Wordless Words of God in Bethlehem
As a babe in a manger, He came to tenderize our hearts. The Child has much to speak to lowly hearts, much to convey to hungry souls and any who will heed so tiny a voice. Have we become so familiar with the nativity story that we have relegated it to the narrative we tell our children in the Christmas season? And in so doing, have we neglected the gift of His nearness that the Holy Spirit desires to give to us through it—softening our hearts by it and piercing through our darkened understandings with the light of His nature there revealed?
The One we thought too far and too distant, too aloof and too indifferent to be known now lies before us as a Baby, so accessible. The One who created all things is now so close and approachable, having come to us in the form of a helpless, vulnerable baby. We see who God is in His humility, in His meekness, in His gentleness. As we join the story and kneel with the shepherds to gaze in upon the One in the manger, our hearts and minds are confronted with the truth that this tiny frame before us is the Word of God, God in the flesh, and that He has come near to us for the sake of love. When God the Creator—the Covenant Keeper, and the Redeemer—lies before us in the form of a newborn babe, the effect in our hearts is explosive.
As we kneel beside the shepherds and peer into the cave, our hearts pounding with the weight of the angels’ proclamation, we find Him there with wordless words, speaking so many things: “You thought I was too far and too distant, too aloof and too indifferent to be known. You thought that you were too weak or too broken to be received by Me. But behold, I am here in this dingy cave—I, the One who created all things. I am here so close to you in this cold night, inviting you to come near to Me.”
Our wrong paradigms of the Lord are exposed to the truth of the One we thought was unapproachable who now comes to us in the form of a defenseless baby. And the question must be asked: would we ever fear that a newborn baby might not want us near or think Him to be rejecting us? Would we ever wonder if He would rather another be in His presence instead? No! Without hesitation or the smallest inkling of rejection, we would hold Him fast in love and treasure the honor and beauty of such an opportunity. Babies do not reject another, and who would not rush into the privilege of holding so accessible a human frame? This is what Jesus whispers to us about His nature from of old in the fragile vulnerability of His infancy.
He is as approachable and embraceable as a newborn babe, and His reception of us without rejection is as sure as a receiving infant in one’s arms. Here in Bethlehem’s stable, as we gaze upon the glory of God revealed in His face, He conveys mysteries that have been obscured since the foundations of the world, now revealed in brightest light by the Incarnate Son—mysteries about His humility, His meekness, His mercy. And as we gaze upon Immanuel now with us, our hearts become assured of His unchanging love, His tenderness toward us, and His constant receiving of our love back toward Him.
Even from these first moments of His infancy, our only fitting response is to gaze with trembling tears and let our hearts be washed by wave after wave of so scandalous and glorious a truth—that this One is God, and this is what God is like. As we ponder how close He allows us to come, how He does not shun our presence or shield Himself from our love and worship of Him, our hearts cry out to Him, “Oh, who are we to be so near to You? And yet you desire us to come even nearer in heart and love. O, Christ Child, so tender, You have so many things to tell us and so many truths to convince us of. We wait here before You on this silent night and allow Your wordless speech to pierce our hearts over and over and over again.”
This article is an excerpt from Dana Candler’s book, Mourning for the Bridegroom.
