This is a question that I have pondered over many Christmas seasons.

The Bible tells us that Jesus was ‘in the beginning with God’ and through Him all things were created. He knows all things and is in control of all things. He is also described as the Word – the Word that became flesh and dwelt among us, so that we could see His glory. But wait a minute – he came to earth, not in glory, but as a baby. We have the stories of Jesus’ conception and then of Mary and Joseph’s journey and His birth in a stable. Between these two events we have nine months of virtual oblivion. What is amazing to me is that at that moment of conception, not only did he willingly relinquish that glorious life with the Father in Heaven, but he also relinquished all memory of it, for a new-born baby has nothing to remember, except perhaps a few faint noises heard within the womb.

To lose one’s memory is a frightening thought – our past and all those dear to us are an integral part of who we are, giving us stability – but at that first Advent the Lord of Glory was just an infant coming to birth, bringing nothing with him, who would trust himself to ordinary human parents in a sinful world. It would be a long, gradual process for him to actually learn who he was, where he came from and what his destiny would be. It would take many, many long hours labouring in prayer with the Father for him to learn the things he once knew so well. In fact he admitted to the disciples that there were still things that only the Father knew. Even before he came to the cross, the price he had already paid for our sakes was an utterly amazing one.

This is a poem I wrote some time ago that tries to express this mystery.

ADVENT

At Christmas time we celebrate
The coming of the King
But who can truly comprehend
What ‘Advent’ meant to him.

For nine long months in a womb he lay,
Concealed in a strange, dark home;
Till he came to birth in a cattle shed
As Mary’s new-born son.
He did not hear the angels’ song,
Or see the blazing star.
He only heard the ox and ass
Rustling in the straw.

The reverent shepherds as they knelt
Meant nothing to him there,
Of gold, sweet frankincense and myrrh
He was simply unaware.
He could not even speak the name
Of the God who called him ‘Son’.
All thought of his creative past
From his infant mind was gone.

His new small world was sheltered round
By a pair of loving hands,
A warm sweet breast and gentle voice,
Soft hay, and swaddling bands.
He knew but how to cry, or smile,
To feel safe or afraid,
To sleep or wake, be hot or cold,
Hungry or satisfied.

In wide-eyed innocence his gaze
Was fixed on his mother’s face;
While hushed in awe the hosts of heaven
Looked wondering on this place.
For in this smelly stable lay
The beloved, holy One,
Emptied of majesty and power,
His saving role begun.

At Christmas time we worship him
Who from such costly love,
Gives all who dare to call him Lord
A place in Heaven above.

Coral