Christmas, like life, is a combination of ridiculousness and profundity.
One of the many blessings of children is that they exaggerate both.
They ask questions like, "Does God love Satan?" and "Why did Jesus have to die?" and three seconds later they're running around with their pants on their head.
They add Air Force jets to the nativity scene.
We celebrate the incarnation of Christ with worship and corporate singing, and stringing years' worth of flotsam on a tree we dragged inside from the woods.
We sing Joy to the World and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and O Holy Night and Jingle Bells.
This is the world that Jesus entered. He tasted our sadness, our inanity, our curse.
He played This Little Piggy and Pin the Tail on the Donkey and he waited in line at the market and learned to not put his clothes on backwards.
And He bore the weight of the Father's eternal wrath for sinners who spurned His kindness. He opened heaven's gate and brought rejoicing to the hearts of generations of saints.
And the way He started this mind-boggling task was to become a naked, flailing infant, bound by strips of cloths and laid in a manger.
Son of God, King of Heaven, made helplessly weak and vulnerable on Christmas morning.
It's almost ridiculous in its profundity.
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