I pieced the shepherd back together yesterday.
One night while I was out this past week, apparently there was a crash, the kind that happens when child meets breakable object. The shepherd in our nativity took a tumble and was left in pieces. His lamb was missing wool. He was missing a hand and a foot and a corner of his robe.
So, I puzzled it out piece by piece with a bottle of super glue until he looked presentable again.
This isn’t the first brokenness in our nativity.
There’s a wise men who has had some patching up, as well. A few years ago, he crashed and lost his head and a foot. Super glue saved the day then, too.
I bought the set years and years ago for $6 at a church yard sale, and I love it. Truly love it. It’s not porcelain white with gold trim. It’s not handcrafted wood. It’s not expensive or fancy. It was a bargain, well-loved, used, and slightly the worst for wear.
It’s been a little broken even from the beginning for me. Our donkey came to us with one ear missing. So, this little set has some history.
But I love it. There’s something about these figures that draws me, their individual expressions and personality, the colorfulness of it all, maybe.
Maybe the beauty is simply this: Jesus didn’t come all pristine and showy. He didn’t come gilded or gorgeous, lofty and high.
He came so low. He came to the humblest and the small. He came to the broken.
He came to us.
I see this heart in Mary when she sang with astonishment at the angel’s message. She would be the mother of the Savior! Her! Not some princess or queen, not a woman of position and power, not a matriarch of a rich family,
Young. Single. Poor.
“My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant.
For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for he who is mighty has done great things for me,
and holy is his name (Luke 1:36-49).
Her song rings with astonishment. Not just that God would do this miraculous work, but that He would do these great things “for me.”
In his book, Hidden Christmas, Timothy Keller writes:
We should be just as shocked that God would give us—with all our smallness and flaws—such a mighty gift.
God does this. He chooses the humble. Scripture reminds us of God’s heart:
Though the Lord is great, he cares for the humble, but he keeps his distance from the proud
(Psalm 138:6 NLT)
The Lord supports the humble, but he brings the wicked down into the dust.
(Psalm 147:6 NLT)For the Lord delights in his people; he crowns the humble with victory.
(Psalm 149:4 NLT)
So he chooses this girl Mary, and when He does she marvels at the way this is so topsy-turvy, so against the world’s expectations and plans:
He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts;
52 he has brought down the mighty from their thrones
and exalted those of humble estate;
53 he has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent away empty (Luke 1:51-53).
He has blessed not the mighty, but the humble, not the rich, but the hungry.
How startling that God would choose her.
And he chooses simple shepherds. He chooses foreigners, Gentiles, from a far off nation to carry the gold and the frankincense and the myrrh to worship this new King. He chooses the tiny town of Bethlehem; He chooses a stable, not a palace in the capital city.
How startling that God would choose them.
It’s an astonishment we need ourselves: How startling that God would choose us: love us, save us, call us, use us.
Us! Yes, us, the broken ones gathered around the nativity, held together by super glue with our cracks still evident upon up-close inspection.
Timothy Keller continues in his book this way:
“no Christian should ever be far from this astonishment that ‘I, I of all people, should be loved and embraced by his grace!” (Hidden Christmas)
It’s a surprise that shakes us out of complacency and into awe-filled worship. Our God, so mighty, so worthy of praise, He “has done great things for me!” Yes, He has done this even for me, even when I was lost, even when I’m imperfect, even when I mess up, even when I’m broken, even when I don’t have it all together.
Such grace. Such amazing grace.