The Little Baby With Big Shoulders

Third Week of Advent, 2023

Every December, Isaiah 9:1-7 resounds in hearts worldwide, capturing the season. It is a long-cherished Advent passage, portraying the Messiah as a Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace. Yet, amidst these grand titles, there's a surprise:

"To us, a Child is born."

Not a warrior, politician, celebrity, hall of famer, mega pastor, bestselling author, or internet “influencer,” but a Child.

Also not far off, but near. Not aloof, but involved. Not impotent, but kingly.

The Child’s dominion stretches beyond partisan divides, city gates, and national borders. Such domains are, by themselves, too small for a Child like this. His reign reaches above and beyond all powers, spanning planets and stars and galaxies, offering rest on his infant shoulders.

He is bigger than he looks.

He punches past his weight.

On the first Child of Christmas, a universe was laid. And…

“The government will be on his shoulders…Of the greatness of his government and peace there will be no end.” (Isaiah 9:6-7)

As Lord of yesterday, today, and forever, he also transcends time. Ray Ortlund explores the enduring implications of a future where systemic and personal evil will be righted, and the increase of the Child’s love-driven reign will know no bounds:

“[Jesus] will not come back to tweak this problem and that. He will return with a massive correction of all systemic evil forever…‘Of the increase’... forever ascending, forever enlarging, forever accelerating, forever intensifying. There will never come one moment when we will say, ‘This is the limit. He can’t think of anything new. We’ve seen it all.’ No. The finite will experience ever more wonderfully the infinite, and every new moment will be better than the last.”

This view of Christ’s second, future Advent challenges conventional expectations about where history is headed. As one friend said recently during our walk in the woods, “When we borrow joy from the future, we become more durable for the present.” Jesus endured for the joy set before him so we could do the same.

I was reminded by my friend’s remark that we can also borrow joy from the past.

Isaiah’s vision prompts fresh remembrance of Christ’s first Advent, which challenged expectations of his own time and culture as well. Exactly no one expected him to arrive—much less survive and thrive—as a poor, Middle Eastern, refugee Child. Those who longed for Messiah’s first coming had someone more military in mind, like Nietzsche’s Uber-mensch (Superman).

Darwin was right when he observed that our zeal for self and survival will, when left alone, make us ready to destroy others physically, emotionally, financially, vocationally, and in other ways that suit us.

In a world of hoarding power and despising authority, dividing walls become our necessary evil (Ephesians 2:11-22). Only the Child can cure this as he turns enemies into friends and friends into family. It has been said, “Christians are a natural band of enemies who come to love one another for Jesus’s sake.” Barriers of culture, ethnicity, nationality, gender, politics, and power gaps are brought down by him (Galatians 3:28-29). In his name, all oppression done to us and by us shall cease.

How is this possible? How can a Child make God’s blessings flow as far as the curse is found? How can his meek, lowly arrival defeat competing strategies built on social advantage and political power? How could king Herod feel threatened by him?

Could it be that the Child’s own, superior kingliness lies in his reluctance to act like a king? Could it be that the secret to his greatness is in the way he makes himself small? Could it be that his power is made perfect through weakness?

Glenn Packiam paints an insightful contrast between the domineering reign of Herod and the tender reign of Jesus:

“Herod clawed his way to power; Jesus emptied Himself of power. Herod killed to protect his power; Jesus died to save the powerless. Herod’s reign results in weeping; Jesus’ reign results in worship.”

Some 2,000 years later, Jesus has become a household name and Herod is mostly forgotten.

This begs a question for the ambitious among us. If we wanted to be remembered 2,000 years from now, how would we go about it? What would we do to ensure that all generations would remember our names, billions would embrace our values, and cultures and entire civilizations would be built upon our vision for flourishing?

Would we be born among farm animals, poop, and urine? Would we hail from a forgotten, tiny town? Would we live as outsiders to the networks of economic, political, academic, and social power? Would we secure no earthly pedigrees or credentials? Would we love, bless, pray for, and forgive our enemies and insist our followers do the same? Would we choose losing over winning, being despised over being praised, foregoing our rights over demanding our rights, crosses over crowns, and death over life?

Would we choose a way of life that ended with prayers like:

“Father, forgive them!”

“My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me?”

Would this be our path to dominance? Would it be our recipe for personal, familial, national, and global peace? Would disadvantage become our advantage? Would death to self and to the kingdoms and powers of this world become our gain?

Christ’s first Advent confirms that this is the winning strategy. The power of Advent is truth and love swaddled in vulnerability, humiliation, blood, dirt, and excrement.

In a world bedazzled by the shiny and famous and strong, the Governor of galaxies shows up meek and lowly. He beckons us to join him there.

Will we say yes to him?

The Apostle Paul reveals the nature of God’s chosen ones:

“Consider your calling, brothers: not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God.” (1 Corinthians 1:26-29)

G.K. Chesterton adds:

“The faith becomes in more ways than one, a religion of little things.”

Walker Percy's reflections on the enduring presence of the Jewish people underscore how God defeats the defeaters and champions the underdogs. Today’s absence of the once-mighty Hittites raises questions about the miraculous continuity of the Jewish people:

“The Jews are a stumbling block to theory….By ‘the Jews’ I mean not only Israel, the exclusive people of God, but the worldwide ecclesia instituted by one of them, God-become-man [Jesus], a Jew.”

“Where are the Hittites? Why does no one find it remarkable that in most world cities today there are Jews but not one single Hittite, even though the Hittites had a great flourishing civilization while the Jews nearby were a weak and obscure people? When one meets a Jew…it is remarkable that no one considers the event remarkable. What are they doing here? But it is even more remarkable to wonder, if there are Jews here, why are there not Hittites here? Where are the Hittites? Show me one Hittite in New York City.”

At Christmas and always, it is good to notice God’s supremacy in everything, and especially everything that is small.

To us, a Child is born.

Don’t let his size fool you.