At the Midnight Mass last night the atmosphere was festive and musical. Red and white poinsettias covered the altar, harp and horn players complimented the choir. The priest, Jennifer Linman talked about the purpose of the celebration the birth of Jesus. The man that came to change the world...and did. Ironically Jennifer was about six months pregnant herself and confessed to a new found affinity for this most precious birth.
As she talked about the love and magic and mystery of giving life as a woman I wondered to myself what did this birth mean to God, the father of Jesus.
The closest thing I have to experiencing the innocence and love of an infant is misplaced in my little Chihuahua Henry. His innocence I want to protect, my heart simply bursts with love when I glance at him and the thought that I would choose to give him away to someone else to be ultimately tortured to death made me shutter. It also helped me understand, finally understand the great sacrifice God made for us. He gave his son. That little son he so loved and wanted to protect and nurture and wanted to be safe and happy. He gave that son knowing what his end would be, the suffering he would experience the pain and horror of mankind in action. Who among us could give our infants over to such a journey willingly, knowingly and with love. Not me.
And I thought to myself. For all the celebration that we have on the day of the birth of Jesus, it must have been a very sad day for God.
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