And Fit Us for Heaven, a Christmas Homily

Hebrews 2:14-18  Since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity, so that by his death he might destroy him who holds the power of death, that is the devil, and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death. For this reason, he had to be made like his brothers and sisters in every way, in order that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in service to God and that he might make atonement for the sins of the people.  Because he himself suffered when he was tempted he is able to help those who are being tempted.

I have one very vivid memory of when our first child was born that still comes back to me once in a while.  We were like, three or four months into our first gig as new parents, and I was rocking my new son in the rocking chair, at something like 3:32 in the morning and this very clear, very vivid thought ran through my mind.

I am never going to sleep again.

Really:  I’d like to say something all spiritual about being a new dad and all, but ... well ... those of you who are new parents, or have been new parents at some point or other, I’m sure you can back me up on this.  You reach this stage where it’s been so long since you had a full 8 hours that you almost forget that sleeping through the night is something that normal human beings do.

I can actually still remember the first time our son slept through the night.  Now, when I say, “slept through the night,” I mean, he slept from 12:17 am to 5:36 am (and the fact that we counted those 5 hours and 19 minutes of sleep as a full night just goes to show how desperate we were).  I had fallen asleep on the couch and our son was on my chest, and it was so out of the ordinary that I actually woke up with a start, thinking something was wrong.

I was thinking about those early days as a new Dad last week, in particular, as I heard some kids singing (for what must have been the thousandth time) I heard someone singing that old Christmas Carol, Away in a Manger.

You’ve probably never heard it before.  So let me catch you up to speed.  It goes, Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord Jesus lays down his sweet head. So far so good.  The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes.  But Little Lord Jesus no crying he makes.

And this is the point where the needle scratches on the record player with a resounding:  errrch. Little Lord Jesus no crying he makes.  Really?

I mean:  I don’t want to sound like I’m grinching all over your Christmas morning or anything—and I realize that I’m on sacred ground here, critiquing a Sunday School classic like Away in a Manger, but, well, why would we think that the little Lord Jesus—waking up in the middle of night because some lowing cattle disturbed his sleep—why would we assume that he wouldn’t, in that moment, make a bit of fuss about it?

I have told you about my early days as a new dad, haven’t I?  I mean, back in those days it took far less than some lowing cattle to get my baby boy to start crying in the middle of the night.  Any fully human baby—and again, those of you who are new parents, you can back me up on this—any fully human baby would.

Why would we expect less from the little Lord Jesus?

Unless—well—unless we didn’t really believe it the way the writer of the Book of Hebrews believed it, that “since we have flesh and blood, he too shared in our humanity, so that by his death he might destroy him who holds the power of death, that is the devil...” and that “For this reason he had to be made like his brothers and sisters in every way.”  He shared, he had to share, fully in our humanity, in order to be our saviour.

I don’t want to put coal in the stockings of the songwriters who first penned Away in a Manger, or anything, but I do think that if the writer of the Book of Hebrews were here, whatever else he’d do, he’d remind them that, listen:  Our redemption required a fully human Saviour.

The fact that the Little Lord Jesus cried in his crib, just like any human baby might have is, actually, it’s good news for us, this morning.  Because what it means—that little fully human baby cry coming from that manger—what it means is that in Christ, God has entered into our humanity, fully and completely and lovingly and redemptively.  I mean: everything and anything that’s true about being a human being, listen: in Jesus Christ, God has taken it onto himself.

There is nothing about being a human being that he has not staked his claim on. Your health, your physical body, your relationships, your love life, your appetites, your distractibility when it comes to spiritual things, your short attention span when it comes prayer, your regrets about the past, your fears about the future, your temptations to live for self instead of living for God.  You name it. If it is something about “being human,” listen:  in the Little Lord Jesus, God has entered into it.  He knows it and understands it and is able to redeem it and transform it and save it.

Your redemption required, the writer of Hebrews says, it required a fully human saviour, and because that’s what it took to save us, that’s what God did for us in the person of Jesus Christ.

The ancient Christians, incidentally, they got this.  They realized that you couldn’t take away the Lord Jesus’ humanity and still have the Saviour we needed.  One theologian, a guy named Gregory of Nazianzus put it like this:  What has not been assumed—that is to say—any part of our humanity that God has not taken onto himself in Jesus Christ—what has not been assumed, has not been redeemed.

And the point was, because God assumed all of our humanity—took it all to himself in Jesus Christ—all of our humanity can and will be redeemed in Jesus Christ.  Your thought life, your emotional life, your flesh and blood, the way you age and grow old, the very fact of death itself.  Listen: All of it is redeemable in Jesus Christ.

Can I encourage you with that Good News this morning?  As we worship him and celebrate his birth today, can we take comfort and courage from the fact that there is no corner of our lives that he does not want to put his healing hand on it and transform it for the glory of God?

Well: I started with a Christmas Carol, maybe I could end with one, too.  Because there’s a little boy at the FreeWay, a little fellow about 6 or so.  And one day his mom said to me: you’ll never guess, Pastor Dale: we were driving the other day and that song Mary’s Boy Child Jesus Christ was on the radio, you know the one:  And man shall live forever more, because of Christmas Day!

And my little boy (said this mom), he piped up and said, mom that’s not true, it’s not because of Christmas Day that we live forever.  It’s because of Easter Day!

You see, we start training our theologians very young at the FreeWay.  And he was absolutely right—it’s because of Easter Day—the death and resurrection of Jesus—that’s why those who have trusted in Jesus Christ can and will live forever more.

But—and I don’t want to pit Bonney M against Away in a Manger this morning, but, but: if the writer of Hebrews were here, I think he would have told our 6-year-old theologian: yes, of course it’s cause of Easter.  But here’s the thing: it’s only because our human life and God’s divine live—our fully humanity and God’s full divinity—it’s only because they came together, perfectly together, in the person of Jesus—it’s only, that is to say, it’s only because of what happened on Christmas Day, that Easter Day could be the offer of salvation that it is.

“He too shared in their humanity,” is how he puts it, “so that by his death he might destroy him who holds the power of death, that is the devil, and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death.  For this reason he had to be made like his brothers and sisters in every way.”

Followers of Jesus, your redemption required a fully human saviour.  And let’s celebrate it this morning that that’s exactly what God did for us, in the Lord Jesus Christ.