We had to take our baby to the hospital this past week. He was having trouble breathing in the middle of the night so we took him to the emergency room at 3 a.m. The doctors at the local hospital decided it was best to transfer him to a larger hospital in the city with a great pediatric wing. Thankfully, our baby is better now, and we are grateful for the care (and prayers) he received along his journey.
As our youngest son was in the hospital — St. Mary’s Hospital in Richmond, Va., to be exact — the fact that our infant was in a hospital named in honor of the Christ child’s mother isn’t lost on this pastor, this Advent. It gives me reason to reflect in many ways.
The nativity story
If I was the God of all creation and chose to come to earth, I might choose to be born at St. Mary’s Hospital in Richmond. First off, the name of the hospital would suit me just fine. Additionally, a sterile hospital environment in a nice Western city with every modern convenience just a block or two away, in an area not burdened with the rule of a despot who might want to kill babies (because of me) and make my parents flee to another country (like Egypt), would be nice. If I was God.
Being under the care of top doctors and nurses at one of the most elite pediatric units in the United States would certainly be better than Joseph and his bag of carpenter’s tools. If I had the choice between calloused and novice hands familiar with chisel and hammer, or the tender and experienced hands of an Ivy League-trained physician welcoming me into the world, it’s a no-brainer. If I was God.
And the animals — animals painted on a wall in the children’s part of the hospital would certainly be better than real animals. On second thought, having the animals there might not be so bad, since I created them and all — but those shepherds. Everybody knows the hygiene habits of first-century shepherds don’t meet the standards of modern hospitals. Only showered, healthy people who had washed their hands would touch my infant body, or breathe the same air as me. If I was God.
Honestly, as old as the earth is, what difference would a couple of thousand years make in terms of my coming? I could come in any century I wanted. If I was God.
The life and ministry of Jesus
If I was God, I think it would be born into a family of privilege who never had to be on the run, never had to worry about where the next meal came from, never had to fear for safety, never had to slip away into anonymity, never had to suffer. If I was God.
I would come to a culture where everyone respected me. For people to respect me, my teachings would be easy. Life is always easier when you fit in, don’t challenge the system and remain popular. I think it would be great to find a culture that put my name on the money, in their pledge and on some of their buildings. That way they could always point to how they follow me, even if they ignore most of my teachings (which of course, would be easy). Lip service via the Bureau of Engraving and Printing might definitely do. If I was God.
Demanding anything more of people other than civil religion might upset them. I wouldn’t want to end up on a cross (or chopping block, or hanging tree, or in front of a firing squad, or in an electric chair, or strapped to a lethal injection table — depending on the century). If I was God.
Celebrating Christmas
If I was God, Christmas would be all about me. People would buy me great presents, like one of those expensive massage chairs from Brookstone. If I was God, people would go into debt annually to buy useless gifts for their children. They would focus so much on a guy in a big red suit that they forgot all about the spiritual side of the season. Again, pacifying culture ensures I won’t have to die a gruesome death. If I came in the current century, I might choose a hipster name, like Asher or Everett or Sebastian. “Everett is the Reason for the Season.” “Christ Everett.” They have a ring to them, no? If I was God.
On second thought, thank God — I’m not God.