Immanuel

Dear Jesus,
I think your name Immanuel, God with us, is one of the most tender aspects of the whole Bible. It is the name we remember you by at Christmas. It is the whole purpose of Christmas.

When I was feeling so separate from you a while back, you gave me a vision of Jesus weeping at Lazarus' tomb. I felt the grief of Jesus in the dream.

But what surprised me was that you weren't weeping about Lazarus dying. I may have read this or heard it another time, but you knew you'd raise Lazarus from the dead. You intentionally waited days before going. You talked plainly that Lazarus was dead and that you were going to "wake him up." His death wasn't a surprise to you, and knowing you were going to raise him back to life, it doesn't make as much sense that you would grieve his death.

And maybe I'm reading too much into this, but Jesus what I felt in the vision, you wept as you entered into the full understanding of humanity's hopelessness.

We are so fragile God, so prone to death. But that was not your original design for us. You created humans for community. Death rips families and people apart. I think that's apparent in the all-encompassing grief of when a parent loses a child. Our souls know what is true, even if our minds refuse to believe, that death is unnatural. Perhaps if there is a "universal truth," that is it. Innocent children suffering and dying seems to go against every fiber in our being, regardless of time or culture or beliefs.

A child's birth brings the overwhelming joy of a miracle and a feeling of communion with our creator. Giant redwoods and singing birds, towering mountains and gentle streams, these have inspired songs of your praise. The stars and vast space put wonder in our hearts. The spring after winter, full of new life, makes our souls feel new. All of these are from your hand, meant to testify of your goodness and love for mankind.

But death? Grief? Death is as unnatural as being taken from a safe and cozy bed and being thrown straight into an icy lake.

Death and grief separate us from you, God. Sometimes we put on a good face and praise you for the resurrection to come, but that is a choice. It is not the natural feeling humans have towards death. Unless a person is completely and utterly despised, death always brings pain to the human who grieves them. And that pain does not testify of your goodness God, it speaks only to this life's brokenness. You understand this more than us.

Jesus, because you became a human, you came into the grief of humanity. With human eyes you saw our complete powerlessness against death. You heard the wails of parents who had lost their children. You felt the agony of the two sisters who lost their brother.

I believe that at Lazarus' tomb you were weeping because you felt death from a human perspective, the grief of our naked souls when someone we love dies.

Like a child in the womb, we only see an infinite chasm and muted vision of what the "real" life will be like. We were stripped of the ability to connect with that truth in the garden of Eden. It's no longer part of our natural makeup. We can't see past the impenetrable veil, that nameless space that separates this broken life from wholeness of life in eternity.

But not for you Jesus.

You saw both sides. You knew the fullness and goodness of God, and the restorative life that heaven holds for us. You wept because you saw how trapped we were by our limited understanding here on Earth. You felt our despair. You knew our hopelessness and helplessness. And you wept.

That's why Immanuel brings me to my knees every Christmas, no matter how rushed or distracted I may be. Jesus, you had so much tender love for the messy humans you created that you couldn't abandon us. You came.

Your birth, death, and resurrection permanently tore the veil between this life and heaven. We remain unable to see it with human eyes, but you restored hope to humanity. By your Holy Spirit, you comfort the depths of our soul by grieving with us. Holding us. Breathing hope into our lifeless souls because of you death has lost its power to separate us.

Thank you Jesus. Even when I can't understand you, when I can't seem to find you, your name comforts me.

Immanuel. God with us. God as one of us. God to rescue us.