet him. We found him endlessly captivating, even though he didn’t do much.
This is the time of year when Christians are fascinated with another baby. On Christmas Eve, many of us will read in the Gospel of Luke the familiar story of the startled shepherds. Like my grandson’s uncles and aunts, those shepherds left their work and traveled to meet a baby. The heavenly magnitude of the announcement implied big things, so the shepherds might have been forgiven if they were disappointed when they found a helpless infant lying in the feed trough of a rough stable. But they weren’t disappointed. They were thrilled, praising God for this little boy. What accounts for their excitement?
In his essay, “Among the Sirens, Douglas Park,” Roger Reeves writes of pushing his infant daughter in her stroller through the park. She began to cry. Her cries must have been insistent and piercing—shrill enough to pierce the consciousness of the barely conscious addicts, lost with their syringes, slumped against tree trunks. Stumbling, a few got to their feet, shuffled over, and peered into the stroller at a baby. A baby. A new life in an old world.
Rationally, there doesn’t appear to be any justification for our fascination with babies. They can’t play checkers or hike through the woods, shoot hoops or write poetry. So perhaps babies are compelling because they are potential; they are possibility. Who will they become? What will they do? How will they think? The answer is revealed over decades, not days.
In 1809 (to pick a year), Napoleon’s wars raged across Europe, spreading misery and despair. But also in 1809 babies were born: Abraham Lincoln, Charles Darwin, Louis Braille, Cyrus McCormick… With the benefit of hindsight, we can ponder which mattered more—the battles or the babies of 1809?[1]
The figurative and literal battles of 2020 make us restless for solutions. But God is patient. St. Augustine wrote that God is patient because God is eternal. Even God’s own son took time to grow into his potential. Centuries passed before many consequences of his life were manifested.
As we come to the close of what has been an often discouraging year, let us remember that although battles rage, babies continue to be born. Surely, therefore, God still believes in the potential of humankind. Dare we believe less?
Note: A slightly different version of this essay was originally written for the 2020 Advent Devotional of the First Congregational Church of Crystal Lake, Illinois.
[1] Boreham, F.W. My Christmas Book. 1953
