The Sound of Your Voice

This past week, one of the kids got sick. Over the next day or two, all of us had a touch of whatever bug it was. The low-grade fever, headaches, and other mild symptoms wouldn’t have gotten much interest in another time, but this is the winter of COVID. While we waited for testing appointments and results that ultimately came back negative, I decided to work from home and avoid any risk of spreading something.

Kim works half-time and is based out of the house. She has a real office with a glass-top desk and a chair with wheels. A bookcase full of supplies and decorations adorns the back wall and a guest chair that has never been used sits quietly in the corner. It is professional.

When I work from home, my conditions are more primitive. We have plenty of empty space since the kids moved out, so I grab a folding table from my workshop in the garage then scrape off the top layer of paint and glue and haul it into a spare bedroom. I sit on a wooden chair that is borrowed from the dining table and use a bath towel as a seat cushion. Whenever Kim tells me it’s ugly, I shrug and say “Eh. It’s temporary.”

This week, I overheard a call between her and a co-worker. Apparently, it was someone she had worked with for a while, but their interaction had all been email. They had never spoken to one another on the phone or met face to face. After the initial, short introductions, I heard Kim pause for a moment while she listened.

Then she said, “I know. You don’t sound like I had imagined either.”

I didn’t think much about it at the time. We all know how it feels to have an imagined face or voice that you associate with someone, only to find out how wrong that preconceived notion was when you encounter them. It’s a simple reminder of how you don’t really know people.

In a strange way, I think that is why God made Christmas the way he did.

The Old Testament God is usually presented as distant and removed. The people of Israel seldom hear directly from the Father. Whatever messages they receive come through one of the prophets. Unfortunately for the prophets, the messages aren’t usually for them, they are merely a vehicle to deliver a reminder, warning, or glimpse of the future to whichever person or group they are instructed.

When the people of Israel heard the word of God coming out of a person’s mouth, they are left to imagine how He really talks and what He looks like. Kind of like Kim’s co-workers had to guess from her email messages.

It wasn’t always like that. In the beginning, He took long walks with Adam & Eve in the garden (Gen 3:8-9). They knew him in a way that no one else would for a long time. They talked with him and got to hear not only his words, but the way he pronounced each word in ways unique to him. They could hear the emotion. They could see his emotion when he spoke and see the way He tilted his head when He listened to them.

They were the last to casually spend time with him, enjoying his full presence. They knew him in a way their children never would.

It wasn’t God’s choice to speak to us through a prophet, but our sin made it necessary. How badly he must have longed for things to be like they were in those first days when He excitedly created us in His image so that we could enjoy time together. How his heart must have ached to be separated from his children.

Suddenly, there was a necessary distance between us. His majesty became terrifying to us. In our brokenness, His infinite love became overshadowed by the ultimate power He yielded while he created universes or swallowed them up again. Drowning in guilt, we could not embrace a supreme being. We could be subjects of the King, but not family.

We weren’t ready for a relationship with an all-powerful God, so He built a plan that would let us become reacquainted. He found a way for us to hear the sound of his voice again, to walk with him in the cool of the evening, to be mutually fulfilled by each other.

He sent us his son, the heir to his glory, but he was not to arrive on a clap of thunder as the heavens split open. Instead, he came as a newborn baby. The same son who spoke life into the universe made himself vulnerable, requiring us to feed him, give him clothing, and shelter him from the weather. He became weak so that he would be approachable.

It took decades of him living quietly among us, following our daily routines, and behaving like we do before we were ready to listen to the thoughts of his heart. After countless, long years had passed, he was finally able to once again walk with us in the cool of the evening. He was able to talk with us face to face like he had in the beginning.

Imagine the joy that filled the Father’s heart when when he held hands with Mary as they walked through a busy market. Imagine how much he enjoyed sitting quietly by the sea with Joseph, listening to the waves and soaking in the peace of the moment. Imagine his delight dancing at a wedding in Cana.

It was the beginning of the restoration.

To every scholar that insists that Jesus was about theology, I would counter that there are infinite ways that a perfect sacrifice could have been made. God chose the one way that allowed him to be among us again. It only lasted for a while but gives us a glimpse of His true nature and what eternity will look like.

This December, I hope everyone will take the time to read the Christmas story in the second chapter of Luke. Consider how much God must have wanted to be with us to humble himself completely. Consider the patience he showed setting aside his displays of raw power to live in a small town doing menial labor for years while he waited for his chance to bring us together. Consider the joy he felt finally being able to walk with the disciples, speak to the crowds, lay his hands on the sick, and embrace the people he loved.

Christmas isn’t about religion. It isn’t about church services. It isn’t about a distant deity who demands your personal surrender. It isn’t the story of an elf who shows up one night a year shrouded in secrecy only to disappear again.

It is the story of someone who has done everything to be with you. It is a reminder of a love so deep that it is worth recreating the universe to make it whole again. It is an invitation for you to open your heart and be surprised that God’s voice doesn’t sound like you expected.

Merry Christmas, everyone.