A thin cord snakes down the length of a pole and into the belly of the baby sleeping in the manger – feeding her. Today, god is a tubie*. Pierced and disrupted, already. And what do you let that do to you?
Does it disorganize you to consider a god who willingly chose a form so disruptable and piercable?
Do you cling to a Greek god inspired Jesus - all muscles and masculinity and stoically abstaining virility? To a god of all-knowing, all-presence, and stoically abstaining potency?
It softens me.
My baby is a tubie. Disrupted. Pierced. Fragile.
Strangely, a god unable to partake in the same sufferings – incapable of the same design errors – makes me angry, rather than secure.
This is about more than ability inclusion in modern day nativities. It’s a homing to a being participating in the same world and rules I live in. A god who doesn't stand in observation of our travail and nativity, smirking in knowledge and sympathy, open-handed and willingly ineffective. Rather, a god who is his own cycle of lament, and advent, and Christmas. Just like my baby.
*a "tubie" is a baby dependent on a feeding tube to meet their nutritional needs. My daughter has a special, implanted tube that allows us to put liquid formula directly into her small intestine - although other babies may receive food into their stomachs.