Now I rejoice in what I am suffering for you, and I fill up in my flesh what is still lacking in regard to Christ’s afflictions, for the sake of his body, which is the church (Colossians 1:24).

My neighborhood does a wonderful job decorating for Christmas. And beyond the lights, snowmen, Santas, penguins, and trees, there are a lot of nativity scenes set up.  It’s beautiful, and it makes me happy every morning on my run.

But running is also a space where I reflect on faith, and I spent a lot of time (and miles) thinking about Paul, and his connection back to suffering for Jesus.  It seems so out of place, especially as I run by these wonderful, perfect displays of Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus.

It got me thinking that the first Christmas was anything but perfect. 

Suffering is defined as pain or distress, but when I look deeper into what it’s meant in the past, words like “tolerate”, “endure”, or “abide” show up.  I can see how on their road to the first Christmas, Mary and Joseph suffered for Jesus.  

Mary tolerated not only a socially uncomfortable pregnancy, but a literally uncomfortable journey to Bethlehem riding a donkey.  

Joseph endured rejection due to the social stigma of the situation, but also the pain of rejection after rejection when he found no place to safely shelter his wife that night.

And when it came time for Jesus to arrive, they abided by God’s plan and made do, nestled in the ignoble setting of a manger.

Jesus’s birth may have been glorious, but there was nothing glorious about the circumstances.  These young parents of our Lord Jesus suffered in his name.  But they found through that suffering the joy and hope of Jesus.  Jesus, the fulfillment of God’s promise, the living hope.  And that was enough. Jesus was their reason.

So, my promise to Jesus is to make it about him and his Church this season.  Instead of retreating to things that are easy for me, like vacation, shiny presents, and indulgent food, I promise to put in the work for Jesus.

Instead of hoping I see a neighbor or friend at church, I will invite them to come with me.  Instead of declaring “Merry Christmas” while looking past someone, I will see them and genuinely ask “How are you this season?”  And where I have pains lingering from holidays or events past, I will use opportunities Jesus has provided in my church community to share and seek healing.

Dear Jesus, help me celebrate this season by remembering that your birth was anything but perfect. Remind me of how much was suffered, endured, tolerated, or patiently borne by Mary and Joseph.  Don’t let me separate the work I can do in your name with the desire to find hope, joy, and healing this Christmas.  And let your gift to me be the power to carry on with this work, even when all the nativity scenes are packed away.