Don’t Treat Jesus Like a Baby

You know how sometimes when you go home at Christmas, your family treats you like you’re still a kid even though you’re twenty-three? or fifty-six?

Sometimes, especially at Christmas, we treat Jesus as if He was still a baby. He’s not.

The babe in a manger grew up,

took the sins of all humanity upon His shoulders,

descended to the depths of hell,

and rose triumphant over death.

God is now unswaddled.

He’s coming again, and when He does, He’ll be riding a white horse and He’ll be armed with justice.

“I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice he judges and wages war.

His eyes are like blazing fire, and on his head are many crowns. He has a name written on him that no one knows but he himself. He is dressed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is the Word of God. The armies of heaven were following him, riding on white horses and dressed in fine linen, white and clean.

Coming out of his mouth is a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations. “He will rule them with an iron scepter.” He treads the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has this name written: king of kings and lord of lords.” Revelation 19:11-16

Jesus who faced down death – and won – isn’t afraid of anything in your world.

He’s not afraid of the cruel words exchanged in your bedroom moments before the dinner guests arrive. He’s not put off by your son’s addiction. He’s not appalled that your daughter sent racy pictures of herself to a boy who then pasted them to Facebook.

He won’t cringe when your father-in-law curses or your brother arrives with his new boyfriend or when Aunt Hildy passes out from mixing pills with wine. He still wants to come to dinner. He’s like that.

He died to invite you to His table. He rose again, so you’d be certain that He is Life.

In a world of shooters, sex traffickers, poverty, and politics, Jesus walks unafraid, knocking on doors, asking to come in and dine with sinners.

Now, I do imagine He’s angry with Christians who send money and shoeboxes overseas, but won’t dirty their pews with the locals who don’t clean up so well on Sabbath mornings.

He’ll likely have a word or two, served up on the edge of that sword, for clergy who would never swear or get a tattoo, but who exploit children even as they say they represent God.

You can bet that the posers and pretenders of the faith, those wearing sheepskin over their primal, hunting souls, those who praise Him with their mouths, but curse Him with their lives, I do believe this population has something to worry about when He arrives for second-coming breakfast.

But not you, loved one. He’s eager to come to your table.

He’s not a baby who needs to protection from your family situation – or you. He’s ready to step out of the wooden crèche on your mantle and eat at the grown-up table right beside you,

loving you,

loving those you love,

even the challenging ones you don’t know how to love,

even if you’re the challenging one.

He knows, loved one. He sees you and He is undaunted, unafraid, unshakeable in His pursuit of you.

Invite Him along to dinner this Christmas, and don’t be surprised when He stays.

Don’t Treat Jesus Like a Baby https://t.co/NK2ElNzK1i #HolidayStressRelievers #Jesus

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) November 25, 2017