The Christmas Kiss

The scene is a home in 1943. There is a fire in the fireplace. Snow is gently falling outside a window. A man embraces his wife… and that embrace lingers. His bags are packed. His uniform is cleaned and pressed, and the world is waiting. This husband will be joining the war. Before he leaves, they share a quiet moment together. An embrace. A kiss. And then he bends to one knee, and pressed his lips to his wife’s belly, and kisses his unborn child. When will he see her? Or will he?  

For almost three years, as this girl grew, she knew only a picture of her father. At bedtime, she and her mother would kneel beside the bed to pray. When they spoke their final amen, this young girl would jump to her feet, move over to the side of the bed, then kiss a picture of her father, placed reverently on his nightstand, and then… and only then… would she jump into bed. Night after night, year after year, she would kiss her father face… if only a pale and cold resemblance.

Three years is a long time. But the Lord kept this soldier safe, and returned him home. Joy and celebration ensued. Family and friends gathered. Glasses were raised. Prayers and tears were on hand.

That first night back, it was different. On their knees was as mother, child, and father kneeling beside the girl’s bed. Then something happened. A bit unexpected. After the “Amen,” his mother said, as she always would: “Okay, now kiss your father good night… and jump into bed.”

The youngster got up, jumped over to the side of the bed, then kissed the picture, and climbed into bed, leaving her father on his knees with open, but empty arms.

^“But when the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior appeared”, Paul begins to Titus, “we did not recognize him”, John- perhaps- finishes.

I love Christmas, and I love the traditions therein. But sometimes I wonder… how many of our celebrations are really just pale and cold resemblances of something so much greater. Are we just kissing the picture… when we know with all our hearts that the Savior is here. With us. God with us!

In his book The Faith, Chuck Colson has a chapter entitled "The Invasion." In it he describes the invasion of Normandy on D-Day. June 6, 1944. D-Day was the largest seaborne landing in history. More than 150,000 U.S. troops were committed to the first invasion, using 23,000 military vehicles. Within two weeks an additional 630,000 American and British troops were deployed. Ten thousand tons of bombs were dropped on German defenses, while nothing stood between these troops and the German guns but the morning air.

Over those next few weeks, as the battle progressed inland, the U.S. would eventually lose 29,000 men with more than 100,000 wounded and missing. And all this was just the initial set of invasions, but the invasion of Normandy was so massive and successful, that it allowed the Allies to turn every counterattack into another victory. As some observed, "As if preordained, the outcome was clear; the evils of Hitler and fascism would be conquered."

In one sense, the great invasions of history are similar to the way in which God, in the great spiritual struggle between good and evil, chose to deal with Satan's rule over the earth—He invaded. Not with massive logistical support and huge armies; rather, in a way that confounded and perplexed the wisdom of humanity.

It was a quiet invasion. Few people understood what was happening. Mary, the mother of Jesus, knew that she was with child, but she also knew that she had never been with a man, not even Joseph, to whom she was engaged. The simple question “How can this be?” is one of the more understated inquiries in all of Scripture. She had learned of her pregnancy and what was to be a virgin birth when an angel told her that she was expecting the Son of God.

I was 18 when I left for college in Ann Arbor… and I was nervous. I was 22 and newly married when Kristen and I left for seminary in Indiana… and I was anxious. I can’t begin to imagine how terrifying it must have been to be a 13-year-old (or so) girl , pregnant (yet still a virgin, no less), carrying- in travel across the country- the Savior of the World within your womb. Life may have been different then, but 13 is 13. Mary, the bible says, was “greatly troubled” at the words of the angel. Greatly troubled, if you ask me, sounds like adult words for an adult dilemma. I’m not sure if the Greek language would support such a translation, but I think it might be fair to say that little Mary was freaked out! I- as an adult- am greatly troubled when I hear that a 13-year-old is pregnant. If I’m the 13 year old, “greatly troubled” is a euphemism.

For many, including Joseph, the Virgin Birth is hard to rap the mind around. But the God who could speak the universe into being, who could create human life, could certainly choose to make Himself known by the power of the Holy Spirit through a virgin ….

Most of the people in Palestine at the time of Jesus' birth were expecting a Messianic invasion like we saw at D-day—conquerors in armor bringing a sword to set the people free from oppression.

“But when the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior appeared, he saved us”, not by our own works or our own fight, or even our own spiritual warfare, but by His mercy.

God came near. See Him. Find Him. Not in distant and cold resemblances. But with us. Always. A Christmas kiss to a Savior who is right here…