What Child is This?

They say the Son of God was born today, in a town called Bethlehem, south of Israel. Born–as any son of man is born, emerging from his mother’s womb. The big word for it is Incarnation: God assuming flesh, God becoming man. The other word for it is Christmas.

But why a child? Why should an almighty God become a defenseless infant? Surely there were other ways for him to come into the world. He could’ve descended fully-grown from heaven, a choir of angels announcing his entrance. He could’ve materialized out of thin air if he wanted to, in the midst of a crowd for full effect. It would’ve been the greatest magic trick mankind has ever seen.

Instead, he chose to be born, like us. This God, this Boundless Spirit, chose to be small and dwelt in the womb of young Jewish woman. After nine months he emerged, slipping from one world to the next in near silence. No choirs of angels (that would come later). No magical flourish. Just the whisper of his first breath followed by the soft sound of his crying. This is the heart of the mystery–Infinite Wisdom rendered speechless, the first sounds to come from his lips not words of profound meaning, but the plaintive cry of a newborn.

So it was as God had made it, and it was good. For he knew that words are fragile and can be misunderstood, manipulated, contradicted, or ignored.  But the cry of an infant newly born is undeniable. Indeed, it is the most undeniable thing there is–the first irresistible call of love.

Goals

Sometimes, I was so much better than I thought I was, and I’d score goals I never even dreamed were possible. Sometimes, I wasn’t as good as I thought I was, and I’d fall flat on the ground tripping on my own shoes.

But I’ve also never been more sure of myself than when I was playing the beautiful game. I knew who I was and what I needed to do every time I stepped into that field and heard that whistle blow.

My very being, my whole existence, revolved around a singular objective: to send that black-and-white ball to the back of the opponent’s net. Nothing could be simpler. My goal for the next 90 minutes of my life was always, quite literally, a goal.