‘The people who walk in darkness will see a great light…for a child is born to us, a son is given to us’ – (Isaiah 9:2;6)
One small child. Born into poverty. Laid in a manger. God’s plan to save the world.
Ridiculous.
I mean, just look at the scope of the problem: a world fallen from its original purpose, trapped under the power of sin and death. A power capable of separating people from one another and from God. God had a plan to defeat it though, the prophets said. A plan that would save the people from sin and death, turn swords into plowshares, guide humanity in the way of peace, replace hearts of stone with hearts of flesh, make all things new, and carry humanity back to God.
Surely it would be a grand plan. God would give us something mighty and powerful. Something to set the hair of the world on end.
Instead, he gave a baby.
Worse still, he sent the baby into enemy occupied territory. Israel was a mere a province in the vast Roman Empire, an empire that never hesitated to make an example of anyone deemed to pose a threat. The ruler of Judea, King Herod, governed with the consent of this empire, and was just as bad. Indeed, Matthew tells us that in the wake of Jesus’ birth, Herod did everything he could to kill him. A bit later, Luke tells us, an old man named Simeon pronounced that the child will be opposed.
And he would be. The road that lay ahead of that small child born and laid in a manger was fraught with opposition. He would wield no political or military power, yet somehow be called upon to navigate through a maze of religious, political, and demonic power to fulfill his mission. Which was – and this is truly ridiculous – to reveal God’s love to the world by dying on a cross.
This was God’s plan to save the world from the dungeon of darkness.
Like I keep saying, it was ridiculous. If we had stood by Jesus’ manger that first Christmas night, I wonder what odds we would have given that he would succeed? A baby against an empire? A baby against the power of religion? A baby against the forces of hell? What were the odds of success?
Zip. Zero. Nada. Goose eggs.
Someone out there may recognize the way I just said that. That sequence of words comes from one of my favorite children’s books: Kate DiCamillo’s The Tale of Despereaux. It tells the story of a mouse, Despereaux Tilling, who was born into his own version of a dangerous world. He was so small that no one expected him to live. But somehow, he did. He was different from other mice in that he had very large ears and was born with his eyes open. Thus, from the very beginning, Despereaux Tilling was able to see and hear more than others. He was also unlike other mice in that while other mice were afraid of their own shadows, Despereaux dreamed of valor, honor, and most of all, courage.
Despereaux and his fellow mice lived in the King’s Castle in the Kingdom of Dor, and while the other mice avoided contact with the people of the castle, Despereaux actively sought them out. One day, while wandering around the castle, he met the Princess Pea. And that’s when something grand happened: she smiled at him, and he smiled back. And then, if you can believe it, he fell in love. DiCamillo notes in her book right away that it is of course ridiculous for a mouse to fall in love with a princess. But then again, as she puts it, ‘love is ridiculous. But, love is also wonderful. And powerful. And Despereaux’s love for Pea would prove, in time, to be all of these things: powerful, wonderful and ridiculous.’
At about the time that Despereaux was ridiculously falling in love with a human princess, a series of events were unfolding that brought disaster to the Kingdom of Dor. I don’t want to ruin the story for you – I would encourage you all to read it for yourselves – but the long and the short of it is that Pea is kidnapped and taken to the deepest part of the dungeon beneath the castle. Guess to whom it falls to rescue her?
That’s right, Despereaux Tilling. Armed with nothing more than a spool of red thread and a needle, he descends into the dungeon to find the princess.
Which takes me to the point of this post. DiCamillo writes:
‘That night, Despereaux rolled the thread from the threadmaster’s lair, along innumerable hallways and down three flights of stairs. Reader, allow me to put this in perspective for you: your average mouse (or castle mouse, if you will) weighs somewhere in the neighborhood of four ounces. Despereaux, as you well know, was in no way average. In fact, he was so incredibly small that he weighed about half of what the average mouse weighs: two ounces. That is all. Think about it: He was nothing but two ounces of mouse pushing a spool of thread that weighed almost as much as he did. Honestly, what do you think the chances are of such a small mouse succeeding in his quest? Zip. Zero. Nada. Goose eggs.’
In other words, the same as the odds of one small child succeeding in his quest to save the world.
But then, DiCamillo adds these beautiful words:
‘But you must, when you are calculating the odds of the mouse’s success, factor in his love for the princess. Love, as we have already discussed, is a powerful, wonderful, ridiculous thing, capable of moving mountains. And spools of thread.’
Love people. Do you get it? God’s strange way to save the world, through the birth of one small child, is surely as ridiculous as the notion of a mouse going off to save a princess. And the odds of success in each case would seem to be about the same. Zip. Zero. Nada. Goose eggs. But, just as it was in The Tale of Despereaux, you must, when calculating the odds of a small child’s success, factor in love. For love, as we have said, is ridiculous, but it is also a powerful and wonderful thing, capable of moving mountains. And saving the world.
This Christmas, know that it was God’s love that came down at Christmas time. God’s love that led to the birth of that one small child. God’s love that led that child to fulfill his mission and rescue us from our dungeons of sin and death. This Christmas, I hope you will be a little ridiculous yourself – and love him back with all of your heart and soul – that you might experience just how ridiculous, powerful and wonderful God’s love truly is.
Under Christ’s Mercy,
Brent