Christmas for the Abandoned

I read last month about a prison inmate denied parole for the 16^th time.  He repeatedly stabbed young bartender, Kitty Genovese, in 1964 Queens, New York.  The attack made national headlines, as some 38 people heard her crying, "He's stabbing me!"  They looked down from apartment windows, watching the brutal assault of the 105-pound victim.  None risked coming down to save her.  None became vulnerable.

The Apostle John wrote, “The Word became flesh…”

In other words, the Creator joined his creation, becoming soft in the person of Christ, not only vulnerable to human frailty, but having that vulnerability exploited by friends and enemies. 

The Lord knew the pain of losing a parent, as it is appears Joseph died earlier in his life.  Christ knew the sting of criticism as his own family misunderstood him, and He knew the blunt reality of betrayal as his closest friends left him to violence. 

The best counselors aren't merely educated about pain and disappointment, but they've stood at the graveside, slept on tear-stained pillows, and given cries to their despair.  Isaiah referred to Christ as the Wonderful Counselor; one who knows your hurt by way of his own broken heart.  This is a Savior you can go to.

But you may say, “I do go to Him.  I do cry out, hoping God will hear, but He doesn’t answer my prayers.”  This gets to the heart of Christmas, for Christ experienced this as well. 

In the Garden of Gethsemane, Christ prayed for an alternative to the cross; one not subjecting him to the infinite crushing of his own heart.  He prayed with tears for that cup to pass from him.  His prayer was denied.   

Kitty Genovese’s attacker fled when lights came on in the windows above.  After a few minutes, when no one came down, he returned and stabbed her until she died. 

The Lord heard our cries and came down, vulnerable to human misery.  But the Lord’s temporal afflictions aren’t the reason we celebrate Christ’s birth, for they merely foreshadowed something more terminal.

Mark 15:34 says Jesus cried out from the cross, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" Christ submitted to the ultimate and infinite affliction of divine abandonment, separated from his Father.  This He did as a substitute for all who would be believe in Him.  Faith in Christ sees his birth as the first step on a path leading to his death, receiving the divine abandonment we deserve for longing for an identity apart from Him.

Kitty Genovese must have looked toward the front of her building, expecting her neighbors to come pouring out, rushing to her defense.  The feelings of abandonment must have been overwhelming. 

To trust in Christ as our substitute is to be assured God will never abandon us, even when it feels like He has. 

 

 [image credit]