The Dirt of the Cradle, The Dirt of the Cross

You will know who he is, because you will find him dressed in baby clothes and lying on a bed of hay.  Luke 2:12

Have you ever thought about what it must have been like for the shepherds who encountered the newborn baby Jesus on the night He was born?   The long-awaited Messiah had come, but not in the way most expected.  Not a regal prince, not a stately ruler.  There He was, born in the most modest of dwellings, a tiny blood-crusted babe lying in a bed of hay, literally pushed into the world on a dirt floor by the most unlikely of women.   And those chosen to witness this miracle were the simple and lowly shepherds.  The whole scene couldn’t have been more backwards from what everyone imagined for the coming King.

I find myself understanding the manger scene a little better this year.  More than ever before, I think I can put myself in the place of the shepherds, staring wide-eyed in wonder at the most unexpected Christmas miracle. 

Several months ago, I had a profound experience with Jesus that opened my eyes a little wider – pulled back the veil a little further – and helped me SEE Him better.  I wonder if I can share my “shepherd-story” with you this Christmas-time?  It feels so fitting as I sit with the beauty of what the shepherds must have experienced so many years ago.   

Back in September, my dear friend invited me to join her on what I thought was a weekend retreat.   All I heard was “get away” and “time with Amy,” so I said sign me up!  If I had any expectations of what I was walking into, it was probably some kind of refreshing retreat where we slept in late and sat around in our jammies and ate chocolate and maybe cracked open our Bibles once or twice.   Well, let me tell ya….what this weekend actually turned out to be was not at all like anything I had ever experienced before. 

First, I need to clarify that this weekend was not a retreat, nor was it a workshop… but it was actually an intensive titled “Becoming an Emotionally & Spiritually Healthy Leader”.  And it lived up to all the adjectives that you might use to describe an intensive:  primarily, INTENSE.  It was taught by the well-known and highly-gifted Dr. Gary Oliver, a theologian and psychologist who leads the Center for Healthy Relationships at John Brown University.  And oh, by the way, it was held at a working monastery, a sacred space tucked away in the beautiful rolling hills of Subiaco, Arkansas. 

Well….unfortunately, I hopped on the struggle bus during the very first getting-to-know-you activity. Sitting in that holy and consecrated place, all of my insecurities and silent wars showed up.  I clearly was not emotionally nor spiritually healthy, so I must have really needed the content of this intensive!  As the weekend went on, it kinda felt like I got tossed off the struggle bus, and then the struggle bus ran over me, and then backed up and rolled over me a few more times—I was not finding much rest in this supposedly-sacred place. 

I really wrestled.  I really questioned.  I really hurt.  Everywhere I looked, there was the image of Jesus.  His face was in paintings hanging on the walls.  His body was hanging on the wooden cross above the bed in my guest room.   His creation was displayed before me as we spent an afternoon on the spectacular Mt. Magazine.  But despite His image being all around me, I could not find Him.  Wanting to make the most of my time away, I begged God to speak to me—show Himself to me—something, God… just let me experience You!  But… silence. Nothing.  No Word.  No revelation.  No warm fuzzy feelings.  I struggled and I waited and I watched for Him, and yet He was silent.  It felt sort of like that 400 year wait between Malachi and Matthew.   

On the last night of our weekend together, our small group of women visited the cathedral on campus to sing and pray.  While everyone else seemed to be having this super spiritual encounter with Jesus, I sat there in defeat.  What was wrong with me?  Everyone else seemed to be on the mountain-top, and I felt nothing.  This sacred space felt empty.  This silence scared me. 

Again I cried to the Lord, confessing that I didn’t find him in this place.  I can remember His sacrifice in this place; I can sing to Him in this place; and I can appreciate the architectural accomplishment of this place… ”but Lord, I don’t find YOU here.”  If I’m really being honest, I began to feel disgust.  I sat there in that cold, hard pew, and stared up at giant, shiny, gold, hollow plaster Jesus on the larger-than-life crucifix, the centerpiece of the altar in this magnificent cathedral, and it felt gross to me.  Hollow.  Empty.  You may gasp and cringe at my sacrilege, but that’s exactly when He broke the silence and spoke to me:

“You found me in the dirt.”

His voice was clearer and more powerful than I’ve ever heard before—it took my breath away.  It gutted me.  He aimed His words right at my heart, and I knew exactly what He meant.

