The miracle doesn’t end at the manger

By Sylvia Miller-Mutia

People love to tell you, when you’re expecting your first child, all about how much becoming a parent is going to change you. About how your world is going to turn upside down, and you’re never going to be the same again.

But I found that I changed far more, and learned far more (about myself and about God), with the birth of my second child, than with the birth of my first. It’s hard to imagine how the birth of a second child could be as miraculous as the birth of a first. My sister was even a little worried as the birth of my second child—her second niece—approached. “Sylvia,” she confided, “I’m a little worried because I can’t imagine how I could love another baby as much as I love Alexandra! I don’t know if I have that much love!”

With my first child, I was predictably (if somewhat absurdly) in awe. She can smile! She can gurgle! Oh my gosh, she can roll over! She’s a genius! With our second, I expected to be a little less awestruck. So she can sit up. Big deal…her big sister can do cartwheels. But it wasn’t like that at all. I was surprised to discover just as much awe and delight in my younger daughter as she learned to smile, to sit, to speak. The miracles, I discovered, just multiplied. The love just multiplied, too (which my sister, who is herself a second child, was relieved to discover.)

Christmas steeps us in the miraculous birth of Jesus, this child, who was born, not of the will of the flesh, or the will of man, but of God. This child whose birth made angels sing, and shepherds dance, and magi change their course to follow a star halfway across the world. This child whose birth brought joy to the world, and peace to God’s people on earth. This child whose birth made heaven and nature sing.

But we miss out on the full extent of the miracle of the Christmas season if we think the miracle stops with the birth of a single baby in Bethlehem.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth, John writes.

When John’s Gospel writes of the “Father’s only son”, the Greek word he uses is monogenes. Which doesn’t signify “only” so much as it signifies “unique” or “one-of-a-kind”.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s one-of-a-kind son, full of grace and truth.

Any parent will tell you that every child is “one of a kind”. Despite the birth of her younger sister, Alexandra remains “monogenes”–completely unique and completely irreplaceable—but she is no longer my only child.

I don’t want us to make too little of the “one of a kind-ness” of Jesus…the child of God so close to the Father’s heart that he reveals to us the very face of God. But neither do I want us to make too much of it. Because if we make too much of the “one of a kind-ness” of Jesus we risk missing an important point in John’s prologue, and we fall short of embracing the full miracle of Christmas.

John tells us that “To all who received Jesus, he gave power to become children of God…born not of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.”

That strange story of a child conceived and birthed through the mysterious cooperation of divine and human forces…that story doesn’t just belong to Jesus. That can be our story, too.

Through this Christmas season we are not just celebrating the mystery of Jesus’ birth. We are celebrating the mysterious possibility of our own birth as children of God.

You and I have been given the power to become the younger sisters and brothers of Jesus, God’s first-born child. Like my younger daughter, Johanna, who ceaselessly watches and imitates her older sister, to the best of her ability, we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, and do our best to imitate him.

Just as I delight in Johanna, so God delights in us. God isn’t disappointed that we fall short of Jesus’ example, like… “what’s the big deal? You helped a stranger? Your big brother raises the dead.” God delights in every baby step we take, as we grow up as children of God.

If we dare to accept it, our birth as the children of God will make angels sing, and peasants dance, and wise people change their course. Our birth as the children of God will bring joy to the world and peace to God’s people on earth. Our birth as children of God will make heaven and nature sing.

The miracle of Christmas began with the birth of child in Bethlehem, and it continues each day with our birth as children of God.

Through this Christmas season let us meditate on this mystery – what might it mean for you and for me to be born a child of God? And how might our birth as God’s children bring joy to the world?

The Rev. Sylvia Miller-Mutia, is Youth and Family Minister at St. Gregory’s, San Francisco. She is a dancer, teacher and recently ordained priest who just began her ministry at St. Gregory’s.

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