What Child Is This?

By Bishop Brian Maas




Welcome to Advent. Welcome to waiting. Welcome to anticipating a mystery.
The mystery is posed, “What child is this who, laid to rest on Mary’s lap, is sleeping?”
The hymn does not solve the mystery but declares it. This babe is Christ the King and the son of Mary. My fear—my own experience—is that we veer to one or the other. He is the Christ King, divine and distant, or the baby, the feel-good gooey center of all that means Christmas to our memory, our senses, our feelings. We veer to one or the other and forget the powerful mystery, the and that ties them both together.
To be people of faith is to cling to, to live in the and. Our Advent waiting is not for the opportunity to practice a hollow holiness that insists that “Jesus is the reason for the season” or manufactures offense that someone would wish “Happy Holidays” rather than “Merry Christmas.”
Nor do we await merely the ooh-ing and aah-ing of a candlelight worship with all the familiar carols of the Babe of Bethlehem and the comfort of customs tied to the celebration of his birth.
No, as disciples of Jesus Christ, we await, we seek Him in the and of every child—regardless of age—knowing that in real people we experience the potent and of His incarnation. His becoming flesh and blood, vulnerable and loving, is not restricted to that memorable manger of millennia ago. He becomes flesh and blood, vulnerable and loving, daily in the people who fill our lives.
Whom do we await? What Child is this?
This Child is the one who hungers in a land of plenty, who dreads Sunday nights because the pain of an empty belly makes real sleep impossible. Who needs a food-filled backpack to get through the weekend, to make learning possible.
This Child is the lonely elder, bereft of family and material resources, despairing in an uncertain future. Who needs housing and healthcare and hope.
This Child is the one who grows up without faith, whose soul nonetheless stirs with a longing for something that substances and stuff can’t satisfy. Who awaits the invitation to find faith at a camp, a campus, a congregation.
This Child is the refugee, homeless and fearful, separated from parents and detained in a foreign place. Who needs an advocate and a companion.
This Child is the one whose special needs could mean a life of institutionalization, pity and dependence. Who longs for independence and dignity.
This Child is the addict, the impoverished, the irresponsible, the unlovable, the Other. Who longs to be seen as more than mere circumstances and choices.
This, this is Christ the King, who shepherds guard, whom angels sing, who crosses our paths daily and awaits the ministry of our church and of our individual compassion, care and welcome.
      Until we recognize this, until we see the and of Jesus, baby and King, made flesh in all others, our carols are discordant, our greetings are empty and our gifts are beautifully wrapped hypocrisy.   
But.
We have an invitation daily to see Jesus, to be met by him, to practice our faith and engage him—not because we ought or should or must, but because we can. And because in so doing we will know more fully his gift of life as he intends it, in all its meaning, freedom and joy.
This Child is Jesus Christ, who waits to meet us. Today.

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