For our first Christmas together, my husband and I are feeling somewhat displaced. We have no Christmas tree, no poinsettias, not even a pinecone. There’s not a single ornament in sight. We haven’t decked any halls, roasted any chestnuts, or jingled any bells. But we’re not Grinches, we’re just moving.
We are saying goodbye to our apartment and moving into a little brick house of our own, and since our lease is up on January 1st, Christmas for us this year is also, unfortunately, crunch time. December is a crazy month for many, and for us it has been filled with house repair projects, packing boxes, endless trips to Lowe’s, and decisions on paint color. We are exhausted. And I wish I could say that I have maintained a saintly sentiment through it all, but I haven’t.
I have had my cranky moments, disappointed about missing out on the enchanting unfolding of this season. Because to me, half of the excitement is looking forward to Christmas. I love the anticipation, the lighting of candles on the Advent wreath, waiting for Christmas Eve and then the joy of Christmas morning. Earlier this year, I had romantic notions about what our first Christmas as a married couple would be like: we would be moved into our house, sitting by the fireplace in the light of the glowing Christmas tree, enjoying cheese and chocolate fondue and opening presents together.
Instead, we are caught in the middle: our apartment is a mess, our house is a mess, and our things are spread out between the two. Even when we do move in, it will be like camping for a week or two until we can install the kitchen counter and get the bathroom sink in working order. I wanted to be settled this Christmas, but instead I’ve been feeling stranded. And our situation has made me read the Christmas story from a whole new angle.
As I read through Luke this year, I noticed displacement as a central theme in the Christmas story. It begins with Jesus, whose displacement occurred at a cosmic level as He left His heavenly home to come to earth and dwell with us. He entered the world as a foreigner; an infant stranger in a dark, cold world. John attests to the irony of the Creator estranged by His own created ones , “He was in the world, and the world was made through Him, yet the world did not know Him” (John 1:10).
This Child Stranger was born to parents who were traveling on the road, far from home themselves (Luke 2:4). And because this was during the census when many people were traveling, “there was no room for them at the inn” (Luke2:7). The Savior of the world was born not in the warm comfort of home but in a crude shelter, not in the company of loved ones but of animals. Traditionally, the stable scene is portrayed as picturesque in its coziness, the affectionate couple huddling together over the child in the sweet-smelling hay, the star casting a gentle glow. But the nativity is a scene of displacement: the Son of God is born far from His heavenly home, Mary and Joseph are travelers turned away from lodging for the night, and soon the family will be running for their lives.
Soon after the child is born, his life is threatened by King Herod who is jealous of the Child King, and Mary and Joseph flee to Egypt where they live quietly until Herod dies (Matt 2:3, 15). The Bible does not tell us how long they stayed in Egypt, but potentially it could have been years of refuge in a foreign land. The early childhood of Jesus is marked by displacement, exile, and evacuation. In just the first few years after Jesus’ birth, the holy family will travel from Galilee to Bethlehem, from Bethlehem to Egypt, Egypt to Israel, and finally from Israel to Nazareth. As an adult, Jesus lives on the fringes of society as well, rejected even in his hometown, until He is crucified as an imposter claiming divinity.
Christmas has a way of being either the most wonderful or the most painful time of the year. It seems to highlight our joys and our wounds alike, bringing to light the whole glorious, wrenching range of human emotion. For those with healthy family relationships, financial security, or other blessings, Christmas may be a time of celebration, but for others it may be a time of intensified loneliness and pain. The season can underscore our displacement from the places or people we love, or the displacement of our hearts to fear, anger, or regret. Maybe we are not physically without a home or shelter for the holidays, but we question our sense of belonging just the same.
Hebrews 4:15 says, “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.” This is rich comfort for anyone who has ever felt lost, abandoned, or alone, because we know Christ experienced these situations just as we do. He knows what it’s like to feel out of place, to struggle with belonging, and to long for Home. He knows what it’s like to be achingly alone.
The nativity, as much as it displays the tenderness and grace of the Father, also reveals the vulnerability of this small family. Mary is a young girl whose strange pregnancy has raised social suspicion, and Joseph is suddenly thrust into the responsibilities not only of having a wife and child but of raising the Messiah. The nativity scene reveals a stranded family, three unlikely people far from home and unsure about what will happen next. But it also stands as a powerful promise that when we are stranded and out of place, Emmanuel is Our God With Us. Into the midst of a dark, waiting world, into the midst of our uncertainty and displacement, Emmanuel comes.