I was no longer sitting in that sterile, cold pew.  Instead, my mind was transported back in time to another moment years before when He spoke clearly to me—these two messages like bookends on the story of healing He is writing in my life. 

***

Once a month, we visited a certain family in our nutrition program.  I had been to many, many Haitian homes, but this one was the poorest by far.   With five small children and two parents living in a one room tin-and-tarp home, they were at significant risk for malnutrition.  Every time we visited, the mom would ask us to take one of her kids – pick one! any one!—in hopes that at least one child could attend school.  Poor mama was always half-dressed, frazzled, and in a sour mood… who could blame her? She was living in unimaginably difficult conditions. 

Our job there was to complete our usual evaluation of height and weight, keeping our eyes out for growth stunting or weight loss…but to our surprise, month after month, all of the children stayed in the normal range on the growth chart.   I began to notice that mom always had something cooking when we visited.  She didn’t have a kitchen or even a stove…but she DID have a small fire ring in the front yard that always had a pot of something simmering on it.  One day, as I looked closer, I realized something different about the fire:  mom had run out of money to buy charcoal, but still knew she needed to feed her babies.  So, she took a book from her tiny home – possibly the only book they had—and tore out the pages to use as kindling for the fire.  That image is burned into my mind.  It spoke volumes to me.  In that fire, I could see both desperation and determination.

There were several times during our years in Haiti that I wanted to fall on my knees as Mordecai did, covering my head with ashes and tearing my clothes in grief.  This was one of those days.   I choked back tears as I left her home, and that’s when God whispered the Gospel to me:  

These are MY people. 

The hurting.  The broken.  The outcast.  The least. 

In the dirtiest, hardest, ugliest, most painful places, I have come to bring life.

These are My people.   And they're beautiful.      

***

So, when the voice of the Lord said to me, “You found me in the dirt,” I remembered. 

I remembered the grief and pain and suffering of that hot, sticky, smelly day in Haiti.  I remembered how gutted I was when I saw the torn book pages in the fire.  I remembered half-dressed mama begging me to take a child off her hands, and my longing to relieve some of her burden.  And I remembered His words to me on that day…and it clicked.

Staring up at shiny, plaster Jesus, chilled by the coolness and sterility of the wooden pew, surrounded by tradition and history and symbolism—all of this familiar to me, as I have been in the church since the womb-- I came to know this new and beautiful truth:

Nothing compares to truly knowing the REAL Jesus in the hardest places.

Please hear my heart:  I want to be very careful not to dishonor the sacred, holy things that others hold dear.  My intention is not to judge another person’s experience, but rather to share the raw truth of mine.  I admit that the past few years have been a tumultuous time between me and the church, yet I love her and acknowledge that she is still Jesus’ chosen vessel to carry the Good News. 

But, let’s remember what Jesus said, as He faced crucifixion, “Destroy this temple, and I will rebuild it in three days.”  (John 2:19)  This is exactly what He accomplished in my heart when He said, “You found me in the dirt.”   He tore the veil that blinded me and helped me to SEE the REAL Him, face to face, destroying all of the former things I once knew and believed about shiny hollow Jesus, and rebuilding my faith in a Savior that willingly goes to the hardest, dirtiest, most painful places.

The truth is:  there was nothing shiny or sterile about His birth.  This was the dirt of the cradle. Bloody.  Painful.  Yet miraculous.  This is Christmas.  And it’s beautiful!

I wonder-- What work did God accomplish in the shepherds’ hearts that first Christmas day?  The angels said—they would know who He was because they would find a baby laying in the hay.  Basically, they found Him in the dirt.  What did the shepherds do when they realized who this baby was?  Did it rock their age-old beliefs about the coming King?  Did this tiny baby disrupt everything they ever expected about Messiah? 

Here’s another truth: there was nothing shiny or sterile about His death.  This is the dirt of the cross.  Bloody.  Horribly painful.  Our Jesus is familiar with suffering.    

The dirt of the cradle, and the dirt of the cross:  like bookends on the story of healing that Jesus is writing for us.    The veil has been torn!  Now we can see Him face-to-face.  Our Jesus is not hollow.  Our Jesus is alive and at work in the hardest, dirtiest, most painful places.  He will meet you there, and He will bring life.

So, if you are like I was that weekend at the monastery, and are having trouble finding Him, let me encourage you to take a fresh look at Christmas through the eyes of the Shepherds.  You’ll know who He is when you find Him in the dirt.