Of course, we come finally to the central character of our story, the one who really mattered for the rest of the characters, Zechariah, Elizabeth, Herod, the shepherds, the magi, Joseph and Mary (and who really matters for us). They are all like planets drawn into his gravitational pull.

Or maybe into a smaller, less blazing, dangerous light. I love to contemplate (that is, to take some time and just ponder) Rembrandt’s gorgeous painting “Adoration of the Shepherds.” All are huddled around, Mary of course being the closest, the Christ child shining gently like a lantern in the darkness. Naturally, there’s an opening toward us – not just so we can see, but so that we too might be drawn into the light of the Light of the World. “O come, let us adore him.”

When I was growing up, and then for a good while as a grownup, I didn’t think well about God and the baby Jesus. Sure, God sent him – but why? So we could enjoy Christmas? Unlikely. Because God had to get Jesus down here so he could teach things to correct us, and then die for our sins to redeem us? Yes, sort of – but way insufficient, I now realize. God’s purpose is far larger than dealing with our sin. God’s purpose, especially in the birth of Jesus, is about glory, and God’s abundant life, God’s redemption not just of people but of all of creation. God’s plan – before Adam and Eve or anybody else sinned – was to become one of us as part of that beautiful creation.

Bits of the Bible follow the plotline, “I sin. I ask for mercy. God forgives me through Christ.” But there is so much more. I’m more than just a sinner (although I’m pretty good at sinning, and you probably are too). I’m a child of God. My children might mess up, but they are never mess ups to me. Like all of us, I dream. I get scared. I love. I can show mercy. I know tears of sorrow, and of immense joy. I have a destiny. I can even be courageous at times.

Jesus, simply by being born, shows us how to be a child of God, with a destiny, courageous already, loved and loving. God doing all this in the flesh, like us, inspires and empowers us to be like him. That’s why the Christ child came, not to get us out of big trouble with a vengeful God, but to unite with us, to be with us, so that we might be like him, and like God.

I’ll repeat what I’ve told you quite a few times: Christmas is for re-telling old stories, isn’t it? Look into that holy circle of Jesus encircled by Mary’s tender embrace, and others adoring him. You once were in that very circle. No matter how the rest of your life has turned out, moments after birth you were precious, beloved, a thrill, a profound joy. You’d not done a thing yet. Just being here was more than plenty. Time stood still. In that holy, enraptured circle, you were like Christ, because he came to be with and like us. In that circle, you were never closer to God. You were never holier. You were never more your true self.

Christmas invites each of us back into that holy circle, not to be the center of the universe, but to find our cherished, beloved place in the ever-widening circles out from around us, family, friends, neighbors, village, city, nation, and world, even the universe, all made by God, never abandoned by God. Christmas is the pledge that God is redeeming it all. How else could God do this except in the vulnerable, perfect body of a newborn? O come, let us adore him.