Jesus coming into this world is proof that someone cares. And not only someone, but the Lord of Lords, the King of Kings, the God Most High cares.
When push comes to shove, when @!G* hits the fan, or when I succeed beyond my wildest dreams, life boils down to this one thing for me: does anyone care?
I realize this gives too much power to others, but I can’t help wonder what is the point of everything if no one cares? I think of 1 Corinthians 13, if I am multilingual and super-brilliant, if I can make hard things happen, if I can discipline my body to run multiple Ironmen and reverse tithe 90% of my income—if I can do all these things and do them without love, I have nothing. I feel that, and think that—I have nothing. If no one cares, then what is the point? You live. You die. No one cares.
Of course people care—look at the outpouring of support after hurricanes, awful, unfathomable shootings, and even more commonplace things like the birth of a new baby! But often, I am still cynical. I cannot help but wonder: will they later? Will they care when the hype has died down? Will they be there for the darkest and loneliest of days to come? Can they bare the pain? Perhaps this last question isn’t quite fair to ask of others, but my heart asks it all the same. We’ve all seen people abandoned. Perhaps we have been abandoned. Though some of us still churched dare not utter it, we wonder where was the church? Where is God?
God is here. God is with us. And thankfully his grace is bigger than my entrenched cynicism. Though my skeptical thoughts keep me from believing and hoping, God is still there. He is still there though I screamed at him to go away 10 minutes ago, 5 hours ago, 9 years ago.
By his grace, I know he is still there and sometimes feel it, but I am perturbed. He is there, and he seems to know my deepest and scariest thoughts. He remains there, present, and I am nervous, terrified even. What is he going to do? No wonder the first word often out of an angel’s mouth is “do not be afraid.” He is still there, and it is too much for me, so I snap out of it and go do something else.
But I come back to his presence, or sometimes I cannot escape it because I am at church and the songs keep going on and on and on—and give in to thoughts I do not want to deal with, feelings I do not want to feel, prayers I have been avoiding. I weep, I speak, I feel, I listen, I wait.
I’ve heard pastors say that we have a God-shaped hole in our heart that that only God can fill. I always thought this was a bit cheesy, but it is true. I can’t help but be won over by someone who never leaves and is empathetic. He is angered and weeping for the same things that make me mad. He seems to get what I am feeling and saying, a considerable feat since I really haven’t quite digested my thoughts myself. He is still there, and he enters those thoughts and feelings with me, helps me sort them, prioritize them, and gently points where my logic has gone wrong suggesting newer and truer ways to see myself and others. God meets me on my own terms, and all the more on his. God really does meets us where we are at.
Christ being born, Christ coming, God enfleshed, God incarnate enables us to know his presence, to know God, to be met where we are at. God walked and walks among us. God felt and feels everything with us, and even more, Christ lives in us. He stays with us, in us.
How can life not be worth living, if our Creator knows? And if he knows and is present with us, how can he not care? How can he not love, and love us like no one else? He loves like he made us and knows how we work. He loves as if he knows our inner workings, like he dreamed us up. He loves like he was the first one to ever love us. He loves truly as no one else can. Like God.