God's holy faceplant
Thumbnail image: “Faceplant” by Shena Tschofen, used under license: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/legalcode
Clare L. Hickman
St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ferndale
Dec 24, 2019—Christmas Eve
Isaiah 9:2-7; Luke 2:8-20
“Mary, did you know?”
Of course she knew. An angel came to visit her, for God’s sake. Literally, for God’s sake! An angel came and told her that she was going to be a part of God’s huge daring plan, that would unmake everything, upend everything, and re-make everything. Of course she knew. Knew that she was agreeing to be caught up in something amazing, something terrifying, something heart-breaking.
That is to say, something miraculous.
She knew. But that doesn’t mean that it didn’t completely undo her, when it happened.
It always does. Anyone who’s had a child can tell you. Or fallen in love. Or various other things in life that you are completely aware will be life-changing and huge, and you know. You’ve been told; you have imagined. But still … you have no idea. Still, when it actually occurs, it comes as a massive surprise.
That’s the way it is, with miracles. That’s why it doesn’t really matter when we decorate the tree, or start listening to WNIC each year. When Christmas Eve arrives … when we walk into church and hear the story told once again … when we are once again brought up short by the reality of God born into this world, in exactly the same way each of us was born into this world, in blood and sweat and groaning and tears and joy … when that story breaks through our hearts once more: it’s still a surprise.
Miracles always are.
They surprise us because they are rare. They surprise us because they are unexpected. They surprise us because they up-end what we thought we knew about the world.
Gods are supposed to be impressive and at least a little scary. Gods get things done through some sort of exchange: we give a god a sacrifice of some sort, and that god will then do something for us. And the more we give that god, the more they will give us; and the more powerful and impressive that god is, the more they can do for us. That’s the way it has worked, so much of the time, throughout human history. And some folks still want Christianity to work that way too.
But Christmas upends that expectation. Christmas shows us a whole different way of comprehending what a god can be. Of what the Creator of the Universe is ACTUALLY like, and what our God wants from us and wants to give us.
Because the incarnation (the birth of God) is as far from impressive and powerful as it could possibly be. The incarnation is deeply, disturbingly surprising. It is deeply, disturbingly miraculous. It is, essentially, a grand and glorious Divine face-plant!
Which is amazing.
And I say this, having done a pretty impressive face-plant myself recently. Literally. It was a Saturday morning, and I was in the yoga studio with 30 or 40 other folks, trying my best to concentrate on my own mat, not worrying too much about the people around me and whether they are better or worse at this yoga thing than I am. And the teacher sends us into a pose that allows me to opt for my very favorite pose (flying pigeon): Balanced just on my two hands, with one shin pressed firmly against my upper arms, and the other leg shooting straight backward. So, I’m feeling pretty fancy. But I have to say, this is a pose in which, if you go down, you go down face first.
Smack (I mean, of course). My face hits the floor. And the laugh just bursts out of me, which makes my friend Jen, who’s right next to me, bust out laughing too. She pulls it together quick, because she knows the teacher would say she shouldn’t even have noticed what happened on my mat. But the fact is, as she says to me after class: How perfect is this? It’s only 10am and you’ve already face-planted and been able to laugh at yourself. You’re totally set for the day!
Because really, that’s the secret to life. To be free to try things, and to feel accomplished, and sometimes to totally face-plant, and then laugh. Trying and failing and surviving. That’s humanity. That’s growth. That’s sin and repentance. It’s death and resurrection. It’s everything that life as a creature in God’s Creation requires, and everything it can be.
The Incarnation demonstrates to us that God is not, at heart, an all-powerful being who hands out favors and punishments, depending on our behavior. God tried it that way, and found that we get so caught up in trying to rise above our human nature, to do what we’re supposed to and avoid what we aren’t, that we simply don’t know what to do when we (always, always) fail to do so.
So God tried another tack. God set aside all the god-rules that had ever been written, and decided to face-plant, right into the world. Smack dab into the middle of nowhere, as a helpless infant, into poverty and obscurity, into breakable flesh. Smack. Dab.
And then God laughed. And he invites us to laugh too. To rejoice in how insanely beautiful and freeing it is to see someone fail so spectacularly and not die of embarrassment, not try to slink away unseen. But instead to say “Ta da!” Or just look amused and maybe a little rueful. Then look around and say, “Okay, what’s next?”
Our hearts resound when we see it. We find it so beautiful and so liberating, because it offers us the freedom to do the same. To stop worrying about looking foolish. To stop thinking we are supposed to be perfect and powerful and impressive all the time. Because if GOD can choose to face-plant like that, well, then maybe we’ve got what it takes to be right with God and each other after all!
We don’t need to have it all together. Which is good, because we don’t. We don’t need to bring all our good deeds, as wonderful as they are. We don’t need to hide our less good deeds, as numerous as they are. We too can face-plant. We too can come to the manger, bringing nothing but our need. That’s all. We don’t even need faith, whatever that is, because it’s the faith of Jesus that we’re given as a gift from God. His faith will sustain us. So stop worrying about that too, as though faith is something you need to achieve. All you need is your need to rest in Jesus. All you need is your neediness, as you collapse beside the manger, finally giving up on trying doing it yourself.
Face plant. Right there. And hear the baby Jesus laugh, as you begin to laugh too. How perfect is that? It’s Christmas, and we’ve all already landed smack dab in the straw. And we’re all laughing. It’s a miracle. Amen.