The Jones Chronicle

At Christmas time people throw around the name "Immanuel" an awful lot.  And it's understandable.  Not for the first time in history, but certainly for the most notable time in history, God showed up...

with us.

And, unlike His previous appearances in a burning bush, or on a mountaintop, etc., this time He came in human likeness.  So the setting was different and more approachable.  He wasn't so out of reach.  He was there, a baby, crying sometimes, hungry in the middle night when His Mom wanted to sleep, maybe exhibiting some scratches from the straw in His bed, dirtying Himself and, in all of the less-than-glory of the situation we find Him...

with us.


It's 2013, early in January, and I'm up writing after putting the kids in bed.  Repeatedly.  Because tonight, for whatever reason, every. single. child. had a million things on their agenda that simply stood in the way of an easy bedtime.  Lottie pooped.  Liam got a nosebleed.  Nathan had the hiccups and needed to "drink something slowly."  Nia wanted a story.  Liam wanted to sleep with some trains.  Nathan had read all the books he has upstairs and needed to swap 'em out for some new reading material.  The list went on.  And tonight, this was too much for me.

The difficulty I was having with bedtime compounded with acute homesickness, a lack of proper medication, and plain, old-fashioned hunger to reduce me to a blubbering mess.  So, I did what I often do in times of emotional crisis.  I sat down and played the piano.  And I reached this line in a song that I was singing, referring to Jesus:

"Emmanuel.  The promise kept.  It's the longing of my heart for God in flesh."

So I stopped singing.  Stopped playing.  And I let the tears fall silently.  Yes, He is the longing of my heart.

I started to think about that name, Emmanuel, God is with us.  And I briefly ran through the recounting of Jesus' 33-years on earth.  I was asking myself, "Where, to me, is the name Emmanuel epitomized?"  And, guess what?  It wasn't at Christmas.

The answers probably differ for various people.  Maybe for many, even most, Emmanuel is encapsulated in the events of Christmas.  But I find Emmanuel here:

Luke 22:39-44
Jesus went out as usual to the Mount of Olives, and his disciples followed him.  On reaching the place, he said to them, "Pray that you will not fall into temptation."  He withdrew about a stone's throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, "Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done."  An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him.  And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground.  

Gethsemane.  Emmanuel.  God going to great lengths to embrace the destitute condition of humanity.  Many times I have found myself in my own little Gethsemane; tears and sweat, anguish and fear, questions, many questions.  And I wish it would occur to me more often that Jesus, too, lay prostrate in that place.  And that while He pleaded with His Father, He spoke to me:  Emmanuel.

The other day I helped my 5-year-old put together a puzzle.  It had a couple hundred pieces and made quite a project for her.  When we were done we noticed that one piece was missing.  And although all 299 others were in their proper places, there was no satisfaction in competing the puzzle until we had crawled around on the floor and put that last piece into place.

In life, as in puzzles, we want to find that last, missing piece.  "It's the longing of my heart for God in flesh."  

I will, undoubtedly, lose track of that piece over, and over, and over again.  But tonight I found it, for a moment, when I encountered God where I needed Him most: a stone's throw from his sleeping disciples, weeping.

It's nice to gain some perspective.  I cry over so little.  He cried over so much.  Yet, I am blessed by Him, this God who weeps.

Emmanuel.