The value of Christ's coming

Barbara Sampson considers the deeper meaning of the Advent season. Part 2 of 3.

I was in a grand department store a month before Christmas. The display had been set up right at an entrance to the shop. Breathtaking, exquisite, beautiful … such were the words that filled my mind as I wove my way from one Christmas tree to another.

Trees ranged from tiny to 10 feet tall. There were glorious coloured baubles, angels in Christening gowns, polar bears wrapped in tinsel, drummers, teddy bears and reindeer. One tree had a distinctly New Zealand flavour with the decorations familiar icons—pūkekos, kiwis, tuatara all dressed in Christmas outfits and Santa hats. Father Christmas was on a surf board, or sitting on a large liquorice allsort, or on top of a jar of marmite. There were snowy trees, dazzling trees, silky beribboned trees, all colour-themed and all gorgeous. The bins of decorations held spotty, striped and snowy baubles, candles and stars. Everything was glittering and golden, lit up with a kind of magical treasure-chest glow that made me almost breathless.

As I wandered around the display, however, I had a growing sense of unease. Something was missing. Where was the heart of Christmas? I was about to ask the store attendant when I suddenly found it—a cupboard whose door could easily have been closed. There, almost hidden in a corner, was a small display of nativity sets. They were simple, earthy, ordinary. There was nothing dazzling about them, in contrast to the rest of the shop’s display. Nothing that would make anyone stand and stare or gasp in delight.

I went home feeling troubled. What must God think about our way of doing Christmas? Would he recognise it as a celebration of his son’s birth? I learned three lessons that day:

1. First, you have to go looking. Wise men seek him still, even in the hidden corner of a department store.

2. Second, Jesus is easy to ignore, to miss, to overlook. Other choices are so dazzling and compelling, why would he be a priority choice?

3. Third, when you do find the heart of Christmas—Jesus himself —then everything else pales into insignificance. He is a precious present, a present Saviour. Everything else is extra, mere window dressing.

Bend low, seeking one
you stand on holy ground
But not in glitz or glitter
is this treasure to be found …

We might have known it would be like this. Centuries before Christ’s coming, the prophet Isaiah described Jesus as one whom men would ignore, despise, reject. Verses in Isaiah 53 say there would be nothing appealing in his appearance. In fact, people would hide their faces from him, look the other way, feel no need of him. Wounded, bruised and crushed he would be. Suffering, affliction and sorrow would be the marks of his ministry. There would be no baubles or bling about this Saviour!

Paul picks up the same thread in the New Testament when he writes to the Philippians, describing how Jesus poured himself out, giving up all the riches of heaven for the most abject poverty of earth. ’He set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death—and the worst kind of death at that—a crucifixion’ (Philippians 2:7–8, The Message).

Jesus came as a baby, not as a boss, a baron, a bully. He came as a prince, not in posing pomp or privilege, but as Prince of Peace, making peace, bringing peace. Bending low, pouring out, he offered himself as the bread of life, living water, hope for the world.

How high the cost! How great the value of that outpouring! How could any Christmas gift, even one wrapped in gorgeous paper, tied with a red ribbon and sprinkled with stardust come anywhere near the value of such giving? Songwriter Stuart Townend depicts it this way:

How deep the Father’s love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure

I like questions that cut to the heart of a matter. Defining questions, I call them, such as, ‘What do I need in this situation?’ Or, ‘As I search for my life vocation, what is the one thing I most love doing?’ Or, ‘If money were no object, what would I …?’

In his book Being Mortal, Indian-born surgeon and author Atul Gawande laments the state of the American health system that keeps terminally-ill people alive at the cost of their dignity and quality of life. Instead of pumping more treatment into someone for the sake of a few more months of life, he says the medical profession should be asking two defining questions of the patient and their family: ‘What is the most important thing to you at this time?’ and ‘What do you value?’

Christmas is not a terminal condition, I know, but Gawande’s questions help cut through the tempting trappings of Christmas to the heart of the matter: ‘At this season of the year, what is the most important thing to me? What do I value most as I prepare for Christmas this year?

• That everything on my list gets done?
• That all the kids get the presents they want
• That I survive Christmas Day?

Or, do I want to look back and rejoice that:

• This year I really entered in and celebrated Christmas!
• I made time to worship the new-born King!
• As a family we made some great memories!

In the mid-1970s, my husband and children and I experienced our first Christmas on missionary service. At Chikankata, in a rural setting in southern Zambia, there were no shops for miles and no advertising brochures in the mail. Many of the aunties on the mission station made simple gifts of home-made cookies for the children. A group of bandsmen rowed out onto the large dam and played Christmas carols to people living in the African settlements along the shoreline. At the mission station families gathered to sing carols and to share meals together. The Christmas story was read and heard as if for the first time.

Thousands of miles away from our home and family, it could have been a very difficult time, but that Christmas stands in my memory as the most beautiful, simple, uncluttered Christmas I have ever experienced.

The true value of Christmas is not in how high you can go—in flashiness, in debt, in busyness; but in how low you can bend—in service, in simplicity, in self-giving.

In a world of upward mobility, Jesus show us the way of downward mobility.

The world says: Push, shove scramble to the top
Use any means you want to use
Just don’t stop
The race is to the swiftest
The prize is for the best
Just think how fast you’re going
And overlook the rest

But God says:
Bend low, seeking one
for this is holy ground
I give to you my only Son
Rich treasure to be found

When his disciples asked Jesus about rank and order, he got a child to come and stand before them and said, ‘This little one is what kingdom greatness looks like—humble, teachable, open, fully present’ (Matthew 18:1–5).

Jesus hung out with the least, the lowest, the last, the lost. The ones with empty hands, nothing to lose and everything to gain. The common people—also known as ‘the poor’—heard him gladly (Mark 12:37).

Jesus spoke of laying down his life for the sheep, just as a shepherd would lie himself down at the entrance to a sheepfold to protect the flock inside (John 10:11).

Just hours before his death, Jesus knelt to wash his disciples’ feet, a task normally reserved for the servant (John 13:1–17).

We were enemies, estranged and separated from God. But without waiting for us to change direction or clean up our act, Jesus came, brought us home, reconciled us to God, restored us as sons and daughters of the Father (Romans 5:8). This is what his whole life and mission was about. The true value of Christmas is not in how high you can go … but in how low you can bend. 

‘For your sakes,’ said Jesus, ‘I sanctify myself—set myself apart to do God’s will—so that you too may be truly sanctified, set apart for God’s service’ (John 17:19). ‘For your sakes,’ says Paul, ‘Jesus became poor so that through his poverty you might become rich’ (2 Corinthians 8:9). What an exchange!

One Sunday, many years ago, we hosted some visitors for lunch. After the first course was finished I served apple pie and whipped cream for dessert. My children watched with ever widening eyes as the male guest spooned cream onto his pie, more and more, yet more and more. It was lavish!

I think of that man and his piled up dessert every time I read the verse: ‘How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!’ (1 John 3:1). It was lavish giving! It was amazing grace! It was extravagant love, poured out for each one of us! May we offer Jesus the worship of a humble, grateful heart this Advent season.

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by Barbara Sampson (c) 'War Cry' magazine, 28 November 2015, pp 20-21.
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