Growing up, the fourth day of Christmas was my father’s birthday. We loved to hang on to the Christmas spirit for several days around our house. Winter was a slower time for father’s business and he often worked shorter days between Christmas and his birthday. The final days of the year were devoted to inventory and end of the year business, and there were always a few significant sales in his business as ranchers took a look at their tax situation and considered the implications of making a major purchase at the end of the year instead of deferring it into the next year. For the most part, however, the first four days of Christmas were devoted to family time.

We played outdoors a lot when we were kids. If the wind had been blowing, there’d be big snow drifts at the airport and we could carve snow caves and play inside of the drifts. There was always sledding and tobogganing down the hills and, depending on the snow conditions, you could ice skate on the irrigation ditches and go for miles. If the snow was moist enough we made snowmen and other creatures out of the snow, built snow forts and held snowball fights.

Dad’s birthday was always a bit of a logistical problem for us kids. We had just spent our chore money on Christmas presents, so we weren’t exactly feeling wealthy. And it was always a challenge to know what to purchase for Dad. He loved orange slice candy, but with seven children, not everyone could get him the same gift, even though candy was always a good idea because the first thing he did upon opening candy was to pass it around and everyone got a piece.

What I remember is that we did a lot of things together. Looking back, I realize that some of our family activities revolved around dad’s work. We often “played’ at the shop or the airport - the places of his work - during our vacation from School. But there was a different mood to the days around Christmas. It is worth noting that our family always waited until Christmas day for our celebrations. My younger brother’s birthday was Christmas Eve and we made a distinct separation between the two events. I knew the song, “The twelve days of Christmas,” but didn’t really know the reason for a twelve-day celebration. Usually we were back in school before twelve days had passed and there was always New Years Day - a feast only a week separated from Christmas Day. Still I had a sense that Christmas was more than just a single day. I also knew that our father’s birthday was a day to celebrate and a day for family fun and activities.

Now, from the perspective of an age my father never reached, I look back with gratitude for that childhood. I was indeed a very fortunate person to have been raised with so much love in a family with such remarkable parents. One of the things both of my parents taught me was the power of incarnation - of word made flesh. Although the Gospel of John can be read as if the process is a bit ethereal and theoretical, there is a very practical side to those who can make a direct connection between the words they speak and the actions they take in their lives. Our father was one of those people who lived the concepts and ideas that were most important to him. He didn’t just talk about love - he lived it. He didn’t just talk about peace - he lived it. He didn’t just talk about truth and justice. He lived them.

I don’t know that I was aware of how rare it is or how risky it can be to show such integrity. We live in a world where there are plenty of empty words. And we live in a world where it often appears that power and prestige arise from angry and even hateful words. It doesn’t take much time of watching television to come to the conclusion that so called political leaders run orchestrated campaigns of disconnect between words and actions. They say one thing and do another. They make promises that can’t possibly be kept.

We long for the important words - love, truth, peace and justice - to become flesh and dwell among us. We long for incarnation. It is a process filled with risk.

That is what is so remarkable about our story. God chooses to become human flesh in a very risky fashion. God comes not as a warrior king, or a wealthy benefactor, but rather as a child of poverty. And Christmas comes each year as an invitation to each of us to be born again - to take on the shape of one who lives for what is truly important despite the risks involved.

It is one of the treasures of living Christmas as a season instead of a day. We are given time to get beyond the crass commercialization of the day. The stores have already moved on. We can go beyond what too often becomes showtime filled with bling in our churches to the real thing. We can but aside our disagreements over whose theology is best and look again to the true meaning of the story.

An infant in a manger is as vulnerable as human beings get. If we would allow that story to live in our lives, we are invited to show our vulnerability as well. The needs of the baby are simple: food, shelter and protection from harm. A child needs to be swaddled in unconditional love.

There is no shortage of the need for food, shelter and protection from harm. From the refugees fleeing conflict and war to the neighbors who lack sufficient resources we are surrounded by vulnerable humans. And we are invited to join them in their vulnerability.

As we journey through this season this year, I keep thinking of the Word become flesh. What good words within me are waiting to take on flesh? How can I love others in ways that allow those words to be born and dwell embodied in the world?

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